Flour

Did you notice that all my cupcake recipes yield 24? With so many cupcakes (is 24 really a lot?), you might, theoretically, have a few left over. Those little leftover treasures are the secret behind my most brilliant invention: the crumb. Crumbs consist of either an unfrosted cake or an unfrosted cupcake broken down and treated with additional flavoring. In most cases, you’ll be using cupcakes, which aren’t all that sweet on their own and are thus the ideal blank canvas. You’ll find the vanilla-based version to be the most versatile crumb of the three I’ve included. You can add your favorite spices to tailor it to your taste; just don’t add more than 2 teaspoons of the spice you choose, or it will overpower the cake you’re baking.

Before BabyCakes NYC, my dreams were limited to potential hairstyles, sarcastic comebacks, and still more prospective hairstyles. Nowadays, I dream almost exclusively of baked goods. One restless night, after being awakened by images of a fluffy blueberry cake topped with spiced crumbs and a rich vanilla sauce, I sprinted to the bakery to begin testing. I encountered a few setbacks, but once I found out that the crumb cooks faster than the base and must be added halfway through baking, my dream came true. Please don’t trust your instincts with this one; the window for applying the crumb is small. Add it too soon and your crumb topping will burn, too late and it will be soggy. Use those timers, people!

By now you’ve no doubt realized that many of these recipes call for high-quality ingredients that are a bit more costly than a tub of shortening or a sack of bleached flour. As I’ve mentioned before, though, I also abhor waste. This recipe might be the most ingenious recasting of leftovers you’ll ever find, the best part being that nobody could ever possibly know!

Dear Outraged Icebox Cake Purist: I understand you will be frustrated and angry that what follows is in no way an icebox cake, and for that I’m sorry. But those traditional icebox cakes you are so staunchly defending are nothing more than raw eggs, butter, and sugar mixed together and dumped into a pit of sponge cake or stale ladyfingers. Not cool for your stomach, or mine! We can do better—and have with this towering ode to the magical pairing of mint and chocolate. The cake may seem a touch underdone when the baking time is up, but trust me: You will have a beautifully moist cake that won’t dry out in the freezer, one you’ll pick at happily each time you pass the fridge for weeks to come! If you avoid evaporated cane juice, omit the cookies but add some berries or Chocolate Crumb Base (page 116).

I’m all for mindful eating—scanning each and every nutritional label, chewing each bite of food twenty times before swallowing—but we all know there comes a time when we want to slide into a pair of elastic-waisted pants and go to town. When that urge arises, I, for one, succumb. Composed of three of the bakery’s most popular items—frosting, brownies, and cookies—this extraordinary layered cake is an indulgence that would make even the lovely Paula Deen blush. Right with you, Ms. Deen!

This is my healthy version of the popular Hostess® cupcake. This double-stuffed cupcake is a frosting lover’s fantasy (see Anderson, Pamela, opposite). Although the recipe calls for 1 tablespoon frosting for the filling, you won’t be blamed for upping the amount a bit—just be reasonable! Too much and you’ll bury the innocent, delicious cake. Although I have found what follows to be the best flavor pairing, you can freely use any of the cupcakes and frostings in this book together with dazzling results.

In order to get the same melty chocolate sensation that comes with the basic brownie without evaporated cane juice, I rely on a simple method of denting the agave brownies in the center and filling them with a puddle of rich, silky chocolate sauce (page 93). The sauce seeps out when bitten into and is so gratifying I wasn’t surprised when they began to move off the shelves faster than their sweeter counterpart. You can mix it up a bit by adding vanilla sauce to the center if there happens to be some, you know, lying around. Be sure to keep a special eye on the agave with this recipe. It’ll dictate whether you end up with a dry chocolate roll or a luscious fudgelike brownie.

I grew up in California just inches from the Mexican border, so I’ve always had an affinity for that country’s culture—in particular the lightly spiced cookies rolled in powdered sugar and served at weddings, ingeniously referred to stateside as Mexican Wedding Cookies. My homage to this perennial favorite has more crunch and some newfangled flavors, but I’m sure you’ll agree it, too, is piñata-worthy.

Lemon can be a baker’s best friend or her worst enemy. Often it tastes less like fresh-squeezed lemonade and more like a 15-cent lollipop. Achieving the perfect balance of lemon flavor in this teacake was a long and arduous journey; fresh lemon juice toys with the acidity in the batter, causing it to rise and fall unpredictably, while the rind on its own has a mousy presence at best. I tried everything from the yellow squeeze bottles of sugar-pumped citric acid to preserved lemons to lemon oil—everything short of boiled-down Lemonheads. Eventually I found that if you grate lemon rind into the batter with a generous helping of a high-quality lemon extract (I prefer Frontier’s product), you end up with a uniform, easy-to-manage batter that maximizes the lemon flavor while downplaying its domineering nature. Add the subtle nuttiness and earthy texture of poppy seeds, and you’ve stumbled onto a marriage unequaled since Luke and Laura’s.

