Corny.

Corn is ubiquitous in Latin American cuisine. It’s used in every conceivable fashion, from the instantly recognizable tortilla to more obscure fermented beverages.  Torta de elotes—corn torte or cake—is on the more popular side and is made in several countries. It’s rather similar to corn pudding: fresh corn is ground to a pulp, then combined with eggs, sugar, and other flavorings, such as sweetened condensed milk or cheese (I’ll be sure to make a sweetened condensed milk version soon).

I’ve tasted tortas of different nationalities, but the one I like most is the one my grandmother’s housekeeper, doña María used to make. My dad has nine siblings; when they were growing up they’d all sit around a massive round dining table three times a day. In addition to the ten kids, my grandparents played hosts to relatives and friends, so meals there were of massive proportions. Much of the serveware and cooking equipment used to prepare these huge meals remains in my grandmother’s kitchen—I think there’s a witch’s cauldron back there to make vats of soup—so even when there are only a handful of people around for meals, you can expect enough food to feed a cavalry unit, horses included.

Doña María used to make her torta de elotes in a large, deep, rectangular baking dish, which I suspect was actually a medium-sized roasting pan. It was thick and dense; an edible corn brick that tasted of earthy white corn and pungent cheese. She wasn’t one to jot down recipes, though, so my recipe is fashioned from memory. The first batch I made was much too sweet, not because of the sugar, but because of the golden, juicy corn that’s available at my local supermarket.The corn I’m accustomed to is much more pale, almost white, with kernels that are starchy and nearly dry. To give that particular corn flavor presence in this recipe, I used used canned hominy (dried corn kernels that have been treated with alakali to denude the kernels) and added fresh yellow corn for balance. That first bite brought me right back to doña María’s kitchen.

TORTA DE ELOTES (Nicaraguan Corn Torte)

Notes: This recipe can be halved. If doing so, bake  it in an 8- by 8-inch dish.
- Queso duro (literally, “hard cheese”) is a firm, crumbly, salty, cow’s milk cheese eaten in several Latin American countries. Variations exist from country to country, but the overall characteristics are the same. This cheese can be found in the specialty cheese section of most supermarkets. Should you not be able to find queso duro, substitute haloumi, a Cypriot cheese made with goat’s and/or sheep’s milk.
- I love the sweet and tangy flavor of Latin American crema, but crème fraîche or sour cream are acceptable substitutions.

Active time: 20 minutes
Total time: 2 hours, 20 minutes

Equipment: 13- by 9-inch baking dish, food processor, cooling rack

Baking spray
8 ears fresh corn, husks and silk removed
2 (29-ounce) cans hominy, drained
2/3 cup crema or sour cream (See Notes)
8 ounces queso duro or haloumi, finely grated (See Notes)
½ cup sugar
4 large eggs, beaten
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Spray 13- by 9-inch baking dish with baking spray.

Cut each cob in half crosswise. Stand the cob upright, resting the cut end on a cutting board, pie plate, or large shallow mixing bowl. With a chef’s knife, cut the kernels off, rotating the cob as you go. Discard the cob. Repeat with remaining cobs.

Pulse corn in food processor until it turns to pulp—if you have a small food processor, do this in two batches—and transfer it to a large mixing bowl. Pulse hominy in food processor until it turns into a smooth paste and add it to the corn pulp.

Stir together corn and hominy, then add crema, cheese, sugar, eggs, butter, baking powder, and salt; stir until thoroughly combined.

Scrape batter into prepared baking dish. Bake until torta is set and the sides pull away slightly from the baking dish, 60 to 75 minutes. Cool torta in pan set on cooling rack, about 1 hour. Torta may be served warm or at room temperature.

A little sad, this fallen bird, but its bold yellow feathers, black-speckled breast, and rose-red cap were too beautiful to just pass by.

I was working on a chocolate-coated cookie recipe recently, and, neat as I try to be, chocolate is not something I’m very good at keeping under control. I’d like to think it’s like refusing to color within the lines: It’s creative! It’s liberating! It’s fun!

This is what the aftermath of all this creative, liberating, and fun chocolate activity left behind. Rather pretty, no?

I strolled around the very crowded Union Square Greenmarket last Saturday afternoon. Despite being jostled around and occasionally glared at for stopping to shoot this basket of red apples and that basket of brown pears, it is one of my favorite places to go in the fall in New York. It’s these jaunts that remind me how much I missed living here and how good it feels to melt into the bustle and grind and messiness of other people’s lives.

Writing for Serious Eats / Sweets means I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about dessert. Half moon pose in yoga, the instructor running through the dialogue—”Pushandcomedown, pushandcomedown”—, sweat gushing out of every pore—everything goes unnoticed. Stuck in line behind someone who insists on spelunking in their Mary Poppins-sized handbag for a measly $0.10 coupon—I’m not annoyed. Small child screaming bloody murder in the seat behind me on crowded flight—I tune it out. My mind is putting together a list of possible cake and icing combinations, nut and spice mixtures, color schemes suitable for propping the finished cake.

Dinner has taken a secondary role, so much so that last week when my husband was out of town I had a whole bag of microwave popcorn for dinner (only after I’d eaten a large slice of that day’s cake, right off the cake stand).

When I do get around to making dinner, I rummage around the kitchen seeing what’s around and crossing my fingers that the vegetables I bought last weekend haven’t morphed into alien forms (I found a length of kielbasa in the crisper drawer once and upon closer inspection realized it was actually a long-forgotten and mutated carrot). One of the dishes that most easily comes together and simultaneously rescues onions, bruised apples, and the last handful of potatoes is roast chicken.

