Oh, there's nothing like a warm slice of persimmon pudding on a crisp fall evening. Looking at this photo, you can see why a lot of folks confuse some puddings with cake. Indeed it has a crumb that's similar to, say, a dense Devil's Food cake. An English-style pudding is more sophisticated than that, though, at least to me. Easy as they are to make, they lend an air of elegance that you don't get from your average mix-and-bake dessert.

Here's how it goes. First combine your baking soda and water in a small bowl.

Add that to a larger bowl along with your persimmon pulp, eggs, vanilla and bourbon (or brandy or rum)...

...and blend.

Combine your flour and spices in a bowl and whisk to combine.

Next put the sugar and butter in the bowl of a mixer...

...and beat until combined and light in color. You can also do this by hand, of course. I'm just addicted to modern machinery.

With the machine on low, add half the persimmon mixture, then half the flour mixture and stir to combine. Scrape the sides of the bowl down. The batter might look a little lumpy and strange at this point. Carry on.

Add the rest of the persimmon mixture followed by the rest of the flour mixture. Continue to stir until the batter becomes smoother and more homogenous. Scrape the bowl and stir about 30 seconds more.

Now add your fruit and walnuts. Yes, I ran out of walnuts and mixed a few pecans in there too. It's been that kind of day.

Gently scoop or pour the batter into your VERY well-buttered pudding mold.

Prepare a pot for the mold. Notice how little water it takes to come halfway up the sides of a pudding mold. This is an 6-quart Dutch oven, and I've filled it to about 1/4 of its capacity.

Affix the lid on the pudding mold and insert it into the pot. Put the lid on the pot and set in on the stove top over medium-high heat. Bring the water to a boil, then reduce to medium-low and simmer for two hours. You'll want to check in every 20 minutes or so to make sure the water isn't boiling off entirely. If the level is getting low, pour a cup or two of hot water back in.

When a sharp knife inserted into the pudding comes out clean, cool the mold on a wire rack for about an hour and a half. It's cool enough when you can comfortably pick the mold up with your bare hands (don't try that for at least an hour). Make your hard sauce while you wait.

When you're ready, pick out a serving platter or plate and place it upside-down over the mold. Then holding both firmly, flip the mold and platter over. If all goes well, you'll shortly hear a light thwump, indicated your pudding has de-panned itself.

Gently remove the mold. Hopefully, you'll be looking at something not unlike this:

If the pudding doesn't turn out when you up-end the mold, first try knocking lightly on the sides of the mold with your knuckles. No luck? Try turning it back over and jiggling and jostling the pudding from side to side to loose it. If it still won't come out, a bamboo skewer inserted down the side can sometimes help loosen a stuck spot. If that still doesn't do it, picking up the upturned mold and dropping it from a hight of about an inch unsticks the stickiest pudding (so long as it's warm). If pieces stay stuck to the mold's interior, gently pry them off and stick them back onto the pudding. Odds are, no one will notice at the table. Those bits will fall off when you cut the pudding, but you can claim you just forgot to get the darn knife sharpened.

Serve each warm piece with a dollop of hard sauce on the side.

Puddings are as much a method as they are a food. Making a pudding requires a vessel specially made for the purpose: a pudding mold (the standard is a 2-quart, which is what this recipe calls for). You'll also need a pot that will contain the mold with the lid on. A deep dutch oven should suffice.

4 ounces unsalted butter
7 ounces (1 cup) sugar
5 ounces (1 cup) all-purpose flour
1 cup persimmon pulp
1 tablespoon bourbon whiskey
2 eggs
2 teaspoons baking soda mixed with 2 teaspoons warm water
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup golden raisins

Combine the eggs, persimmon pulp, bourbon, vanilla and soda mixture a bowl and set aside. In another bowl, whisk together the flour and spices. In the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle beat the butter and sugar until light in color. With the mixer on low, add half the flour, then half the persimmon mixture. Turn off the mixer and scrape the bowl down. Turn the mixer back on and add the remaining flour, then the remaining persimmon mixture. Scrape once again, and with the machine on low, stir in the walnuts and raisins.

Pour the mixture into a well-buttered 2-quart pudding mold and affix the lid. Put the mold in the pot and pour in enough water to come halfway up the sides of the mold. Turn the heat up to medium and bring the water to a simmer. Turn the heat down to medium-low and simmer for 2 hours, until a sharp knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Let the pudding cool (about an hour).