Embellishing a recipe as iconic as corn bread could be a disaster of New Coke magnitude, so when a friend suggested dolling up the recipe with jalapeños and cheddar cheese, I proceeded with caution. I have issues with vegan cheese—it’s often overprocessed, packed with preservatives, and usually gross—but Emily, my office Queen Bee and resident persnickety vegan, suggested Follow Your Heart’s cheddar and made me a convert. I found nary a gluten globule or preservative in sight, and it melted! My mind adequately blown, I got to work in the kitchen, and a new bakery regular emerged. The cheese has the perfect creamy texture to complement the corn bread’s slightly grainy quality, and its sweetness is offset by the heat of the jalapeños. Bring this along to your next barbecue, but be sure to make extra: Those non-vegan eat-everything sorts tend to devour an unfair share.

Some recipes at the bakery were brought forth by inspiration, others by customer demand. The lobbying for corn bread began the very first day of business, with a customer spying an unfrosted vanilla cupcake and ordering “one of those corn muffins.” Rather than fight the will of the people, I dived right into development mode, and after a year of sorry results, finally perfected the recipe. I hope you’ll agree it was well worth the effort.

If you are unfamiliar with johnnycakes, thank me now: Your life is about to change forever. (All you others, pat yourselves on the back and grab a cookie sheet.) Part corn-bread pancake, part biscuit, this New England breakfast staple stepped in to fill the void left when my pancake addiction was cut short by gluten sensitivities. I drown mine in agave nectar, but no matter how you treat them, plan on sharing. You only rarely find these at BabyCakes NYC because they absolutely must be served warm. Although I bake them on a cookie sheet, you can spoon them onto a well-greased griddle for a crisper—though more caloric—cake.

In my more rebellious stages, I wouldn’t have touched a zucchini muffin with a 10-foot spiked-leather glove. But as Black Sabbath tendencies have given way to Doobie Brothers practices, this comforting spiced muffin has become a staple. By adjusting the amount of zucchini, you can alter the loaf’s moisture. For a lighter bread, reduce the zucchini by 1/2 cup. (Before you do, though, keep in mind that this versatile vegetable is rich in potassium, which keeps muscles strong, regulates blood pressure, and mellows anxieties—it’s something we could all do with a little more of.)

To many, ginger is synonymous with either the flabby pink shavings plopped beside a sushi roll or the too-sweet soda you were given on your sickbed. For years, I snubbed the root on those grounds, but after opening the bakery, I quickly found I was in the minority. Here’s the thing you need to remember about baking with ginger: It needs a sidekick, or even two. For me, a subtle peach, baked to sweet surrender, is the ideal complement to ginger’s perfumy heat. For this recipe, corn bread is the naturally sweet and grainy foundation.

I love all things fried, so I had to add a sweet tempura to my dessert menu. The batter comes out of the fryer crisp and full of flavor—a great foil for the sweet and tangy dipping sauce.

I love the texture that shatteringly crisp phyllo—brushed with butter and sprinkled with almond flour—adds to desserts. You can easily manipulate the flavors by using different nut flours or even instant espresso powder or dried coconut between the layers.

I love this cookie for its buttery, fragile tenderness, but I also like to make crumbs from it because they’re such a great texture in a layered dessert (like the Rose Oeufs à la Neige on page 134). The cookies are best served the day they’re baked. I’ve written the recipe so you freeze half the dough and have it waiting for another day.

Pineapple has a balance of sugar and acid that I really like. I wanted to capture that sweet-tart flavor in an upside-down cake, but in a refined one. So I’ve made a batter with cornmeal that gives the cake a great foundation and a terrific crumb.

As I’m a great fan of a true margarita, I thought it would be fun to take the components apart and rearrange them into a dessert. This makes a lot, but leftovers will keep for a month in the freezer. I learned a version of this sponge cake, which is called biscuit mirliton, at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo. I love it for its airy/ cakey texture, which is like no other sponge. Perfumed with citrus zest, it is a great complement to the tangy semifreddo. The key to the sponge is baking just before serving. You’ll need eight to nine 1-ounce aluminum timbale molds for the cake and twenty 2 x 2-inch ring molds for the semifreddo (see Note, page 120).

This pancake recipe dates back to Jean-Georges’s apprenticeship in Alsace. For me, the warm flavor of semolina combines well with the double whammy of pear in this dessert. Cumin brings out the rustic edge of all the ingredients. (See the photograph pages 92–93.)