De caramelo.

Jerry: So, where do you want to eat tonight?
Patty: How about La Caridad again?
Jerry: Again?! How much flan can a person eat?!
Seinfeld: “The Serenity Now”

I was stumped for a clever introduction for this entry on flan and after an absurdly long 15 minutes of playing peek-a-boo with the cursor I walked out to the living room, turned on the TV, and caught a Seinfeld episode right as the above exchange was happening. Yes, I have strange psychic/telepathic abilities. Paranormal activity aside, the question of how much flan a person—or a whole people—can eat is completely valid. I’ve often wondered myself because among the Spanish-speaking world, there seems to be an insatiable hunger for it.

If Latin America were to become a single Union, à la Europe, the national dessert would most likely be flan. Lately I’ve taken to polling Spanish and Latin American friends—and strangers—about what they most commonly eat for dessert and flan is the answer 90% of the time. You’ll see flan stamped on every Latin American restaurant menu (including La Caridad; 2199 Broadway at 78th Street, NYC, though you’ll find it listed as “pudín de leche”), in many home fridges, and even in the baking aisle in powdered form, like American Jell-O pudding.

I resisted flan for a long time. “How stereotypical!” I thought. After the eye roll followed performance anxiety. There’s an overwhelming amount of bad flan made, served, and somehow eaten every day. Bad flan, riddled with deep dimples, like a bad case of cellulite. Bad flan, undercooked and slippery, like a strange serpentine sea creature swimming down your throat.

Good flan should have slight jiggle, but more along the lines of a trainer-tightened posterior than a waterbed. Good flan is minimalist and sleek, like an expensive silk blouse.

Flan, or more precisely egg-based custard, has been in existence since Roman times, where it was mostly presented as a savory dish. Variations and permutations found their way around the world, but arguably, today when we hear the word flan we think mostly of the Spanish-speaking cream-colored custard with a pool of deep amber, burnt sugar caramel.

The recipe that follows is my mother’s go-to; it can be made in un dos por tres (a snap) and has always turned out silky and perfectly set.  There are thick flans, but this one is on the slimmer side—the caramel-to-custard ratio is just right. Make it and you’ll see what all the fuss is about.

FLAN DE CARAMELO

Notes:
- For easy measuring and easy clean-up, once you’ve poured the sweetened condensed milk into the blender, use the empty can to measure the milk.
- If you don’t have a roasting pan for the bain-marie or water bath, use a baking dish large enough to accommodate the cake pan.

Equipment: Roasting pan or large baking dish, 9-inch round cake pan, medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, pastry brush, blender (optional)
Active time: 20 minutes
Total time: 4 hours
Serves 6 to 8

1 cup sugar
¼ cup water
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
14 ounces milk (See Notes), at room temperature
3 large eggs, at room temperature
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 325°F. Place clean kitchen towel in roasting pan. Set 9-inch round baking pan on top of towel. Set tea kettle or pot of water to boil.

Meanwhile, combine sugar and ¼ cup water in medium heavy-bottomed saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat until the sugar is dissolved. Dampen a clean pastry brush and brush down any sugar crystals from the sides of the pan. Boil, swirling the pan occasionally, until the sugar turns deep amber, 10 to 12 minutes. Immediately pour the caramel into the baking pan and swirl to coat to the bottom. Allow it to set, 5 to 10 minutes.

Place the sweetened condensed milk, milk, eggs, vanilla, and salt in a blender and blend until thoroughly combined, about 1 minute. (Alternatively, you may whisk the ingredients together by hand in a large bowl). Pour the flan mixture over the caramel mixture.

Open the oven door and set the roasting pan and flan in the oven. Carefully pour hot water into the roasting pan—water should reach halfway up the sides of the flan pan. Bake until flan is set, but still a bit wobbly, about 1 hour.

Remove cake pan from roasting pan and cool on rack, about 15 minutes. Chill completely in refrigerator, 2 to 3 hours. Run a knife along the flan edges and invert onto serving plate. Serve.