I’ve written about roast chicken before, and expect to see more variations because it is one of my very favorite things to make. Nothing to me says “I cooked a lovely dinner!” to me more than roast chicken. It’s fuss, uses just one pan, and doesn’t make a big stink in my apartment.

Try this version with crisp garlicky skin, caramelized lemon pieces, chunks of tart apple, toasty roasted potatoes, and sweet onions. Oh, and sausage, too.

EASY ROASTED GARLIC CHICKEN WITH SAUSAGE, APPLES, & ONIONS
Serves 4

Equipment: cutting board, chef’s knife, roasting pan, grater, paper towels, tongs, instant-read thermometer
Active time: 20 minutes
Total time: 1 hour, 45 minutes

Notes: You can substitute the whole chicken with bone-in, skin-on chicken pieces (all breasts, all thighs, etc. or a combination of white and dark pieces).
- Easily core the apple pear by cutting it in half, then scooping out the core and seeds with a 1-teaspoon measuring spoon (metal works best).
When seasoning chicken, I like to estimate ¾ teaspoon per pound of chicken.

1 medium-sized yellow onion, cut into ½-inch pieces
1 Granny Smith apple or 1 firm seckel pear, peeled, cored, and cut into 1-inch pieces (See Notes)
8 garlic cloves, peeled
3 fresh Italian sausages, cut into 1-inch thick rounds
1 whole chicken (4 to 5 pounds), cut into pieces (See Notes)
2 teaspoon dried thyme or 1 tablespoon minced fresh thyme leaves
1 teaspoon dried sage
½ teaspoon red pepper flakes (or more to taste)
Salt and pepper (See Notes)
Olive oil
Finely grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
1 pound fingerling potatoes, scrubbed and cut in half lengthwise

- Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 375°F.

- Combine onion and apple in roasting pan. Smash 4 garlic cloves with the side of a chef’s knife and add to pan. Add sausages, thyme, sage, red pepper flakes; season with salt and pepper. Drizzle with 3 tablespoons olive oil and toss everything together with hands.

- Finely chop remaining 4 garlic cloves. Combine with lemon zest in small bowl and add enough olive oil to cover (about ¼ cup). Microwave uncovered for until oil is bubbling and garlic is fragrant, 30 to 60 seconds.

- Cut lemon into quarters and toss with vegetables.

- Pat chicken pieces dry with paper towels. Season with salt and pepper.
Rub garlic mixture all over chicken.

- Arrange chicken pieces, skin side down, over vegetable-sausage mixture. Bake for 35 minutes.

- With tongs, turn chicken pieces skin-side up and increase oven temperature to 450°F. Continue to bake until skin is crisp and golden and temperature registers 160°F, about 30 minutes.

- Transfer roasting pan to cooling rack and allow kitchen to rest 10 to 15 minutes prior to serving.

In its original tongue, French toast is pain perdu, “lost bread.” It should be “found bread” or “saved bread” I think, as what would have been tossed out, discarded, inedible, lost bread, too stale and unpalatable to serve even with a large knob of fresh butter, is saved with the addition of staple kitchen ingredients.

French toast is made by dipping stale slices of bread in a batter of eggs and milk, sometimes enhanced with ground cinnamon, vanilla extract, sugar, etc. More exaggerated versions add cereal and nut coatings, cream cheese and fruit fillings, and anything else within arm’s reach that may appeal to a mouthful of sweet teeth.

Note that the whole point of French toast is to use stale bread, but, thanks to the modern-day use of preservatives, supermarket sliced bread can endure an inordinately long period of time. Though it might be a bit more difficult to have bread that’s wasting away in your pantry, do stay away from the fluffy stuff; it is much too soft and overly absorbent, which will produce a wet, soggy, slippery, slimy breakfast.

Even with bread on the brink of becoming lost, I’ve been served many plates of swampy French toast. If you enjoy chewing on waterlogged sponges, don’t make the following recipe. This is a non-recipe of sorts, but basic and self-explanatory, so you should have no trouble. My special trick — aside from dry bread slices from a sturdy loaf — is to generously slather the slices with cinnamon-sugar butter on both sides prior to giving them a brief dip in egg batter. French toast with a thin, fried coating that’s also caramelized and cinnamon-scented. What once was lost, is now found.

CRUNCHY FRENCH TOAST
Serves 2

Equipment: cutting board, serrated knife, large mixing bowl, whisk, 12-inch nonstick skillet or griddle, spatula
Active time: 15 minutes
Total time: 30 minutes

Notes: Use only sturdy, stale bread, such as Pullman loaf, boule, ciabatta, or baguette. Avoid sliced supermarket breads.
Recipe can be easily multiplied.

8 to 10 pieces stale ciabatta bread, sliced into ¾ inch slices (See Notes)
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
2 to 3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon (or more to taste)
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, at room temperature
¼ cup milk
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 teaspoon finely grated orange zest (optional)
Syrup or honey for serving (optional)

- Combine 4 tablespoons butter, sugar, cinnamon, and salt in small bowl. Spread each slice of bread on both sides with cinnamon-sugar butter.

- In large bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, vanilla, and optional zest.

- Melt about ½ of the remaining tablespoon butter in large nonstick skillet or griddle over medium heat. Briefly dip as many slices of bread as will fit comfortably on the skillet (do not overcrowd).

- Cook toast until browned and caramelized, 2 to 4 minutes per side.

- Serve immediately, with syrup if desired.