Custard

When my grandmother became ill with cancer, I thought my heart would break. I never knew anything could hurt so badly—the pain actually seemed to make it impossible to breathe. I was living in New York, working in Connecticut, and would fly home to see her as often as possible, at least every other weekend. When I was home I would make her this soft, rich custard that she loved. The cause of death on Meme’s death certificate is actually starvation, not cancer. The cancer prevented her from swallowing, and the only solution was to feed her through a tube, something no one wanted, or needed, to face. It was a cruel irony for a woman who made so many meals with so much joy and love.

Flan is the quintessential Latin dessert. I love how using two different milks (literally, dos leches) produces a creamy, velvety custard. This rendition is not only smooth and delicious, it is incredibly simple. The only “complicated” step is making the caramel. But you will see that it really isn’t difficult. Just do it once and I promise you will be a pro!

Sabayon is the French version of Italian zabaglione, an airy egg-and-wine custard. It requires a certain amount of energy—and strength—to whip up a batch. If you’ve ever heard a frenzy of whisking coming from the kitchen at an Italian restaurant, you’ve heard why many Italian cooks (especially the sturdy grandmas) have such well-developed arms. But one lick of the boozy, frothy dessert is enough to make you forget those few furious minutes of whipping. If you don’t think you’re up to the task, you can use an electric handheld mixer. But I always feel that if I’ve worked hard to make something, I’ve earned the right to eat it. You can serve the sabayon hot from the stove, although here, it is cooled and whipped cream is added so it can be held before serving.

When I worked as a pastry chef, I became known as “the crème brûlée bully” because I decided one night that I had had enough of crème brûlée and stopped serving it altogether. The reason? It was all that was ever ordered, and everything else on my menu went ignored. I realize now that I should have been flattered that guests liked my crème brûlée so much, and I apologize to anyone who left the restaurant feeling denied their favorite dessert. As reparation, I offer this recipe for lemon-ginger crème brûlée, the most popular flavor of the many that I’ve made, and hope I’m forgiven.

A few years back, I attended a class at a French pastry school that was, of course, taught by a French chef. If you’ve not worked with French chefs before, you quickly realize that to them, there’s one way to do things—and only one way. Our chef, for example, insisted on doing a cold infusion for tea, letting it steep in the refrigerator overnight. To prove his point, he steeped some tea in warm cream as well so we could later compare the results. The next day, when we had the tasting, there were muted murmurs amongst the students that we much preferred the warm infusion, but no one dared say anything to the chef. We just all nodded in agreement that the cold infusion tasted better. I still infuse tea in warm cream for custards because to me, the proof is in the pudding. Or, in this case, the crème brûlée.

Many countries have a version of caramelized custard turned out of its mold for serving—from Mexico’s flan to France’s crème renversée. No border seems to be a barrier to the migration of this universally popular dessert. Cardamom is rather an exotic spice, but it is sometimes used in classic American coffee cakes and other familiar baked goods. Do not buy preground cardamom because its flavor dissipates quickly and you’ll miss the wonderful aroma released by cracking the seeds yourself. Oftentimes, cardamom seeds are sold still in their papery husks or pods, which should be peeled away to reveal the seeds within.

Some people might consider it overkill to mix caramelized sugar with the lush flavor of butterscotch. But since the beauty of being an adult is that we can do pretty much as we please, I don’t feel the need to apologize for mixing the two in one cool custard. If you want to ramp up the flavor of the butterscotch custard with even more flavorful molasses notes than dark brown sugar can supply, try using one of the unrefined brown or cane sugars that can be found in natural food stores. Look for ones that are dark and ruddy, since they tend to have the most flavor.

Even before the recent coffee-caramel craze, I was proudly baking up these custards because they bring together two of my favourite flavors. Although I’d love to take responsibility for starting the trend, the only thing I can say with certainty is that I’m unabashedly crazy for the combination. For best results, use very strong espresso because you want to make sure that the coffee flavor is bold enough to stand up to the deep, dark caramel. I think the custards are best served chilled, like some of those barista drinks.

This is the French classic that everyone knows and loves. I’ve resisted doing anything to change it, except be more generous with the chocolate than the pastry chef in the average Parisian bistro. Excusez-moi, but I like chocolate so much that I just couldn’t help myself. This recipe is a good place to use top-notch chocolate, French or otherwise. You won’t regret it when your spoon cuts through the glossy surface and dives into the smooth custard below. For best results, use a high-percentage dark chocolate, one that’s 60 to 70 percent cacao.

When I was in college, I always loved coming home at the holidays—in part because of my mother’s pumpkin pie. I still love pumpkin, as does my husband, so this recipe is for him. I was looking for something that could deliver that awesome pumpkin taste without a fat-laden crust, and the homey familiarity of custard provided a perfect vehicle.

Calling all chocolate lovers! No matter what kind of chocolate you like, this dish is for you. Decadent layers of dark, milk, and white chocolate on an Oreo cookie base—you can close your mouth now.

We know that we wouldn’t be where we are today without the continued support and encouragement we receive from our customers. To thank them, we held a recipe contest for which the winner’s dish would be featured in our book. Cristiane Diehl (aka Chu Chu), that’s you! Take a bow. You deserve it. Your trifle is out of this world! (Well, at least out of this country—it’s from Brazil!)

This sweet fig and aniseed pudding is like a clafoutis. The custard bakes to a flan-like consistency and is heavenly served still slightly warm from the oven.

Our china cabinet rattles when you walk through the dining room. With each step the lids to my collection of little pot de crème pots remind me that it has been a while since they were used.

This decadent milk chocolate cremoso—a silky puddinglike dessert—is drizzled with olive oil for an unexpected pop of flavor. Some people are like, whoa . . . olive oil and chocolate? But the combo really works. The hazelnuts and chocolate bring forward a Nutella-like flavor, and the salt cuts the sweetness. The slight sourness of crisp sourdough bread and smoky flavor of espresso deepen the complexity of the dish. A recipe is only as good as its ingredients, and this is no exception. Use the best-quality chocolate—it makes all the difference between a waxy, vaguely chocolaty flavor and intense chocolatiness. Valrhona, Lindt, and Scharffen Berger are premium chocolates I like. Most of this dessert can be made ahead, so it’s perfect to serve for a dinner party.

A can of dulce de leche is the key to this smooth, rich, caramel-flavored custard that you can make with only 10 minutes of prep time. It would take hours to make the milk caramel you can purchase ready-made in many supermarkets. The cans are usually shelved with other Latin American foods and called Dulce de Leche, Manjar, Fanguito, Arequíte, or Cajeta.

I’ve always liked the classic combination of chocolate and coffee and have been searching for a unique way to pair the two. In this dessert, the custard is dense and rich, so I wanted the coffee to be light. By using lecithin, I can turn coffee into a cloud.