This recipe originally appeared in Serious Sweets.

Sticky sweet.

Glossy, warm, pull-apart, sticky cinnamon buns are just dreamy. I often long to have an Oompa Loompa at my disposal: I would make it bake sticky buns for breakfast, hot out of the oven and bring them to me on a silver platter, accompanied by a cold glass of milk with a single ice cube. Lacking an extra-small orange butler, however, there is nothing but for me to bake my own sticky buns and personally plop an ice cube into my glass of milk.

We all do it: we wander around the airport waiting for our flight to begin boarding, killing time by stepping in and out of newsstands, perusing the latest paperback crime thrillers, leafing through fashion glossies, wondering whether we should buy one of those vibrating neck pillows.

Our flight gets delayed. We call friends, check Facebook, tweet nasty messages about the airline, decide the vibrating neck pillow was a stupid impulse buy and may lead to permanent brain damage, throw the lame crime thriller to the side (of course it was the creepy sister!). There’s nothing to do but take another lap. And that’s when it happens. The scent of cinnamon hooks your nostrils and pulls you to the cinnamon bun stand. You buy a bun as big as your head and for just a little while you forget how lousy and uncivilized travel has become.

Glossy, warm, pull-apart, sticky cinnamon buns are impossible to resist, whether trapped at the airport or out-and-about. And not that your everyday bun needs much improving on, but when I discovered the Venezuelan version I had to wonder if I’d been missing something all these years. Golfeados are sugar-and-cinnamon-laden, but have the unexpected addition of fragrant anis seeds and salty, shredded white cheese. Partway through baking, the golfeados are glazed with melado, a panela (in this recipe substituted with dark brown sugar) based simple syrup. Once out of the oven, another coat of sticky melado is painted on. The result: buns that are candied on the outside and soft, buttery, cheesy, and spiced inside their coils. Sprinkled with more cheese and served with robust coffee, these are divinos.

GOLFEADOS

Notes: If you are unable to find Latin American cheeses, substitute it with haloumi, a Cypriot cheese made with goat’s and/or sheep’s milk available at certain supermarkets and specialty stores.
Servings: makes 12
Equipment: electric mixer with dough hook attachment, rolling pin, parchment paper, large baking sheet, cooling rack, medium saucepan, pastry brush, plastic wrap

For the Dough
¾ cup warm milk (110° to 115°F)
2 (1/4-once packages) active dry yeast
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons packed dark brown sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional for dusting counter and rolling pin
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, at room temperature, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
1 tablespoon anis seeds
Vegetable oil for greasing bowl

For the Filling
8 ounces Latin American firm white cheese, finely grated (See Notes)
½ cup packed dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon anis seeds
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

For the Melado (Glaze)
1 ½ cups packed dark brown sugar
1 cup water

For the dough: Combine ¼ cup milk, yeast, and ¼ teaspoon sugar in small bowl. Let stand until mixture foams, 5 to 10 minutes.

Combine remaining sugar, dark brown sugar, flour, and salt in large bowl. Add remaining milk, eggs, honey, vanilla, and yeast mixture and mix on low speed with hook attachment until ingredients are combined, about 2 minutes.

Add butter and anis and mix on medium speed until a smooth, shiny dough forms, 6 to 8 minutes.

Lightly oil a large bowl. Place dough in bowl, cover with clean, damp kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

For the filling: Meanwhile, combine all but 2 tablespoons cheese, dark brown sugar, cinnamon, and anis in medium bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until needed.

Lightly dust a clean, dry work surface with flour. Coat hands lightly with flour (dough will be sticky) and transfer to work surface. Lightly rub rolling pin with flour. Roll the dough out to into a 16- by 14-inch rectangle.

Brush the dough with butter, leaving a ½-inch border on all sides. Sprinkle the buttered area with cheese mixture.

Beginning with the long side, roll the dough to form a 16-inch-long log. As you roll, brush off excess flour with a clean, dry pastry brush.

