Dark Chocolate Torte

Except for a nearly insatiable appetite for ice cream, I'm not much of a dessert eater. It's not that I don't like sweet things...I can't even think of a dessert that I don't like. But faced with the choice of multiple hunks of pre-dinner bread dipped in peppery olive oil or an after-dinner slice of something rich and sugar-filled, I'll reach for the bread basket. After dinner, I'll choose the cheese plate over the cheesecake. Dessert wine will always win out over key lime pie, creme brulee, and German chocolate cake.

There are times, however, when dessert is a must, an extreme dessert, the sort that makes the courses before it seem like one grand amuse bouche. This is that dessert. The recipe should come with a warning label: it is almost pure chocolate. The texture is like chocolate fudge. Or, chocolate fudge topped with a layer of chocolate once the coating of raspberry spiked chocolate is added. The raspberry coulis, I think, tempers the intensity of the chocolate. Without it whipped cream or caramel would be nice.

I have made many flourless chocolate cakes following many different recipes over the last few years. They are always good, but some recipes are better than others. This recipe makes one of the most dense versions I've pulled from my oven. And it eschews the sunken look for which many a flourless chocolate cake strives by asking that the cake be flipped over after baking. It's flat bottom then takes the place of its cracked and fallen top. This shenanigan creates a flat surface on which the ganache-like coating can be poured.

Dark Chocolate Torte with Raspberry Coulis
from a Bon Appetit recipe but with many modifications. Makes 8 very large servings. A dessert this rich could probably be stretched to serve several more...it's just hard to divide a cake evenly in that territory between 8 and 16 slices.
Because the raspberry coulis flavors the glaze of this torte, it should be made before the cake.

3 cups bittersweet chocolate, cut into chunks and divided according to recipe
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, divided
1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 tablespoon instant espresso powder
5 large eggs
1 cup sugar
Spiked raspberry colic: recipe follows
Fresh raspberries

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter 9 inch springform pan. Line bottom with parchment paper. Stir 2 cups chocolate chips and 3/4 cup butter into medium saucepan over low heat until smooth. Whisk in cocoa and espresso. Cool 10 minutes.
2. Using an electric mixer, beat eggs and sugar in a large bowl on high speed until thick, about 6 minutes. Fold in chocolate mixture. Pour batter into prepared pan.
3. Bake torte until dry and cracked on top and tester inserted into center comes out with some moist batter attached, about 42 minutes. Cool pan on rack 1 hour (center will fall). Using spatula, press raised edges so top is level. Cut around pan sides, and remove sides. Place plat on top of torte and invert onto plate. Remove pan bottom and peel off paper. Cool torte completely. 4. Stir remaining 1 cup chocolate and 1/4 cup butter in small saucepan over low heat until smooth. Whisk in 4 tablespoons raspberry coulis. Cool glaze 15 minutes. Pour glaze into center of torte and smooth top with spatula, allowing some of glaze to drip down sides. Refrigerate uncovered until glaze is set, about 1 hour. (Can be made up to 3 days ahead).
5. Spoon coulis into center of serving plates. Place a wedge of torte on top of coulis. Garnish with raspberries.

Raspberry Coulis
1 1 pound bag frozen unsweetened raspberries, thawed
1 cup semidry white wine
4 tablespoons sugar, divided
4 whole cloves
2 Turkish bay leaves
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
2 tablespoons brandy

1. Place berries, wine, and 4 tablespoons sugar in blender and puree. Pour into medium saucepan. Add cloves, bay leaves, and allspice. Bring to simmer, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat and simmer until desired thickness, 10-15 minutes.
2. Strain into medium bowl. Discard solids in strainer. Whisk in brandy. (Can be made up to 5 days ahead. Rewhisk before using.)
Makes about 2 cups.

Carrot on a Spoon

Not too long ago, the acquisition of a certain small kitchen appliance induced in me fantasies about the many cool and perfectly smooth soups I would turn out of my kitchen this summer. These fantasies have not proven entirely ephemeral. A blindingly bright green soup offered a moment's relief from the heat several weeks back. And this electric orange one is, I think, even better. The texture is all rich velvet, but the zip of cumin and crushed chili pepper keeps it refreshing, I daresay, invigorating, on a humid summer night.

