By Russ Parsons
Los Angeles Times Food Editor
May 26, 2012
Strolling the Santa Monica Saturday farmers market the other day, thinking about dinner. Five pounds of that thumb-thick jumbo asparagus from Zuckerman Farms? Of course! I already had carrots and favas from my garden. I'd ordered a leg of lamb. But what's for dessert? Almond torte maybe? Lemon curd tart?
But all that late-season citrus — Oro Blancos, grapefruits, blood oranges, tangerines — I just couldn't resist them. So maybe I'd do a fruit salad with a spiced syrup? Or just tangerine sections sweetened a little with rosemary honey? Then, suddenly, my mind was made up for me: I tasted a wedge of Page mandarin from Armando Garcia's stand. The flavor was almost explosive: sweet, spicy, perfect all by itself. Honey? Syrup? Forget it, the juice was almost syrupy just as it was. There's nothing I could do to make this thing any better.
Still, even I'm not Chez Panisse-y enough to serve just a bowl of fruit and call it dessert. That's where cookies come in.
Just as we're heading into the heart of the fruit season, a simple cookie can be a cook's best friend. Right now we've got late-season citrus like those mandarins, terrific sweet strawberries, and the first apricots and cherries, then before you know it, peaches and nectarines. There's nothing that complements a great piece of fruit like a cookie.
I've got two old favorites that I fall back on regularly. The first is an almond macaroon. It's about as simple as a cookie can get — just five ingredients: almonds, sugar, salt, egg whites and a whiff of vanilla. Grind the almonds, sugar, salt and vanilla to a fine powder; beat the egg whites to soft peaks and pulse them into the almond mixture. Roll between wet palms (they're sticky as heck) and bake.
The cookies come out of the oven crisp on the outside yet moist and chewy on the inside, with a flavor that is deeply and purely almond. A perfect match for citrus or stone fruit.
My other go-to cookie is an old-fashioned snickerdoodle. Its flavor is a little more complex than the macaroon — a combination of browned wheat, the slight bitterness of cream of tartar and sweet spicy cinnamon sugar.
The recipe is my mom's, and I have a love-hate relationship with it. I can't tell you how many times I've labored all day over a big dinner party menu only to have everyone walk out telling me how great these danged cookies are.
I guess the only thing worse would be if they just talked about the fruit.
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