Cut the log crosswise into 12 rolls. Arrange rolls on a parchment lined baking sheet, cut-side up. Press down to gently flatten (the rolls will cinch as you cut them).

Cover with oiled plastic wrap and allow to rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Bake 20 minutes until golden.

Make the melado: While the golfeados are baking, combine brown sugar and water in medium saucepan. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar is completely dissolved. Reduce heat to medium and cook syrup until thickened, syrupy, and reduced to 1 ½ cups, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove from heat.

After golfeados have been baking for 20 minutes, brush them with half of the melado and return to oven for 10 minutes.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and brush golfeados with remaining melado. Cool about 10 minutes and sprinkle with remaining cheese. Serve warm.

There was bad juju in the kitchen today. Three batches of bad caramel (one due to being f¡#*^*! by Martha again). One bowl of buttercream that didn’t set up right, despite multiple attempts to save it via ice bath—I suspect it heard me cursing it under my breath and melted into a soupy mess to spite me. A second bowl of buttercream that would not fully incorporate the salted caramel.

I washed all the pots and decided it best to hang up my apron and call it a day. (I also ran out of eggs).

These meringue buttons and batons were the only saving grace out of the afternoon’s mess. These are pink peppermint, and there’s a batch of chocolate ones cooling in the kitchen, ready to decorate tomorrow’s cake.

Because there will be cake and the buttercream and caramel will behave.

Admittedly, I am not a very enthusiastic cookie baker. I don’t mind pulling cookies out of the oven halfway through baking to carefully apply chocolate chips with tweezers so they look picture perfect, but that’s strictly for work. For fun, I’d much rather do away with the scooping, rolling, cutting,  decorating, and tweezing.

Enter these bar cookies. They’re actually the first recipe I ever developed at Cook’s Country Magazine, and probably one of my favorite. The base is a nut-speckled, buttery shortbread; the center a gooey pecan-pie-like blanket; and the top, a crisp, caramelized, crunchy crust of coconut.

They were originally titled “Dream Bars,” however after six batches and incessant eating, their highly addictive nature demands to be put in the category of illegal drugs, hence the “crack” in the title.

I’m off to bake another batch now. Wrap them up in cellophane and festive ribbons and ship off to friends and family!

DREAMY CRACK BARS
(Originally published in Cook’s Country, Apr/May 2009)

Equipment: 13- by 9-inch baking pan, heavy-duty foil, food processor, cooling rack, mixing bowls, whisk

Notes:
To toast the nuts, arrange pecans in single layer on baking sheet. Bake in center rack in preheated 350°F oven until fragrant and golden, 7 to 10 minutes, shaking pan halfway through baking to redistribute pecans. Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool pecans completely before chopping.

For the Crust
Cooking spray
2 cups all-purpose or whole wheat flour
¾ cup packed dark brown sugar
½ cup pecans
¼ teaspoon salt
10 tablespoons (1 ¼ sticks) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces and chilled

For the Topping
1 ½ cups sweetened shredded coconut
1 (15-ounce) can cream of coconut
2 large eggs, at room temperature
¾ cup packed dark brown sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup pecans, toasted and coarsely chopped (See Notes)

For the crust: Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350°F. Line 13- by 9-inch baking pan with heavy-duty foil lengthwise with one sheet, then crosswise with a second sheet to create a sling; coat with baking spray.

Process flour, brown sugar, pecans, and salt in food processor until pecans are coarsely ground. Add butter and pulse until mixture resembles coarse meal. Press mixture firmly into prepared baking pan. Bake until golden brown, about 20 minutes. Cool on wire rack 20 minutes.

For the topping: Stir together shredded coconut and cream of coconut in bowl. In separate bowl, whisk eggs, brown sugar, flour, baking powder, vanilla, and salt until smooth. Stir in pecans, then spread filling over cooled crust. Dollop heaping teaspoons of coconut mixture over filling, then spread into as even a layer as possible with rubber spatula or back of spoon (it will be patchy).

