Tangerine

I have a well-deserved reputation as an olive oil junkie. I use olive oil in most dishes, and not with a light hand. When my regular customers saw this dessert on the menu, they thought I’d gone too far—until they tasted it. The oil takes the place of butter and makes for an incredibly moist crumb. It’s delicious with candied oranges and whipped cream, or by itself in the afternoon with a cup of tea. Or if you’re a chocolate lover, try a slice drizzled with the chocolate sauce from the ,meringues recipe on pages 159–160.

The first incarnation of this dish did not include rice. Tasting it over and over again, I knew it needed a final element that would bring its flavors into harmony: nutty farro, meaty bass, pungent green garlic, sweet pea shoots, tart tangerines. I racked my brain for just the right thing, then remembered a sample of black rice I had stashed in my desk drawer weeks before. I had little experience with black rice—varieties of rice whose kernels are covered by extremely dark bran. The black rice I found was grown in the salt marshes of the Veneto, so I cooked it in an Italian style. As I would for risotto, I sautéed the rice in olive oil to seal the outer layer and toast it slightly. Then I deglazed with white wine, added water, and let it simmer away. When the rice was done, I found it solved my problem perfectly. The rice’s marshy origins gave it a subtle oceany taste, complementing the fresh fish and giving the entire dish a springtime-by-the sea coherence. What’s more, there was a visual bonus: the black rice was gorgeous to behold, coated in its own deep purple sauce.

This is a delicious way to use the peels of citrus after they’ve been juiced. Candied peel, either plain or dipped in chocolate, makes a zesty ending for a meal. Candy only unsprayed, organic citrus fruit.

When I first got Rick Bayless’s Mexican Kitchen, I was so inspired by the recipes that I invited people over and made brunch for the first time in years. It was a warm, sunny New Orleans winter day, and I picked satsumas from my backyard tree and made these margaritas to welcome everyone.

This is a vibrant, sweet, and spicy sauce that is yummy on seared scallops, roast chicken breasts, and grilled fish fillets. It’s easy to make and keeps well in the refrigerator for up to a few weeks. Feel free to throw in some minced garlic if you love it the way I do. The cilantro is optional, but the fresh green fragrance and color is an appealing touch.

Sweet, loose-skinned, and with few seeds mandarin oranges are more popular in Vietnam than regular oranges. The small fruits are commonly eaten as a peel-and-eat snack, but may they also be juiced and frozen for sorbet. Served alone or with a cookie, the sorbet is an elegant conclusion to a meal. Find the best tangerines, clementines, or satsumas in your area and juice them yourself. Avoid pasteurized juice, which can have an unpleasant cooked flavor.

If you don’t have fresh passion fruit or pulp, make do by adding more tangerine juice. But I do advise looking around for it (see Resources, page 237), since its unmistakable flavor gives this sorbet an authentic taste of the tropics.

It’s easy to forget that citrus fruits do have a specific season, since they seem abundant all year round. The major exception is tangerines, which are rarely seen except during the winter. My favorite varieties for making this sorbet are the oddly shaped tangelos, whose juice is mischievously tart, and the mottled honey tangerines, whose coarse, funky exterior belies the bright-colored and exceptionally sweet juice within.

There are folks who can’t imagine dessert without chocolate, while others aren’t happy unless they get something with citrus. Sometimes I can’t decide which I feel like. Am I in the mood for something citrusy? Or am I having a chocolate craving that needs to be satisfied? Here’s a happy truce that marries the two flavors in perfect harmony and is guaranteed to please everyone.

With the addition of sprightly tangerine juice, this twist on traditional butterscotch sauce goes very well drizzled over Buckwheat Cake (page 44) paired with orange or tangerine sections instead of the cider-poached apples, or spooned over Pâte à Choux Puffs (page 232) filled with Caramel Ice Cream (page 144) and topped with toasted or candied nuts.

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.

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.

The combination of bitter Campari and sweet tangerine couldn’t be more refreshing.

Candied tangerine or orange peel is the sweet element in this festive Persian rice with carrots. Persian shops sell the candied peel, as well as slivered almonds and pistachios. To make the candied peel yourself, see the recipe that follows this one.

Slicing the beef paper-thin when stir-frying will get the meat nice and crispy, so make sure your knife is sharp. If tangerines are not in season, oranges make a fine substitute and no one will be the wiser. The only weird ingredient is the black Chinese vinegar. It has a sweet, malted flavor that is very traditional in Chinese cooking. If you’re a purist about Chinese food, the black vinegar will be worth the trip to an Asian market. If you can’t find it, I’m not going to tell anyone if you substitute balsamic vinegar.

I stepped up on a cinder block to enter the open kitchen and realized then just how short the cook was; he flicked on the burner and the flame shot up as high as his chin. His broom closet-size kitchen swelled with heat and even with my average height, I towered over him awkwardly as he wielded the wok with beef and soy sauce. "You must play basketball!" he suggested. On his kitchen wall and out of reach of the blazing flame, plastic bags of spices hung from low-set rusty hooks, and his windowsill nearby lay scattered with tangerine peels set out to dry in the sun. Cooks in China are in the habit of keeping the peels of the tangerines they eat and spreading them out to dry in the sun for later use. Then they just rehydrate a few pieces whenever they want to add a nutty, slightly bitter note to a stir-fry or stew. Tangerine Beef is a Sichuan specialty and tall on flavor.

Forget juggling a plate of food with your cocktail glass: These no-fuss kebabs make it easy to munch while mingling. Plus, just one savory skewer delivers nearly half of your daily protein needs.

Throw everything in the pan, and voilà! Cranberry sauce. It’s just five ingredients simmering on the stove, but it tastes beguilingly complex. Tangerine juice and zest, fresh ginger, and plump golden raisins add a citrusy, spicy sweetness to tart, bursting cranberries.

While the bavarian and the caramel sauce flirt subtly with the flavor of the fruit, this candied peel is very direct, delivering a straight shot of sweet-tart tangerine flavor.

Tangerine juice plays two roles here: It stops the cooking of the sugar, and its bright perfume brings complexity to the sauce.

Of all the citrus fruits (conveniently in season right now), tangerine has perhaps the most complex qualities. Floral and gently sweet, with an underlying tartness—like three fruits in one. And this lighter-than-air bavarian is wonderfully cool on the tongue, slowly releasing its various aromas as it melts in the mouth.