Prepare the hard sauce while the pudding is cooling. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle, beat 4 ounces of soft butter with 6 ounces of powdered sugar until fluffy. Beat in 1 tablespoon of brandy.

When the pudding is cool, unmold it, cut it into slices and serve with dollops of hard sauce on the side.

Having been blogging almost daily for some four years now, I've really gotten to know my readership. When I put up my Kentucky Knish post last Friday, I had every expectation that I'd be getting a lot of grief for it. Sure enough, within minutes the first complaints came trickling in. "Too flat", "too French","too fluffy", "too fancy", "on the line between knish and calzone", "not Jewish enough", and perhaps my favorite so far: "borderline racist." I was prepared for all that, so those shots just bounced off me like so many howitzer rounds off of Megalon, the giant subterranean insect terror. One email, however, managed to penetrate my meters-thick exoskeleton and strike tender flesh. It was this from reader Paula:

These travesties show very clearly that you have never made a real knish, nor have slightest concept about what a real knish is about.

Madam, I'll have you know that I did my baking training on Chicago's North Shore. So out of the way, please, baker coming through. I need to use the hand sink.

Using the standard knish dough recipe below, whisk together your dry ingredients.

Then make a well in the center and add your beaten egg...

...followed by the wet ingredients.

Bring the dough together with a spatula...

...then knead it lightly into a ball. It will be somewhat oily feeling. That's what you want. Let the dough rest and hydrate for an hour. It may weep a little bit of oil as it sits. That's perfectly OK.

Meanwhile make your filling. Here I've got three medium red potatoes (cooked), about half a cup of deeply caramelized yellow onions (one onion diced finely, cooked gently in two tablespoons of vegetable oil over low heat for a little over an hour), about a two-ounce blob of goat cheese (OK, not traditional), and a teaspoon of salt.

Mashed. This isn't nearly enough filling for this amount of dough, but it's a good "for-instance." Knishes are great stuffed with just about any leftovers you have in the fridge.

When you're ready to shape your knishes, generously flour a dough board. Pull off a piece of dough from the ball and start rolling. You'll find that as long as you use enough flour, it's a very flexible and forgiving dough that rolls out easily. Roll it out as thin as you can without the dough tearing. The precise shape of your sheet isn't important. A rough rectangle is just fine.

When the dough is nice and thin, apply a long mound of filling to the bottom edge. I'm making rather small knishes, so my filling mound is small. For bigger knishes, well, you know what to do.

Then — and you can probably see where this is going — enclose the filling to form a long roll.

Roll the dough up in the sheet, but not terribly tightly. Knishes tend to want to break open in the oven. A little slack will help prevent this. Since this dough sheet is very thin, I keep rolling until the tube has about two layers on it. Some people really go nuts in this step and roll their dough out even thinner so as to give the tube four or five flaky layers. Me, I'm happy with two. Some like a thicker crust in just one layer. It's really up to you.

When you've got as much crust on your knishes as you like, use a pizza cutter to trim off the excess. Add the scraps back to the dough ball for re-rolling.

Trim the excess, if there is much, from the ends.

Now to shape the actual knishes. This is very like making sausage. You want to pinch off about a three or four-inch length.

Give it a twist.

Then using your pizza cutter, cut it off.

The result is indeed like a small sausage. Pinch the ends shut to enclose the filling.

Turn the knish end-up on the pastry board...

...and with your palm push it down to form a squat cylinder.

Poke the top down with your finger to keep the center from crowning in the oven.

Lay the knishes out on sheet pans — these don't need any proofing — and either bake, refrigerate (up to three days) or freeze (up to three months).

When ready to bake, paint with egg wash...

...and bake 30-40 minutes at 350 Fahrenheit until the crusts are golden brown.

No concept of a knish. Indeed.

One of the nice things about this dough is how easy it is to prepare and store. You just mix it up, let it sit for an hour, and it's ready to use. Or, you can refrigerate it until you're ready to use it, up to several days.

11 ounces all-purpose (AP) flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1/2 cup vegetable oil (very soft rendered chicken fat [schmalz], if you can find it, is even better)
1 tsp vinegar
1/2 cup lukewarm water

Whisk together your dry ingredients, beat the egg in a small bowl, and combine the vegetable oil, vinegar and water in a separate bowl or measure. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in the beaten egg and the wet ingredients. Bring the dough together with a spatula, then knead lightly into a ball. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the dough sit for an hour at room temperature to relax and hydrate.