Bake until topping is deep golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool in pan 20 minutes, then, use excess foil to pull out onto wire rack. Cool completely, about 2 hours.

Once cooled, remove foil and cut into 24 pieces. (Bars can be refrigerated in airtight container for 5 days.)

My husband says alfajores are in Latin America’s what the Oreo is in the U.S. The sandwich cookies are arguably as recognizable, but they’ve got a more elaborate  history. Alfajor is a derivation of an Arabic word meaning “stuffed,” as these treats are. Popular in Spain and in multiple Latin American countries, the alfajor was introduced—along with other foods and cultural elements—to the Iberian Peninsula during the centuries-long Moorish occupation that began in the 8th century.

Today, there are many different types of alfajores, with flavors, textures, coatings, and fillings all subject to regional influences, and of course, personal touches.

The alfajor I’m most acquainted with from trips to Buenos Aires, either homemade or commercial, are the ones in the accompanying recipe: shortbread rounds glued together with dulce de leche.  The cookie is crumbly and tender, and the dulce de leche intense and sticky. Milk might be tempted to have a new favorite cookie.

ALFAJORES
Notes: After adding milk to above recipe, alfajores were really crumbly and good. Made the following recipe (which is a half-batch), modified from above. This yields about 12 sandwich cookies, using 2 ½ inch cutter. Recipe can be doubled.
Active time: 45 minutes
Total time: 2 hours, 15 minutes
Equipment: 2 large baking sheets, parchment paper, sifter, electric mixer, rubber spatula, rolling pin, 2- or 2 ½-inch round cookie cutter, 2 cooling racks
Serves: Makes 12 to 15 sandwich cookies
Recipe notes: Recipe can be doubled; if doing so, in Step 4 divide dough in two, then wrap in plastic and proceed with recipe.
If your cookies don’t all fit on one baking sheet, bake in two batches, one batch at a time.
Sandwich cookies may be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.

1 ¼ cups cornstarch
¾ cup all-purpose flour plus additional for dusting counter
1 teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
4 ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
6 tablespoons sugar
2 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon brandy or cognac
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 (13.4-ounce) can dulce de leche
¼ cup confectioners’ sugar (optional)

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 325°F. Line rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.

Sift together cornstarch, flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

With mixer on medium speed, beat sugar and butter until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add egg yolks, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add brandy and vanilla. Scrape sides and bottom of bowl with rubber spatula as needed.

Sift cornstarch mixture over butter mixture and combine with rubber spatula until dough comes together (mixture will be crumbly). Shape mixture into ball, cover loosely with plastic wrap (See Notes), and let rest at room temperature for 30 minutes.

Dust clean, dry work surface with flour. Rub rolling pin with flour. Roll dough to a thickness of ¼ inch. Using a 2- or 2 ½-inch round cutter, cut out cookies and arrange on prepared baking sheet, spacing them about 1 inch apart. (See Notes)

Bake until cookie edges begin to turn light golden, about 12 minutes. Alfajores should be mostly white.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool completely, about 30 minutes.

Once cooled, spread half the cookies with about 1 tablespoon dulce de leche. Cover with remaining cookies. Dust with confectioners’ sugar (optional). Serve.

My paternal grandparents have lived in their large Spanish colonial house in Granada’s Calle Atravesada (a Main Street of sorts) for as long as I can remember, and even decades before then.

Now sagging and crumbling with the customary wear and tear of the years and the ravages of difficult times—wars, death, weather—the atrium garden, framed by pillars and punctuated by a gurgling stone fountain, remains very much the same. Large, fat roses, always a bit too colorful with petals unfastened, like the heaving bosoms of ladies of the evening, flock together. Over-eager and too-intensely perfumed they boldly face the assault of the arrogant sun.

