Sorbet

Few folks are as opinionated about all things apple as Frank Browning, whom I’ve dubbed the Apple Autocrat. Frank grew up on an apple farm in Kentucky, which nurtured his headstrong, southern-style convictions regarding apples. He offered this recipe from An Apple Harvest, which he cowrote with Sharon Silva, but absolutely insisted that I make it only in the fall, when good-tasting, red-skinned apples are in abundance. So wait I did. Okay… I didn’t wait. But please don’t tell Frank. I made this during the spring using Jonagold apples, which worked great. And although Frank insisted I use Gewürztraminer, I made it with a dry Riesling instead (blame my rebellious Yankee spirit). So feel free to use any tasty, red-skinned apple, but don’t use bland Red Delicious ones, or you might get yourself a Kentucky-style comeuppance.

I was toiling away years ago in a restaurant kitchen when one day a celebrity chef stopped by who had a reputation for being rather, um, obnoxious. I was minding my own business, caught in a Zen-like state while peeling a case of apples and, naturally, generating a huge pile of peels, which I tossed into the garbage as I went. He walked by, looked in the garbage, and reprimanded me: “Don’t you know you’re throwing away the best part?” My infamous sarcasm got the best of me, so I offered to wrap them up for him to take home. From the look on his face, I’m sure it was that moment that effectively killed my professional television cooking career. All kidding (and sarcasm) aside, the peelings do indeed have a lot of flavor, so I include the peels when infusing the apples in this sorbet. Hopefully, this recipe will make amends to the offended party and soon you’ll see me peeling away on prime time.

One late summer weekend, I was visiting a friend who lives in the wilds of Northern California, and I noticed lots of wild blackberry bushes with berries that were so plump and ripe that they were practically falling off the branches. I can never resist free food, so I set out for an afternoon of heavy picking. When I came back, my basket loaded down with fresh berries, my friend casually asked, “Did you see the rattlesnakes?” “Um . . . no, I . . . I didn’t,” I replied. Actually, I was really glad to have missed them. That incident didn’t quite scare me away from picking other types of fruits and berries, but I’ll let others risk their lives for blackberries, which I’ve been happy to plunk down money for ever since that day.

I was asked to do a frozen dessert demonstration on the Today show and figured it was going to be my big breakthrough. In my imagination, I would dazzle the media and viewers with my ability to make sorbet without an ice cream machine, catapulting my career into the culinary stratosphere. However, as soon as I pitted the first cherry, the host, Katie Couric, became fixated on my spring-loaded cherry pitter and challenged me to a cherry-pitting duel (I should have realized those who get to the top have a competitive streak). She insisted on using a paperclip, which I knew would put her at a disadvantage. Her method was slower than mine, but being a good guest, I let her win (which explains why I’m not at the top). And because of the nature of live morning television, we barely had time to get to the sorbet. In the end, she went on to make millions of dollars as a celebrity and I went home with my cherry pitter in my suitcase. I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether to use a cherry pitter or a paperclip to pit your cherries for this sorbet. But you definitely won’t need an ice cream machine—the food processor is the machine for this frozen dessert.

Many consider the area behind the Gare du Nord in Paris rather dubious. Yes, it’s home to the Paris headquarters for the Hell’s Angels. But lots of amazing ethnic foods can also be found there, for which I’m happy to brave the bikers and travel a bit out of the way. Of the various cultures that have opened restaurants and grocers in that part of Paris, Indian is the most prominent. At night, the blue neon–illuminated stands of the Indian épiceries feature all sorts of odd-looking produce that remain a mystery to me. But I do know mangoes. During their season in late spring, I head to that neighborhood and buy them by the case. I use them in everything, from tropical fruit salads to mango daiquiris (which I’m sure aren’t as popular with the Hell’s Angels as they are with my crowd). But a few invariably get churned up into a batch of this sorbet, along with a basket of strawberries from my local market and a dash of rum, which even the gruffest biker couldn’t resist.

I know you’re going to be tempted to use seedless watermelon here, but don’t. I’ve never tasted one that I particularly liked. And because I have a penchant for making things harder than they should be, I don’t mind plucking out the seeds. For some reason, the harder something is to make, the better it tastes. (And I wonder why I spend a majority of my life in the kitchen.) Don’t worry about using a fancy sake—inexpensive brands work really well in this recipe. And unless you read Japanese, you’re not likely to be able to ascertain the difference trying to read the labels at the store.

Sitting in the sun, overlooking the beach, I could drink margaritas all day. Unfortunately, or maybe I should say, fortunately, I don’t live in a warm climate or anywhere near a beach. If I did, I’d never get anything done. Whenever I’m looking for a taste of the tropics at home in Paris, I’ll start squeezing limes in my kitchen and I’m immediately transported to paradise (albeit with bills piled up on the counter and the dishes in the sink). Practically obligatory to serve alongside margarita sorbet are salted peanut cookies. They were inspired by the disks of solid peanut paste sold in Mexican markets called mazapan or dulce de cacahuate, which I’ve been known to nibble on with a margarita, or two, south of the border. And above it, as well.

I read an article in a magazine about the difference between being “frugal” and “cheap” and was relieved to find myself in the frugal category. I’m certainly not cheap when it comes to buying ingredients, but it does go against my frugal nature to throw anything away. Here, oranges do double duty: the insides supply the juice and the rinds become the serving dishes for the sorbet. Those who are extra thrifty can candy some of the leftover peels to go alongside (see Candied Orange Peel, page 254). Egg whites left over from another project can be used to make the fluffy meringue that hides the sorbet surprise underneath.