As I've been saying, I don't make "authentic" knishes most of the time (I think I've cast reasonable doubt as to whether such a thing even exists). My little ones turn their noses up at traditional pocket pie crusts. I don't know if it's the color, the texture or what. Who can fathom the depths of a toddler's tastes? However they love brioche. And while brioche isn't as easy as a simple stir-and-roll pie dough, it tastes a lot better. It's also a very handy thing to have in your baking repertoire. There's a tutorial for it under Pastry Components.

Begin by generously flouring a pastry board.

Apply a lump of brioche dough, straight from the fridge (about half of your standard recipe)...

...and rolling it out very thin, about 1/8 inch

Apply a round cutter to the dough. Here I'm using a 3 5/8" ring, but you can go bigger if you like a bigger knish.

Apply a heaping tablespoon of your choice of filling. To go traditional, combine about two cups of cooked red potato with half a cup of finely chopped caramelized onions. Salt and pepper to taste. (Take it uptown by stirring in a couple of ounces of goat cheese.)

If meat is your thing, you can go that way, too. Sauté one small chopped yellow onion in a tablespoon of butter. Add half a pound of ground beef, lamb or — steady purists — pork. When the meat is fully cooked, drain off the fat. Lastly, add about a cup of diced potato that you've sautéed in butter until browned. Cool.

As I mentioned previously, my girls love country ham and cheese, which I guess makes this a true Kentucky knish.

However you decide fill them, apply another circle of dough to the top.

Press the edges down lightly to get the air out.

You can skip this next step if you like, though I find it useful for keeping the filling from spreading and/or leaking. Take a circle cutter just big enough to encircle the dough, turn it so the lip is facing down...

..and lightly press to seal the filling in.

Fold the edges in and press to crimp. I don't worry about form too much...

...because I flip them when I put them on the baking sheet. This gives me a smooth top without a seam.

Proof these for half an hour while you preheat your oven to 350. Apply egg wash and bake for 25-30 minutes until golden.

So at long last we get around to the Opera cake tutorial I've been meaning to put up for a week. What can I say, I'm easily distracted by food science. And chocolate, well, it's terribly interesting stuff. You'll thank me for all those posts later, I promise you.

So then, Opera cake. If at all possible, I suggest that you make up all your various components on one day, then build the cake the next. Because let's face it, it's easy to get worn out over the course of a lengthy baking or cooking project. Enthusiasm wanes with time and impatience sets in, and that opens the door to potentially catastrophic mistakes. Separating the stirring and baking phase from the building phase not only gives you a breather, it makes the assembly a whole lot more pleasurable. All the components including the joconde will keep just fine at room temperature overnight.

Begin by trimming the edges off your two joconde sheets. Once that's done, measure them and cut them in half. The exact dimensions are less important than making sure they're all the same size. You want four layers, which is traditional for an Opera cake. You want the "up" side of the joconde layers (when they were finished baking) to remain their "up" side, as they're more porous and will more easily absorb the syrup.

Job one is to apply a thin scraping of melted chocolate to the underside of the bottom layer. Remove it to a separate sheet of parchment, flip it over and spread the good stuff on. Let it firm for a few minutes, then place it in the refrigerator for a few more. What will this do? Besides adding still more deliciousness, it will ensure that the cake doesn't stick to the cake board when it's time to slice and serve. (This is an excellent, consequence-free opportunity to practice your tempering, should you be so inclined).

Flip it over onto your cake plate or cake board (here again I'm going traditional and using a decorated board).

Gently peel the parchment back, center it on the board and you're ready to go.

First thing, apply coffee syrup to your layer, and don't be shy about it. I know what I've said about cake syrup in the past: it's overused. However in this context you really want to go hog wild. Thoroughly soaking the layer will give the cake the melt-in-the-mouth texture that Opera cakes in Paris are known for. Pastry chef Camille, who works in a Paris pâtisserie and makes these cakes regularly, tells me the layers should be soaked until they're brown all the way through. So no genteel paintings of syrup. Go Jackson Pollock on the sucker.