The heat in this town is oppressive and thick. Long hours were spent on Sunday visits to the house swinging back and forth on creaky white wicker rocking chairs, the sweat suctioning the backs of our legs to the seat as the speckled hen patterned black-and-white floor fumed ever hotter.

These Sundays inched forward painfully, but lunch at the big round table was a just reward. There were large platters of rib roast, the meat slipping off the bone, crab bisque with whole saucer-sized crabs you got to pick apart on your plate, potato gnocchi drowned in the house’s secret pink sauce and buried in crumbly cheese that had been bought by the slab at the market that morning, refried beans that shimmered in lard and were brought to the table in a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet that had long ago had its handle amputated.

And the preserved fruits. Depending on what was in season there was always a homemade, industrial-sized jar filled with amber fruits floating in slow motion in a thick, golden syrup. Mangos, papayas, a slew of tropical fruits I never learned the English names for, and my favorite: figs.

Years ago there was a fig tree in a corner of the garden. The figs hung low and plump, hiding in the shade of its own parasol leaves. The tree was unceremoniously cut down after the occasional evening bat became legion. Mamamá was always business-like with household pests. On a summer visit I brought a kitten home from the farm only to later learn he’d been dispatched to the market in a burlap sack. Mamamá told me Pascual had gone to Miami, and for a long time I envisioned him living in glorious exile.

Tree or no tree, higos en miel were made whenever they were in season. The “figs in honey” were sticky and sweet, their tiny seeds tickling my mouth; I’ve always thought that sunshine would taste just like one of those translucent orbs. The figs, those delicate purses lined with precious beads, were gently peeled and drowned in simple syrup and a fresh leaf from the tree, then simmered under Mamamá’s strict and perspiring brow.

Last week while I leaned over the pot to check on my figs, my eyes and nose smarted as if I’d taken a gulp of chilled heavily carbonated Coca-Cola; my grandmother’s kitchen, the roses, the bats, the disappeared cat, the damp manure and chicken droppings caked to the soles of my shoes; all rushed back.

HIGOS EN MIEL (Poached Figs)

Active Time: 1 hour, 30 minutes
Total Time: 2 hours, 30 minutes
Equipment: vegetable peeler, large heavy-bottomed saucepan or Dutch oven, parchment paper
Note: Figs will keep in an airtight container, refrigerated, for 1 week.

30 small fresh, ripe black figs (about 2 pounds)
2 cups sugar
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
¼ teaspoon salt
4 cups water

Carefully peel figs and trim and discard stems.

Stir together sugar, dark brown sugar, salt, and water in large heavy-bottomed saucepan or Dutch oven over medium-high heat and boil syrup until sugars are dissolved and syrup thickens, 5 to 7 minutes. Reduce heat to medium-low and add figs.

Cut a piece of parchment paper in the shape of pot. Cut a nickel-sized vent in the middle. Press parchment directly onto surface of fig-syrup mixture.

Simmer figs until translucent, gently stirring from time to time, about 1 hour.

Cool figs completely, at least 1 hour. Figs may be served at room temperature or chilled.

I was completely enchanted by these Concord grapes a few weeks ago when I visited the greenmarket by Lincoln Square. They were deep, midnight violet hiding under a gossamer bloom and intensely perfumed. The strong scent of sheer purple was discernible from a distance and provoked flashes of childhood’s gloppy grape jelly, drippy grape popsicles, and intoxicating grape juice.

The grapes’ velvety jackets are easily slipped off to reveal chubby, translucent green flesh with rather large, crunchy seeds. I usually chew right through these, but while testing this week’s Concord Grape Cake for Serious Sweets I found that they created too much of a distraction. In that recipe, they are removed, leaving you nothing but tender cake mottled with small explosions of grape and a thick topcoat of made-from-scratch jam.

I made this Lemon Cake with Fresh Raspberry Buttercream for my “Let Them Eat…” cake column on Serious Eats: Sweets. I normally don’t cross-pollinate between my blog and Serious Eats, but I couldn’t resist shooting it different ways, it was so pretty. The full cake accompanies the recipe but here is a slice to whet your appetite.

