Food Processor

Four ingredients and a quarter of an hour are all that's required to turn out the ultimate pastry dough.

Here, the sunny warmth of mint escapes the sweet-jelly cliché to find new expression in the thick Argentinean herb sauce called chimichurri. Its bright acidity cuts the lush richness of lamb shoulder chops.

Tomatoey green beans and potatoes are completely at home next to smothered pork chops with mushrooms . If there are any leftovers, serve them topped with fried eggs and crumbled feta for a fuss-free vegetarian dinner.

Combining bittersweet chocolate and cocoa powder intensifies the chocolaty essence of this cheesecake to the nth degree. Silken tofu brings a delicate creaminess to the filling while also taking the place of eggs by acting as a binding agent.

For a long time it seemed to me that there was more than a superficial resemblance between the white Indian cheese called paneer and tofu. When I finally made the classic Indian dish of spinach and paneer using tofu, it tasted amazingly at home in the cumin, ginger, and chile-laced sauce. There's a little going back and forth between the skillet and a food processor, but this is an easy dish to make. I serve it over rice with a sprinkling of toasted black sesame seeds.

Serve with pita toasts or crackers, or smear it on grilled chicken breast or tuna steaks for a main course.

A jumble of fruit and nuts cascading over tender frangipane creates quite a picture, and there is flavor to match. Although frangipane sounds fancy, it's a breeze to whiz up in a food processor—simply grind the almonds and sugar, then add the flour, butter, and eggs. The oven's heat concentrates the grapes' sweetness and perfume, and dusting the hot tart with confectioners sugar bestows a subtle shine.

A rich filling is studded with walnuts and imbued with citrusy notes of orange, then packaged between a crust and a lattice top, both made from the cookie-like pastry dough known as pasta frolla in Italy.

Have you ever visited the marketplace of Jerusalem and noticed small wooden imprinted molds with handles? To be sure, the merchant is hard put to explain their significance. They are ma'amoul molds. Ma'amoul means "filled" in Arabic, and these molds make filled cookies eaten by Jews and Arabs throughout the Middle East, especially in Syria, Lebanon, and Egypt. A piece of short-pastry dough the size of a walnut is pressed into the crevices of the ma'amoul mold. A tablespoon of date or nut filling is inserted, and you close the pastry with your fingers. Holding the handle of the wooden mold, you slam it on the table, letting the enclosed dough fall out. On the top of the cookie is a lovely design. After baking and rolling in confectioners' sugar, the design stands out even more. Of course, the ma'amoul mold is not necessary to the preparation of these sweets, though it certainly adds to their beauty. The tines of a fork, tweezers with a serrated edge, or a tool of your own devising will do quite well. The following ma'amoul recipe came from Aleppo to the Syrian Jewish community on Ocean Parkway, Brooklyn. These cookies are served at Purim. A similar cookie, called karabij here (nataife in Syria), topped with marshmallow fluff, is also served at Purim. Arasibajweh—rolled cookies from the same dough and stuffed with dates—are served at the New Year or Hanukkah.

There is something to be said for a big, sunny slice of lemon custard pie—and that is, "Oh, boy." Neither too sweet nor too sharp, particularly when served with plenty of freshly whipped cream, it provides a festive-yet-undecorated counterpoint to fancier desserts. The graham cracker crust, like the pie itself, is the embodiment of simplicity. It's also terrifically pantry-friendly.

Here triangles of tofu are panfried, simmered briefly in half the nut butter sauce, and garnished with slivered scallion and sesame seeds. The rest of the sauce can be spooned over brown rice, noodles, or whatever you choose as an accompaniment. If possible, present the tofu in the pan that it's cooked in.

It's easy to understand why apple crumble pie (sometimes called French apple pie in diners and old cookbooks) is so immensely popular: It packs all the flavor and fragrance of a traditional apple pie underneath a carapace of nutty, buttery, cinnamony crumbs. Adding cranberries to the filling evokes a familiar fall color and provides pleasant tartness to balance the sweetness.

This is one of our family's cherished holiday dishes, a creamy, garlicky appetizer spread, full of flavor, that we enjoy on everything—good crusty bread, grilled bread, carckers, crostini, bread sticks, carrot sticks, celery sticks, even spaghetti, gnocchi, risotto. It is good as an hors d'oeuvre, an appetizer, or a main course, and great for parties. It brings lots of complex flavor to anything that it is spread on. Baccalà mantecato is important to our family, though, for more than its addictive savor. It is a link to Istria, my native region, where the imminent arrival of Christmas at our house (and everyone else's) was scented by the unmistakable vapors of dried codfish, cooking for hours and hours. These were not fish from our local waters, but a delicacy from Northern Europe, a fish that was brought in to be bartered and exchanged for olive oil and good Mediterranean wine, carefully selected and dearly bought. But despite the expense, or the time and labor in its preparation, baccalà mantecato was the mark of a good cook in Istria, and many would stop in at a particular house not just for the hoilday greetings but also for a taste of the baccalà. In our household, my father was the chief cook of baccalà mantecato—it was his one culinary triumph—and that makes it all the more special to me. Though he has been gone for many years, his masterful touch with this dish remains with me and inspires me; every time I make it now, I remember him, with every bite.

One of our most popular appetizers, bluefish pâté has been on the menu for many years. We serve it with Kalamata olives and commercial pickled cipollinis (bulbs of grape hyacinths that taste like pickled onions). Pickled onions are a fine substitute.

Over the years, we have probably sold more of this dish than any other item on the Bayona menu. And it all started when I stole the idea for the black bean cakes from my friend Bruce Auden, who at the time was chef at Charlie’s 517 in Houston. (He’s now chef and owner of Biga on the Banks in San Antonio.) I have no idea what his original recipe was, but the idea of black beans (which I love) in the crispy-on-the-outside-creamy-on-the-inside package was just too good to resist! I adapted a Cuban black bean recipe, added some grilled shrimp and a double-coriander sauce (using both the seeds and leaves). I’m guessing I’ve served over 150,000 of these babies in the last twenty years. This dish will come together much more quickly if you prepare the black bean cakes the night or morning before you plan to serve them.

Prepared mustard is about as underappreciated as a staple could be. After all, it’s fat-free, low in calories, and high in flavor. Despite these assets, its main role in most households is as a condiment for meat and, perhaps, as an occasional ingredient in vinaigrette. In this chicken dish, however—essentially broiled chicken smeared with a spicy mustard paste—it plays a leading role. You can make this dish with chicken breasts if you prefer, but I recommend starting with bone-in breasts and following the same procedure. If you want to use skinless, boneless breasts (forget about crispness), smear the meat all over with the mustard mixture, then broil for just about six minutes, turning two or three times to prevent burning.