And now for your first layer of buttercream. Take your time, and pay special attention to the edges. As with all icing and/or topping jobs, the tendency will be to pile all the good stuff up in the middle. Spread the buttercream slowly and deliberately, eyeballing it from all sides to get it as even as you can. You want it about a quarter inch thick.

Apply your next layer of cake.

Soak it.

Now it's time for your middle layer of ganache. Oh yeah. Spread it thinner than the buttercream. Just a covering will do.

Apply the next layer of joconde.

Do I need to tell you what to do?

Another quarter-inch layer of coffee buttercream. Again, check for evenness all the way around as you apply it.

Then the top layer of cake. Edges getting a little sloppy? Don't worry, you'll trim those off later. Check again for evenness. If you have any obviously high spots, it's OK to press them down a little with your palm at this point.

Soak, soak, soak.

And now for the top. Here you want just a thin scraping of buttercream, mostly to fill in any pits so the tempered chocolate top will lay on smoothy. Now's a good time for a beer break, if you were wondering.

Prepare your tempered chocolate according to the tutorial. Or, if you just want to melt some bittersweet chocolate and put it on, that's fine too (if you've gotten this far, you've already done one heck of a job). Spread it on promptly and thinly

Let the chocolate firm at room temperature for about ten minutes. Then, using a knife you've heated under hot tap water (then dried) slice off the edges to reveal the layers. (Keep and hide those trimmings, kids. The pastry chef deserves a secret, greedy coffee break sometime in the next day or two).

Looks pretty good. Maybe not an Opera cake for the ages, but pretty darn decent.

Once that's done it's time to score the top so it doesn't shatter later when you want to cut it. Again, heat a long knife under hot tap water, dry it, and do your business.

Pieces can be any size you like. Here I'm dividing the cake into eight. As rich as this cake is, these pieces are huge. Ten would have been better, but oh well.

Now's the time to put your Opera cake in the refrigerator while you nip on down to the corner store for a little edible 23-karat gold.

What.

Edible gold. You get it at the Quick Mart. Second shelf on the right next to the oatmeal. What sort of neighborhood do you live in? I'll admit it's tricky stuff to handle. You don't want to touch it with your fingers, since it'll stick and disintegrate when you try to peel it off. I use two x-acto knives as implements to cut and steady it, then just transfer pieces — of whatever shape — over to the cake. Not very elegant, but gold makes a statement whatever shape it's in.

Your Opera cake can now be refrigerated for a day or two if need be. Opera cake is best slightly chilled. Ideally not refrigerator-cold, maybe an hour or so out of the fridge. When you're ready to serve, separate the pieces (again with a warm knife) and transfer to plates. Ah yes, the chocolate-on-the-bottom trick worked splendidly, did it not?

Thanks to Camille Malmquist for all the great advice, and to a very generous benefactor for the precious metal — and a terrific suggestion!

This will require 6 ounces of a good Euro-style bittersweet chocolate (like Callebaut or Ghiradelli) and one ounce of clarified butter.

Tempering chocolate isn't terribly difficult, but it does require precise control of temperature. You'll need a digital thermometer, they're less than $20 at most kitchen supply stores. If you don't want to go to the trouble of a tempered finish, you can just spread melted chocolate over the top of your cake. It'll firm up just fine, though it won't have the sheen or the snap of tempered chocolate.

Put the chocolate into a glass or crockery bowl. Melt in the microwave in the same way you'd melt chocolate for a ganache, zapping it on high for bursts of 10 seconds or so. Meanwhile, prepare two bowls of water that the chocolate bowl will fit into comfortably. Fill one with ice water, and one with hot water.

When the chocolate mixture is finished melting it will likely be over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Leaving the thermometer in the chocolate, dip the bowl of chocolate into the bowl of ice water and stir until the temperature comes down to between 80 and 84 degrees (it will start to firm). Immediately put the chocolate into the hot water bowl and bring it back up to right about 89 degrees.

Remove the chocolate bowl from the hot water and immediately stir in the clarified butter. Promptly spread a thin layer of chocolate over your cake with an icing spatula and allow it to set.

All of the buttercream recipes I have up on the site can accommodate flavorings of various kinds. Since Opera cake is a French invention, it only seems appropriate to start with a French-style buttercream. To make a coffee-flavored buttercream, prepare a mixture of two tablespoons of instant coffee or instant espresso powder dissolved in two teaspoons of boiling water. Allow it to cool, then make a recipe of French buttercream according to the instructions in the How to Make Buttercream posts. Beat the coffee mixture into the finished buttercream along with one teaspoon of vanilla extract. This recipe will make more than enough buttercream for the opera cake I'll be making.