My mother and both of my grandmothers are extraordinary cooks. They  all played a role in teaching me to cook, eat, and love all aspects of food. These recipes, from classic smoked salmon and dill cream cheese batons to a twist on retro ambrosia, are inspired by  memories I have of those wonderful women and the times we’ve shared in the kitchen. I hope you enjoy them with the special ones in your life.

Happy Mother’s Day!

SMOKED SALMON BATONS
Serves 6 to 8

1 baguette
8 ounces whipped cream cheese
½ cup dill, finely chopped
2 teaspoons juice and 1 teaspoon finely grated zest from 1 lemon
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
8 ounces smoked salmon
½ English cucumber, thinly sliced

- Cut baguette in half crosswise. Cut each half in half lengthwise, then in half again lengthwise to make 8 slim batons.

- In medium bowl, combine cream cheese, dill, lemon juice and zest, and salt and pepper to taste.

- Spread each baton with lemon-dill cream cheese, then top with salmon and cucumber. Serve.

BACON-LEEK TOURTE
Serves 6 to 8

Notes: I find that the easiest way to wash leeks is to slice them into half-moons as called for in the recipe, then placing them in a salad spinner filled with cold water. After a few minutes, the sediment will settle to the bottom. Lift the leeks out of the water with the spinner basket and repeat process 2 or 3 times until the leeks are free of sediment.

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
All-purpose flour for dusting the work surface
2 sheets (one 17.3-ounce package) Pepperidge Farm frozen puff pastry, thawed according to package instructions
6 slices thick-cut bacon, coarsely chopped
1 ½ pounds leeks, white and pale green parts thinly sliced into half-moons (See Notes)
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
12 large eggs, well beaten
1 cup (4 ounces) shredded sharp white cheddar cheese

For egg wash:
2 tablespoons heavy cream
1 egg yolk
Pinch salt

- Butter a 9-inch pie plate with 1 tablespoon butter. Dust clean, dry work surface and rolling pin with flour. Roll 1 sheet puff pastry out to about 13- by 12-inches. Place pastry in pie plate, then gently press into bottom and sides. Trim excess with kitchen shears, leaving about 1-inch overhang. Prick pastry all over with tines of fork. Refrigerate.

- Dust work surface with additional flour, then, roll out second sheet puff pastry to about 13- by 12-inches Set pastry on a parchment paper-lined cutting board or baking sheet and refrigerate.

- Meanwhile, cook bacon in large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until crisp, 6 to 8 minutes. With slotted spoon, transfer bacon to paper towel-lined plate. Discard all but 2 tablespoons fat.

- Add leeks to now-empty skillet and cook until tender, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer to plate. Season with salt and pepper.

- Add remaining 2 tablespoons butter to empty skillet. Reduce heat to medium-low. Season eggs salt and pepper. Cook eggs, stirring very frequently with heat-proof rubber spatula, until set but still soft, 5 to 7 minutes.  Transfer to plate and cool completely, about 10 minutes.

- Adjust oven rack to lower-middle position and preheat oven to 375°F. Place one third of eggs in even layer in prepared pie plate. Top with half of bacon, half of leeks, and half of cheese. Top with additional one third of eggs, then remaining bacon, leeks, cheese, and eggs. Top with second puff pastry sheet and trim off excess to match bottom 1-inch overhang. Crimp edges and with sharp knife, cut 4 vent holes on top.  Brush with egg wash and bake until puffed and golden, 30 to 35 minutes. Cool to room temperature before serving.

AMBROSIA CUPCAKES
Makes 12 cupcakes

Notes: This recipe is easily doubled.
- Cream of coconut is sweet and thick and can usually be found in the liquor aisle—don’t mistake it for coconut milk. Also, be sure to stir the cream of coconut before using as it often separates in the can.
- Gelatin and cream cheese in the frosting stabilize the whipped cream.