The flavor of this soup alone makes it worth peeling and chopping all those carrots, but the fact that it can be made any time of the day or even the day before it is to be served will make it a warm weather dinner party staple in the years to come. Moreover, and this is meant in the best way possible, it's cheap. Who would ever believe that an ordinary two dollar bag of carrots could be transformed into something this alluring and almost decadent? Carrots, it seems, are more than diet food, more than forgettable dip scooping instruments. And, although it could be difficult to tell the two apart, they are when pureed so much more than healthy fodder for toothless babies.

Chilled Carrot Soup with Cumin and Lime
from Bon Appetit August 1998 (with a few minor changes), serves 4


2 tablespoons olive oil
2 pounds carrots, peeled and chopped
2 large leeks, white and pale green parts chopped
2 tablespoons garlic
3 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoons (or more) dried crushed chili pepper
6 1/2 cups chicken broth (or water)
8 tablespoons low fat sour cream
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
2 tablespoons grated lime peel

1. Heat oil in a heavy pot over medium-high heat. Add carrots and leeks. Saute until leeks begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add garlic. Saute 1 minute. Add cumin and crushed red pepper, saute 30 seconds longer. Add 6 1/2 cups chicken broth. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer uncovered until vegetables are very tender, about 35 minutes.
2. Puree soup with an immersion blender (or, if you are unfortunate, in batches with a standing blender). Transfer soup to a large bowl. Cool. Whisk in 6 tablespoons sour cream. Cover soup and refrigerate until cold, at least 4 hours or overnight.
3. Stir lime juice into soup. Thin soup with more broth if desired. Season with salt and pepper. Ladle into 4 bowls. Spoon 1 tablespoon sour cream atop each serving. Sprinkle with some red pepper flakes (if you want more spice), cilantro, and lime peel.

Frittering Away

Most would agree that frittering is not to be encouraged. Compulsive gamblers fritter away their savings. Irresponsible heirs fritter away their inheritances. Graduate students fritter away their summers. Hard drinking and smoking can fritter away one's health. But I have recently been frittering away in the kitchen, and I can't complain about the results.

This was the first time I experienced frittering of this sort in the kitchen. I have leaned my elbows on the counter as I mindlessly flipped through fashion magazines. I have stood before a simmering pot, happily stirring something or other which I knew did not require this sort of vigilance. I have chopped garlic or parsley well beyond what was necessary just because I liked the feel of it. But zucchini frittering was something I had never considered until I came across this recipe in Deborah Madison's tome on vegetarian cooking. A quick scan of the ingredients list confirmed that zucchini fritters were just the thing for a light summer dinner.

Incidentally, I love this cookbook. Ms. Madison knows her vegetables. She takes them seriously, and by that I do not mean that she somberly dresses them up beyond recognition in fancy dishes. She simply knows that vegetables deserve more than side dish status, and she never has to come right out and say it. Her recipes say it for her. She has arranged the substantial Vegetable chapter of her book alphabetically according to the principal vegetable ingredient, a choice which I doubt would work for any other food group, but here is brilliant. It puts the focus on the vegetable, gathers into one convenient spot several ways of cooking that vegetable, and the index need not even be consulted if you have a notion of what veggie you want to cook. She offers helpful little hints in the margins about other dishes that would pair well and about the time of year when the ingredients of certain recipes are most in season. It's the type of cookbook that you could fritter away an entire day just browsing.

It should be said that these fritters really do require the frittering of some time: there are zucchini to be shredded and several piles of herbs to be chopped in addition to the time you'll spend hovering over the frying pans. But the product of all this frittering is a speckled green disk with a custard-like interior enclosed by a savory brown crust. I served them with a tomatillo salsa, much like one I recently made to be scooped up by homeade tortilla chips (but minus the cumin and avocado). To fill out the plate: an arugula salad dressed with nothing more than lemon, olive oil, salt and pepper.

Zucchini and Fresh Herb Fritters
adapted from Deborah Madison's Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone. Serves 4


Salt and freshly ground pepper
3 pounds green or golden zucchini, coarsely grated
3 eggs, beaten (for a vegan recipe, substitute 1/3 cup pureed silken tofu)
1 bunch scallions, including 2 inches of greens
1 1/2 cup dried bread crumbs
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 cup chopped parsley
1/4 cup chopped marjoram or basil
1/2 cup or more half and half
olive oil as needed

1. Lightly salt the zucchini and set it aside in a colander to drain for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, mix the remaining ingredients together except for oil and pepper. Quickly rinse the zucchini, squeeze out the excess water, then stir it into the batter. Season generously with pepper.