A standard ganache is a 50-50 combination of bittersweet chocolate and heavy cream (or crème fraîche) by weight. This one is slightly firmer, calling for 10 ounces of bittersweet chocolate and 8 ounces of cream. You may feel free to swap out an ounce of rum or Grand Marnier for an equal amount of cream...if you're feeling saucy. Prepare as shown under the How to Make Ganache tutorial under the Pastry Components menu to the right.

This is just standard cake syrup but with a little zing. Remember that cake syrup is made by combining water and sugar 2-1 by volume and then heating it until the sugar dissolves. To make coffee cake syrup combine 1 cup of water with half a cup of sugar and add about three tablespoons of instant coffee or instant espresso powder. Bring the mixture to a simmer and...done! Cool and store in the refrigerator until needed. It'll keep well for a week or more.

And if they happen to be filled with jam, so much the better! Homemade yeast doughnuts are so light they practically float on air, which makes it possible for me to inhale about half a dozen on a good day. Don't try that at home, kids. I'm a professional.

Good yeast doughnuts start with a sponge, made the day before and rested overnight for flavor development. On doughnut-making day, this is what your sponge should look like:

Combine that with all other ingredients save for the butter and mix for 10 minutes, scraping every three minutes or so, until a very sticky dough forms, about like so:

Now add the butter about a tablespoon at a time as the mixer runs. Scrape every so often to make sure all the butter is incorporated.

Nice thumb, moron! Put the dough into a greased bowl...

...and let rise about an hour, until doubled. About like so:

Transfer the dough to a board that's been lightly dusted with flour...

...and pat it into a rectangle.

Transfer the rectangle to a towel-lined sheet pan and put it into the refrigerator to chill for 30 minutes. I should add that the dough can be held at this point for up to three days if you wish. Just cover it with plastic so it doesn't dry out.

When ready, roll your dough out into a 1/4" sheet.

Using a 3 1/2" cutter, cut the dough into rounds, wadding up the scraps and re-rolling until all the dough is used. You should have 12-14 rounds. If you're making regular ring-shaped doughnuts, use a smaller cutter to punch out the holes.

Lay the rounds back onto the towel-lined sheet pan...

...and cover with greased plastic wrap.

Proof for about an hour until the rounds are puffy, but not overly so, about like this:

Fry them in 375-degree oil for about 45 seconds on a side. While they're still warm, roll them in extra fine sugar to coat.

And fill them with the jam of your choice by squirting about two teaspoons into them with a pastry bag fitted with a Bismarck (#230) tip. Don't get carried away with this step. A little jam goes a good long way. Squeeze until you can feel the doughnut get slightly heavier, then stop.

These are amazing eaten warm, but will keep just fine in a box at room temperature for up to 24 hours.

I do love a good yeast-raised doughnut, and in fact in most ways, they're easier to make than their cake-style counterparts. True, they require some advance planning, but they're aren't as fussy in the oil, or as sensitive to ambient temperatures. The best part is, they're amazingly light, much more so than a store-bought version. Try them once and you'll be making them every weekend.

The Ingredients

For the sponge:

4.2 ounces all-purpose flour
0.5 teaspoons instant yeast
3.5 ounces lukewarm water
1 large egg

For the doughnuts:

5.8 ounces all-purpose flour
2.5 teaspoons instant yeast
0.6 ounces dry milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
0.5 ounces sugar
1 large egg, cold
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 ounces butter at room temperature

Canola oil for frying
Extra fine sugar for rolling (for jelly doughnuts)
Raspberry or other fruit jam for filling (for jelly doughnuts)

The Procedure

Combine the sponge ingredients in a small bowl and stir them with a fork until smooth. Let the sponge ferment for half an hour at room temperature, then refrigerate overnight.

The next day, put the sponge in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook. Add all the remaining ingredients except the butter. Knead it for 10 minutes on medium speed, scraping down as needed. After 10 minutes, start adding the butter a tablespoon at a time, kneading until each is well incorporated.