1 cup plus 6 tablespoons cake flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
¾ cup sugar
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
½ cup plus 2 tablespoons can cream of coconut (See Notes)
2 large eggs, separated
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ cup buttermilk
½ teaspoon unflavored gelatin
1 tablespoons water
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
¼ cup confectioners’ sugar
1 cups heavy cream, chilled
¼ cup sweetened flaked coconut
1 cup mini-marshmallows
½ cup canned pineapple chunks, drained and chopped
½ cup mandarin orange wedges, canned or fresh

- Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Line a 12-cup muffin tin with liners.

- Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in medium bowl; set aside. With mixer fitted with paddle attachment, beat sugar and butter on medium-high speed until light, about 2 minutes. Add ½ cup cream of coconut and beat until fluffy, about 1 minute. Beat in egg yolks and ½ teaspoon vanilla extract.

- Reduce speed to low and add reserved flour mixture in 3 additions, alternating with buttermilk. Mix just until combined, scraping sides and bottom of bowl with rubber spatula as needed.

- Fit mixer with whisk attachment and place egg whites in clean, dry mixing bowl. Beat whites medium-high speed until stiff peaks form, 3 to 4 minutes. Fold whites into batter.

- Fill prepared tins and bake until cake tester inserted in center of cupcakes comes out clean, 15 to 20 minutes. Transfer to cooling racks and cool 10 minutes in tins. Set cupcakes directly onto racks and cool completely, about 1 hour.

- Meanwhile, combine gelatin and water in a small bowl. Microwave until the gelatin dissolves, about 20 seconds. Cool to room temperature, about 5 minutes. Place remaining cream of coconut (about ¼ cup), cream cheese, confectioners’ sugar, remaining ½ teaspoon vanilla, and dissolved gelatin in the chilled bowl and whisk on medium speed until whippy, about 2 minutes. Add the cream and whisk just until thickened, about 2 minutes. Fold in coconut, pineapple, marshmallows, and mandarin wedges. Frost cupcakes and serve.

When you go to a party where there’s a really random crowd, you’ll describe it to your friends as, “arroz con mango.” Because rice and mango don’t go together. Rice is eaten with beans. Or beef. Or chicken. Not mixed with mango.

Stupid girl! Just imagine all the years I wasted not eating rice with mango!  When one of my little brothers graduated college in LA, I spent a few days hanging out (OMG, Charlie, remember how furry your bathroom was?!) with him and his girlfriend Whitney. It was Whitney who introduced me to the magical combination that is rice + mango at a Thai restaurant (and the bacon-wrapped hot dogs downtown—¡muchas gracias!). It’s been true love ever since. And next time I use the term “arroz con mango” it’ll be to describe a super-fun party.

COCONUT-MANGO RICE PUDDING
Serves 6 to 8
This recipe calls for unsweetened coconut milk, not cream of coconut—don’t mix them up! The rice needs to be completely cooled before folding in the whipped cream. Spreading the warm pudding out in a large baking dish or rimmed baking sheet dramatically speeds up cooling.

6 cups water
2 cups Arborio (short-grain) rice
½ teaspoon salt
1½ cups plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 (14.5-ounce) can unsweetened coconut milk
1 cup heavy whipping cream, chilled
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 very ripe mangos, peeled and cut into ¼-inch cubes

- Bring the water to a boil in a large saucepan. Add the rice and salt and simmer over medium heat, stirring from time to time, until the rice is tender and creamy, 15 to 20 minutes.

- Reduce the heat to low. Stir in 1½ cups of the sugar and the coconut milk. Simmer, stirring from time to time, until the rice is thickened, about 15 minutes.

-Transfer the rice pudding to a large baking dish and allow it to cool completely.

-Once the rice is cooled, whisk the remaining 2 tablespoons sugar, heavy cream, and vanilla until soft peaks form (you can do this by hand or with an electric mixer). Fold the whipped cream and mango cubes into the pudding. Serve chilled.