2. Film two large skillets with olive oil. (Two skillets are not necessary--it just makes the frying go faster.) When hot, drop in the batter (1/3 cup makes a fritter about 4 inches across), and cook over medium heat until golden brown on the bottom. Flip and cook the second side. Serve hot with tomatillo salsa.

Summer Beef

Thankfully, my air conditioning works very well, but I am not quite able to push from my mind the heat that is currently pressing around the edges of my climate-controlled little house. The few excursions I have to make each day are reminder enough. The old Saturn will barely make it up the "Hill" of Chapel Hill with the air conditioning running, so I turn it off to avoid being pursued by more powerful vehicles at a distance too close for comfort. Upon returning from a recent ten minute dash to the grocery store, I was told that I smelled hot. I did not inquire into the particulars of this bouquet, but I can guess what was meant. Other than the smell of perspiration beading on the neck and upper lip--which I don't think that I had yet acquired--it's the smell of hot hair, of reheated soaps and lotions layered on throughout the morning hours and now releasing their perfumes all at once, of scorched rubber shoe bottoms, and of the initial stages of burning cotton.

Even if I manage to stay inside, this heat seeps beneath closed doors and through window joints. It bakes wood and shingles so that the centers of rooms are warmer than the peripheries. I almost thought the heat was making its own sort of droning sound until I discovered a wasp nest attached to the front porch window frame.

When in the midst of a heat wave, one starts to crave something cool, crunchy, and technicolored for dinner. Something that must be eaten with cold beer. Something with a kick, but not so strong as to bring on the sweats. That something, I have found, is a Thai beef salad. The beef can be grilled during the (marginally) cooler morning hours and refrigerated. No other heat generating steps are required. This salad is full of cool flavors: carrots, lime, cabbage, and cilantro. And hot summer nights are made for cold rare beef, its pink flesh infused with jalepeno and sour lime peel. I am convinced, too, that eating brightly colored food makes one feel more fresh, and this salad incorporates nearly all the colors of the rainbow.

"Thai" Beef Salad
serves 4, scare quotes added because of the questionable authenticity of this recipe


2 tablespoons peanuts, coarsely chopped
1 one inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and minced
2 tablespoons grated lime zest
1 jalepeno chili, halved
4 tablespoons finely chopped shallot
2 1/2 teaspoons sugar
4 tablespoons Thai fish sauce
3 tablespoons sesame or peanut oil
1 1/2 pound sirloin or flank steak
4 tablespoons fresh squeezed lime juice
1 medium head red cabbage, halved and thinly sliced
2 carrots, thinly sliced on diagonal
2 cups bean sprouts
1 mango, peeled and thinly sliced
large bunch of torn basil leaves
1 cup packed cilantro
3 scallions, cut into 2 inch lengths and then sliced into strips
salt and fresh ground pepper

1. For marinade: Process ginger, lime zest, jalepeno, 2 tablespoons chopped shallot, and 2 teaspoons sugar in a food processor to form a coarse paste. Add 1 tablespoon fish sauce and 1 teaspoon oil. Pulse to combine. Place steak on a large plate and coat both sides with marinade. Marinate in refrigerator for up to 2 hours.
2. Make dressing: In a small bowl, combine lime juice with remaining 3 tablespoons fish sauce, 1/2 teaspoon sugar, and two tablespoons shallot. Slowly add the remaining 2 tablespoons oil, whisking constantly until emulsified.
3. Heat grill on medium-high heat. Salt and pepper steak. Grill steak, about 5 minutes per side for medium-rare. Err on the rare side. Transfer to cutting board to rest at least 5 minutes.
4. Toss cabbage, bean sprouts, carrot slices, mango, basil, and cilantro in large bowl with dressing. Arrange a mound of salad on each serving plate. Thinly slice beef on the bias, and place on top of salad. Garnish with scallions and peanuts.

Danish Dough Revisited

By the time this weekend rolled around, there had been enough distance between me and my recent sugar bun baking marathon that I could begin to think about the remaining half batch of danish dough sitting in my freezer. I arose this morning at a reasonable hour, made some strong coffee, took a deep breath, and began browsing the other danish dough recipes that Ms. Stewart includes in her Baking Handbook. I wanted something that could pass for breakfast (even if a naughty one), and that did not require an early trip to the grocery. These here sticky buns were what I found. And this is what I learned: buns of the sticky persuasion ask much less of their makers than buns of the sugared sort. I believe that the dough benefited from its freezer stay. It was easier to roll out into a uniform shape. And there was no makeshift pastry cream piping involved at all.