Put the dough into a lightly oiled bowl, cover it with plastic wrap, and leave it in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour. Remove the dough to a lightly floured surface and shape it into a rough rectangle. Put it on a towel-lined baking sheet and refrigerate until chilled, about 30 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough out to a thickness of 3/8 inches. Using a 3 1/2-inch circular cookie cutter, cut out the doughnuts, re-rolling the scraps until the dough is completely used. If making jelly doughnuts, leave the dough circles intact. Otherwise, use a small 3/4" circular cutter to punch out holes in the center. Return the doughnuts to the towel-lined baking sheet, covered with a sheet of lightly oiled plastic wrap. Let them rise until puffy, about an hour.

Fry in 375-degree oil for roughly 45 seconds per side. Drain on a wire rack. Ice and decorate as desired.

For jelly doughnuts, roll the fried rounds in superfine sugar while the doughnuts are still warm. Attach a pastry tip (ideally a #230 Bismark tip, but just about any good-size tip will do) to the corner of quart-sized zip-lock bag and fill with about a cup of jam. Using a cake tester, gently poke a hole in the side (or bottom) of each doughnut. Fill with about 1 1/2 tablespoons of jam. Eat!

Makes 12-14 doughnuts.

Thought it might be fun to end my Week O' Waffles with a demonstration of how waffles have been made since just about forever. As it happens, cooking irons of the kind that have been used since classical times are still being made. Check it out:

Twenty bucks at any camping outfitter (if there's a Bass Pro Shop anywhere near you, go there, if only for the fish tanks). This works in almost exactly the same way as the modern appliance. You start out by unhooking the hinge — very easy — and getting both sides hot. Not glowing, mind you, but about five minutes' hot on the edge of your fire (here I'm using my brick oven).

Apply lubrication to both pieces of your (hopefully) well-seasoned waffle iron...

...add a scoop of batter (about 3/4 cup).

Slip the hinge back together, close the iron, and put the whole thing back by your fire.

Within about two minutes you'll see (and feel) some expansion, a good sign that things are progressing smoothly.

Cook on the same side for about a minute more, then flip the device over and cook another three minutes or so. Begin checking for browning and doneness. Remove the finished waffle carefully from the iron. Eat!

Hang on, are those chicken livers? Maple-glazed chicken livers, yes. I chose to present waffles this way to underscore the point that — in the immortal words of Ms. Jane Russell — they're not just for breakfast anymore. Waffles work in a whole range of contexts, just ask any southerner. From fried chicken to turkey hash to sautéed vegetables, folks in the South will put just about anything on a waffle. And I heartily approve.

Making waffles is a very simple wet team/dry team affair, regardless of the style you're making. True, some people like to employ whipped egg whites, though I find many of those preparations on the dry side. Start by putting all your dry ingredients in one bowl...

...and your wet ingredients in another bowl or vessel.

Whisk both mixtures to combine...

...then add one to the other.

Whisk lightly until the mixture is mostly homogenous, though some lumps are OK, even preferred (just as with pancakes, you don't want to overwork the batter).

Let the batter rest while you heat up your waffle iron (unless you're making sourdough waffles, in which case you want to start using it right away). Depending on how well-used your iron is, you may need to apply a little cooking spray to it (both top and bottom). This one is an old-school model, you can tell by the small gauge of the squares (almost all waffle irons sold today are built for big Belgian waffles). It has about fifty years of seasoning on its cooking surface, and I consider it a treasure.

Depending on the make and model, you want to apply anywhere from half a cup to one and a half cups of batter to the center.

Close the top and cook for 4-6 minutes, or until the waffle is a delectable golden brown. Eat immediately. If you're making a large batch, you can keep them on the rack of an oven set to 200. Even so, the quicker these lovely golden cakes are consumed, the better.

Oh, and for those of you out there who might be interested in maple-glazing your chicken livers, achieve that by applying a tablespoon of oil to a sautée pan set over high heat. Toss the livers for about two minutes, until the outsides are well-browned but the insides still pink. Transfer the livers onto a plate and turn the heat down to medium-high. Add a little more oil to the pan, plus one thin-sliced shallot. After about a minute, deglaze the pan with a tablespoon or two of white wine vinegar and cook until it has almost completely evaporated. Add half a cup of a sweet dessert white wine like a Sauternes, muscat or late harvest Riesling, plus 2-3 tablespoons of maple syrup. Reduce the sauce until thick and return the livers to the pan. Toss, arrange on fresh waffles and serve immediately with an off-dry white wine.