In the ’80s, sangria’s reputation took a nosedive when it came to be known as a syrupy-sweet wine sold in green bottles with a toreador deftly skirting a charging bull on the label. But if you go to Spain, you’ll quickly realize that real sangria isn’t a sugary liquid confection, but a fruity, icy cold drink that goes down easily, especially when the temperature outside is soaring. This simple-to-make sorbet turns sangria into a frozen dessert that’s even more refreshing than it is as a beverage. And that’s no bull.

The first time I split open a passion fruit and slurped down the dripping juices, the intense flavor knocked me for such a loop that I felt as if a tropical bomb had gone off in my head. From then on, I was hooked. Depending on where you live, fresh passion fruit may be hard to find, but they’re well worth tracking down. Don’t shy away from ones that are a tad wrinkled, as the creases indicate ripeness (they’re often marked down in price, too!). You can also buy frozen passion fruit purée (see Resources, page 270), which is inexpensive and convenient. It’s great to have on hand in the freezer: I’ll often lop off a chunk and add it to a pitcher of orange juice for a morning tropical blast.

There were quite a few things I missed about the Bay Area when I packed up my bags and moved to France. Burritos, bean-to-bar chocolates, and “centered” people were some of them. Okay, I didn’t miss the centered people. But I was surprised at how much I missed Meyer lemons, which are sweeter and more perfumed than regular Eureka lemons. Their vibrant, deep yellow color makes other lemons pale in comparison. If you’re lucky enough to know someone with a Meyer lemon tree, you’re likely to be handed a large sack of them when the fruits are in season. Some greengrocers and specialty markets now carry them, too. Otherwise, you can use regular Eureka lemons in this recipe, but increase the sugar to 1 cup (200 g).

Lots of people eat grapes out of hand, but they don’t quite know what else to do with them. Well, I do. I use them to make sorbet. Though seedless grapes are great for snacking, they’re the least flavorful varieties. If you’re lucky enough to live near a farmers’ market, or if you can get your hands on grapes that are good for wine making, like Chardonnay, Merlot, or Zinfandel, you’ll find they make the most amazing sorbets. I have a few older Jewish aunts who swear that Concord grapes make good wine (that comes in a square bottle). I’m not so convinced about the wine, but Concord grapes do, indeed, make one of my favorite sorbets.

If you can’t decide whether to serve something chocolatey or fruity for dessert, this sorbet is for you (and your guests). It’s incredibly easy to make, and even people like me, who aren’t especially fond of chocolate and fruit combinations, will be won over.

Somewhere along the way, mint sherbet got a bad rap. Perhaps too many catered wedding receptions began with a pallid artificially green scoop melting away in the middle of a melon half, the sherbet chosen because it matched the bridesmaids’ dresses rather than for its taste. Thankfully, any color you’ll find in this mint sherbet comes naturally from a big handful of fragrant, zesty fresh mint. Unlike ice cream, sherbet is usually made with milk, and no cream or eggs, so I never feel guilty about indulging in a couple of scoops. Nor do I feel deprived if I’m craving something a tad creamy. Light yet creamy—it’s a recipe for a perfect marriage.

This is a must-have in the Catalano home. The flavor of this sorbet is intense, and the color is gorgeous. This versatile dessert is a light, refreshing way to end any meal. Melted, it makes a delicious complement to vanilla ice cream or scrumptious sauce for chocolate cake.

This particular sorbet is like really good Italian ice. It’s got an icier texture than some of the other sorbet recipes because it’s made from fruit that has a naturally high water content. It’s most appealing and quite refreshing on a hot summer day.

The richness of this dark, not-too-sweet sorbet belies the simplicity of its ingredients and ease of preparation. Serve it as a lovely dessert, or use it as a pick-me-up on a hot afternoon. The refreshing iciness and the chocolate-coffee flavor are especially good after Mexican food.

Creamy, fruity, refreshing, and vegan. The combination of mango and coconut makes this a perfect dessert to follow a Caribbean or Indian meal.

I love champagne and it’s a natural in desserts. This sorbet captures the airiness and effervescence of the wine, and adding a hint of lemon makes it super-refreshing. Champagnes differ in their sugar contents, which will affect whether or not the sorbet will freeze, so be sure to use Veuve Clicquot yellow label for this recipe.

Tomatoes are technically a fruit, and that’s how I treat them. This sorbet, which should be made at the height of tomato season with the ripest fruits, showcases that characteristic sweet-acid tomato flavor in its coldest form. A scoop of this sorbet can be the start of a not-so-traditional Bloody Mary, and it could also find its way into a bowl of gazpacho. Try pairing it with the Raspberry-Rose Water Soup (page 62), too.

The jolting flavor of passion fruit really explodes on the palate. Serve this with passion fruit seeds on a hot day. Or combine it with some meringues and strawberries.

The goal when making any sorbet is to capture the purity of ripe fruit while making the smoothest texture possible. This sorbet does that beautifully for ripe summer strawberries.

Rhubarb is paired with strawberry so often, but I like showcasing the pungent, tangy flavor all on its own. Combining this sorbet with White Chocolate Ice Cream (page 221) softens the edge. If your rhubarb isn’t very ripe and red, you may want to adjust the color with a few drops of pomegranate juice.