But I should stress that "sticky" is not an adjective these buns mean to be taken lightly. I firmly believe in experimenting with a variety of food textures and consistencies. Not long ago, I advocated pairing hot and crunchy with cold and creamy. And I am certain that the not as popular warm and sticky have earned their place in the canon of attractive food adjectives. Sticky rice keeps California rolls intact and adheres to not so adeptly wielded chop sticks. The clinginess of postickers creates a flavorful brown crust on pale and gummy wanton wrappers. I have not yet had the opportunity to experience sticky ribs, but I understand that they hold onto the barbecue sauce that generally slips from slick ribs into the charcoal below.

One might be inclined to include sticky buns in this genre of sticky foods. But such a classification would be entirely inaccurate. The stickiness of these buns is an altogether different quality than rice, wanton wrappers, or ribs could possibly acquire. These sticky buns actually bind together top and bottom molars. Removal of their residue from counter tops, muffin pans, spatulas, and oven floors requires nothing less than brute strength combined with steel wool. Be forewarned. The more these buns cool, the stickier they become, so I suggest eating them when they still threaten tongue burning. Otherwise, tooth fillings are at risk. But let me tell you, these sticky buns are worth that risk. They are not your average cinnamon rolls, but complex little pastries with swirling layers of crunchy dough glued together by rich globs of nut-studded caramel. Baking these in muffin pans ensures that each bun will be exposed to enough air to become crisp, but will also have its fair share of brown sugar sauce. This is, I think, the sort of recipe that just might stick.

Sticky Buns
makes 1 dozen, from Ms. Stewart's Baking Handbook


1/2 recipe Danish Dough
unsalted butter for muffin tins
3 1/2 cups pecan halves

I didn't happen to have this many pecans, but I managed to cobble together 3 1/2 cups of various nuts that have been lying around my freezer for awhile. I used pecans, walnuts, and almonds. In the end, the variety was nice.

2 1/2 cups light corn syrup
3/4 plus 2/3 cup packed brown sugar
all purpose flour for dusting
3/4 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

1. If you're using frozen dough, thaw in the refrigerator overnight. Let dough stand at room temperature until slightly softened, about 15 minutes. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper (this be important!); set aside. Generously butter two 6 cup jumbo muffin pans. I used a 12 cup regular muffin tin because I didn't have a jumbo muffin pan. I would recommend the jumbo tin, if you want to avoid having sticky bun sauce dribbling over the edges of your muffin pan onto the floor of your oven where it will burn, turn black, and become permanently affixed.

2. Chop 2 cups pecans and break the remaining 1 2/3 cups in half lengthwise, keeping the two groups separate. Pour 3 tablespoons corn syrup into each muffin cup (or 2 tablespoons if you're using a regular sized muffin pan). Sprinkle each muffin cup with 1 tablespoon brown sugar. Divide halved pecans evenly among the muffin cups.

3. On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough into an 18 by 14 inch rectangle, about 1/4 inch thick. Using a spatula, spread the sour cream over the surface of the dough, leaving a 1/2 inch border. Dust sour cream with cinnamon, and sprinkle with chopped pecans and remaining 2/3 cup brown sugar. Roll up the dough tightly lengthwise to form a log about 3 inches in diameter, and trim the edges using a serrated knife. Transfer log to the prepared baking sheet. Refrigerate until firm, about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees.

4. Using a sharp knife and a sawing motion, slice the dough crosswise into 12 rounds, about 1 1/2 inches thick, and place in prepared pans. Cover loosely with plastic wrap, and let rise in a warm place until 1/2 inch above the cups, 20-30 minutes. (Skip rising if you're using a regular sized muffin pan...there will be no room for it). Transfer to the oven, placing a baking sheet on the rack below to catch drips. Bake, rotating pans halfway through, until buns are dark golden brown, 40-50 minutes.

5. Immediately turn out the buns onto parchment-lined baking sheet. (The parchment paper is what will allow you to remove the buns from the baking sheet once they are cool. These things are sticky.) Replace any nuts that have fallen off. Place the baking sheet on a wire rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature. Sticky buns are best eaten the day they are baked.