I use my bread starter pretty much whenever I get the chance. This is another excellent application should you have a starter brewing away somewhere in the back of your fridge. The night before you want to make waffles, mix together:

1/2 cup starter
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 cup buttermilk

...and let it sit out all night. By morning the starter will have doubled and fallen, and be rather strong tasting (if you like your waffles a bit more mild, make the starter the evening before and let it sit for about four hours (or until doubled), then refrigerate overnight. When you're ready to make waffles, beat together:

1 egg
2 tablespoons melted butter (or vegetable oil, especially if the starter has been chilled)

...and add the mixture to the starter. Get your waffle iron preheating, and when it's good and hot, stir into the batter a mixture of:

1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking soda

A few seconds after you add the soda, the batter will turn thick and foamy. Spray nonstick spray onto the waffle iron (if needed) and ladle batter in. Cook until golden!

Here's a recipe that doesn't call for either beaten egg whites or butter, but these are nonetheless extremely light and flavorful waffles. For an interesting twist, substitute 1 1/2 tablespoons of malt powder for the 2 teaspoons of sugar.

3/4 cup (3.75 oz.) all-purpose flour + 1/4 cup (1 oz.) cornstarch OR 1 cup (4 oz.) cake flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup "whole" buttermilk
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 egg
2 teaspoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine wet ingredients in one bowl and dry ingredients in another and whisk each bowl so the ingredients are combined. Fold the dry ingredients into the wet, then latter the batter stand for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat your waffle iron. When the batter is ready, ladle it onto the waffle iron and griddle until golden.

My, I've put up a lot of pictures this week, haven't I? Normally my keyboard runneth over. This week though, I've posted about five separate tutorials on everything from poaching pears to frangipane to crust rolling and pre-baking. It's taken quite a while to get here, in other words — so let's bake us a tart!

I should say that in the best of all possible worlds, the crust of this tart wouldn't have gotten so dark. It turns out I inadvertently broke the cardinal rule of tart baking: protect the crust! I'll tell you exactly how that happened as we move along.

To assemble your pear tart, have your canned or poached pears ready and waiting, along with a sharp knife and a cutting board. Have the oven pre-heated to 350 degrees. Begin by laying down about a 1/4-inch layer of frangipane on your pre-baked crust.

Now for the pears. Place one of the halves cut-side down on a cutting board, a good, sharp knife at the ready.

Slowly and carefully, slice the pear cross-wise into roughly 1/8-inch slices.

Without moving the pear — but instead by moving the cutting board — rotate the fruit to a convenient angle, place your hand gently over the slices to steady them, and slip the knife underneath the whole lot:

Then gently lay your index finger down onto the slices so that they splay forward slightly...

...and slip the pear into place on the frangipane. Easy!

Arrange them like so, being sure to lay your smallest pear (or one with some of the end slices removed) smack in the center. What happens if you don't put a pear in the very middle? A thick blob of frangipane will collect there, one which will almost certainly remain underbaked and watery. Blech. Take my advice on this, you won't be sorry.

But wait, Joe! There are only seven pear halves on that tart! Doesn't your poached pear recipe make eight? Yes, Ms. Observant, you're right about that. However I'm an uptight personality and I like symmetry. Also, sneaking downstairs to enjoy a cold poached pear half in the middle of the night is one of the few private pleasures that I, a married guy with two small kids, have left. Get off my back!

Put the tart in the oven and set the timer for 25 minutes. Now, about that mistake I mentioned. The thing I did wrong in assembling this tart was to forget, since I made all my components at least a day ahead of time, they were all refrigerator-cold. That caused the pears and frangipane to bake up more slowly that I expected, giving the crust more time to bake...actually over-bake. Solve the problem by either making your tart all in one day, or letting all your components come to room temperature before baking.

Now, to make the glaze. Some people glaze their tarts with strained apple or apricot preserves. The way I see it, though, you've got a quart or so of perfectly good poaching liquid there, why not put it to use? Start by straining a cup of it into a small saucepan and setting it over medium-high heat. You want to reduce it down to about a quarter cup.

Meantime, put about a tablespoon of the liquid in a small bowl and add a teaspoon of cornstarch (corn flour).

Stir it up with a fork.

When the liquid in the saucepan has reduced, add the starch slurry, stir it in and return the pan to the heat.

Bring it to a rolling boil for only fifteen or twenty seconds, and it will be nice and thick...

...almost jam-like.

When the tart is finished (it should take about half an hour to get the frangipane nice and brown), let it cool for about another half an hour, then paint the glaze over the pears. Let the tart cool completely (about two hours) before serving.

Ah yes, the lovely look of a nice slice of pear tart. Elegant yet rustic at the same time. Just my cup of tea.

Oh, is there anything better than fresh, warm cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream? I'd be hard pressed to think of it right now. This cobbler can be made with just about any sort of fresh, frozen or re-hydrated fruit. Begin by preheating your oven to 375. Next combine about six cups of fruit with the remaining filling ingredients, and pour into a pie plate (it will form a mound, but don't worry, it will cook down). Put the pie plate on a cookie sheet, and place in the oven.

Next combine the dry ingredients for the biscuit topping in a large bowl. Stir to combine, then add the fat (here I've combined butter and lard, which I highly recommend).

Rub the mixture until it's the texture of coarse meal.

After about 40 minutes, the fruit filling should be cooked and bubbling around the edges. Remove it from then oven and turn the heat up to 425.

Now, quickly make the biscuit topping. Pour the buttermilk into the dry mix...

...and with a spatula, bring it together.

After about 30 seconds, you may want to knead it with your hand a little (though I'll warn you, the dough is very sticky).

Pull off pieces of the dough, drop them onto the fruit filling and sprinkle them with sugar. Bake for about 15 minutes...

...or until the topping is nicely browned.

Let cool for 15 minutes, spoon into bowls, and eat with vanilla ice cream.

Cobbler has come to be synonymous with a too-sweet top crust over a too-sweet filling. The result is, er...you know. This recipe sweetens both of the key elements only slightly, so as to let the taste of the fruit shine through.

For the biscuit topping:

6 ounces (a generous cup) all-purpose flour
1 1/2 ounces (scant 1/4 cup) sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 ounces butter (or 1 ounce each butter and lard), cold
1/2 cup lukewarm buttermilk

For the filling:

30 ounces (about 6 cups) blueberries
3 ounces (scant 1/2 cup) sugar
grated zest of 1 1emon
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 tablespoon cornstarch
pinch cinnamon
pinch salt

Preheat your oven to 375. Combine all the ingredients for the filling and pour into a pie plate (it will form a mound in the plate, but don't worry, it will cook down). Put the pan on a cookie sheet and put the sheet into the oven. Bake for about 35-40 minutes, until the filling is bubbling and thickened.

Meanwhile, prepare the biscuit topping. Combine the flour, sugar, leavening and salt, then rub in the fat until the texture resembles coarse meal. Measure out the buttermilk and have it ready.

When the fruit is ready, take it out of the oven and turn the oven up to 425. Combine the buttermilk with the biscuit mix, and with a spatula, bring the ingredients together gently into a dough. Tear the dough into eight pieces, and place on top of the hot filling. Sprinkle the biscuits with sugar and put the pan into the oven. Bake for 15=20 minutes, until the biscuit topping is browned. Let rest about twenty minutes and serve with vanilla ice cream.

This is a very American scone. It's big, it's triangular, it's rich. Note, however, that it's possible to do a lot of different things with this dough. I generally favor small scones, and indeed I normally make 12 little triangles with this recipe instead of eight large ones. You can use round cutters if you wish, cut them square, whatever you want! Start by combining your dry ingredients in a mixer bowl...

Stir on low to combine them, then add the butter and lemon zest.

Continue to stir on medium until you have a coarse, meal-like consistency. You can also do this by hand if you wish!

Add the ginger and stir it in.

Then make a well in the middle of the mixture and pour in the lightly whipped cream (yes, all you eagle-eyes, I did mix up my steps a little here...just do as I say, not as I do!).

Fold everything together until a dough starts to form...

...and knead it lightly a few times by hand to bring it into a ball.

Pat the ball into one big disk if you're making large scones, or divide the dough and make two disks if you want smaller ones.

Cut the disk into eight pieces (or cut the small disks into six pieces each if making smaller ones). This is where the American scone-making process diverges somewhat from classic methods. The Scots, for example, often eat triangular scones, but they cut their dough disk ("bannock" as it's sometimes referred to) after they bake it.

Arrange the wedges on a parchment-lined baking sheet and paint with additional cream. Bake at 400 for 14 - 18 minutes.