[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

It always seems like rhubarb season is over as soon as it starts. The thick, fat stalks that were at my market just a few weeks ago have dwindled down to a few spindly stems. Before they disappeared entirely, I wanted to make one last batch of jam that put rhubarb in the front seat and really showcased its tart flavor.

This recipe combines rhubarb with chopped orange peels, fresh orange juice, and the seeds of a vanilla bean. The results taste a bit like rhubarb pie shot through with orange marmalade. A lot of times I feel like rhubarb plays second fiddle in recipes to strawberries or raspberries. But here it is decidedly in the forefront, its sunny flavor complimented by just a hint of bitter citrus and sweet vanilla.

Because this jam cooks very quickly, it is important to finely chop the rhubarb and the orange peel to ensure they have time to soften. I split my rhubarb in half lengthwise and then cut it crosswise into 1/4-inch dice. I cut the orange peel even a bit smaller. Alternatively, you could give them both a few pulses in the food processor.

The sweet-tart flavor of this jam would complement any dark baked goods like gingerbread or spice cake. I think it would also go well with crusty sourdough with nothing more than a bit of salted butter.

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When blueberries are in season I just can't get enough of them. Sprinkled in cereal, tossed in a spinach salad, or baked into cinnamon crumb cake. But most of all I love them cooked down and concentrated into this chunky, intensely flavorful jam.

One summer when we were little kids, my brother devoured several pints of blueberries my mother had left on the kitchen counter, then promptly collapsed with a stomachache. Much as I teased him, I also completely understood. Sweet, tangy, burst-in-your-mouth blueberries are impossible to resist.

For this recipe I paired peak-of-the-season blueberries with fresh orange juice and a double dose of ginger (fresh and ground). Because I wanted the jam to have a pure, fruit-forward taste, I used low-sugar pectin. This allowed me to reduce the amount of sugar from about seven cups to only four and a half.

Some blueberry jams can be so sweet they're more like a pie filling, but this one is much more refined. The flavor is sunny and natural, like you just picked a few berries straight from the bush and popped them into your mouth.

Because it's less sugary, this is a great jam with sweeter breakfast treats like fruity muffins, banana bread, and zucchini bread. Of course, it's also quite a delicious spread over plain old toast.

This recipe yields eight (8-ounce) jars of jam. If processed in a hot water bath, it will last for at least a year on the shelf. Save a jar for the dead of winter, when you need a reminder of the warm months ahead.

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[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

The idea for this jam came about for three reasons. One, last Saturday was the first time this spring that strawberries appeared at my local farmers' market. Two, I recently invested in a really nice bottle of aged balsamic vinegar. And three, I had some fresh thyme in my fridge that was about to go bad.

I had seen recipes for berry jams with thyme before, but always shied away from them. Didn't thyme belong with savory dishes like roast chicken? I couldn't quite wrap my head around incorporating it into something fruity and sweet. I worried the flavor would be too powerful and herbaceous, and wouldn't pair well with breakfast fare like toast and coffee.

Well, my concerns were totally unfounded.

This jam is insanely delicious; equal parts sweet and sophisticated. The balsamic vinegar brings out the juicy, sunny taste of the strawberries. And the thyme, oh the thyme! It provides an addictive, lemony, herby essence that had me dreaming of slathering it over grilled bread with ricotta, and had my husband fantasizing about squishing it between two shortbread cookies.

For this recipe, I used a package of regular powdered fruit pectin. For really juicy fruits (like strawberries) I think it's the best way to thicken and set the jam. However, If you don't want to add pectin you can thicken the jam by simmering it for an extra 40 to 45 minutes. To see if it's done, I like the freezer test: drop a spoonful of jam onto a small plate and put it in the freezer for a few minutes. If the jam gels, it's done.

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Note: Don't worry, the Edible DIY column isn't really going anywhere! While the fruit season is peaking, though, we'll turn this into a "Preserved" column with a focus on jams, jellies, and conserves. We'll get into sterilizing and processing jars, thickening jams with pectin (both regular and low-sugar), and thickening them without added pectin. —The Mgmt.

[Photographs: Lucy Baker]

Rhubarb season is finally here! I don't know about you, but I can never get enough of its sweet-tart flavor and gorgeous rosy hue. This raspberry-rhubarb jam is incredibly easy to make thanks to a secret ingredient: a packet of raspberry Jell-O. Best of all, it's a freezer jam, which means you don't have to bother with sterilizing the jars or processing them in a hot water bath.

Here's a simple recipe you can make right this very minute using peak-of-the-season rhubarb. It's originally from the New Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook, but I've adapted it slightly to include a burst of fresh lemon zest and juice, and tweaked the cooking method a bit.

The most important step is to finely dice your rhubarb. Otherwise, you will end up with big undercooked chunks. I recommend cutting each stalk in half lengthwise, and then crosswise into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces. (If your stalks are especially fat, cut them lengthwise into thirds.) Also, once you add the raspberries to the jam, mash them up a bit with a fork or a wooden spoon.

You might be afraid that dumping a packet of raspberry Jell-O into this jam gives it an artificial taste, or makes it too sweet. Don't be. Trust me, you can't even tell it's there. The Jell-O helps to softly set the jam so that it's thick and spreadable without being drippy or goopy. The flavors are incredibly pure and fruit-forward, bursting with mouth-puckering rhubarb and sweet, sun-ripened raspberries.

This recipe yields approximately five 8-ounce jars. They will keep for two or three months in the fridge, or up to a year in the freezer. Of course they would make terrific hostess gifts, but I doubt you'll be able to part with even a single one. It's so ridiculously good, my husband and I have already polished off two jars in less than a week.

"First you get the crispy pecans, then the chewy caramel, then the rich dark chocolate, and finally the salty, meaty bacon."

Is it possible to improve on the already near-perfect turtle? The combination of crunchy pecans, buttery caramel, and silky chocolate is already about as good as it gets. What could I possibly add to make them even more delicious? Enter bacon.

When I began toying with the idea of making bacon turtles, I searched online, and one of the first links to pop up: these bacon cheeseburger turtles featured on AHT. Wow. Talk about over the top.

But they weren't even close to what I had in mind: a nutty, gooey, chocolaty turtle, as big as an Oreo, with bacon surprises hidden in the shell.

Admittedly, my chocolate-covered bacon turtles are a bit involved. Preparing them will likely take you the better part of an afternoon—but there are shortcuts. I always make my own caramel (I don't have to tell you that the flavors are far superior to the store-bought kind), but in a pinch, you can melt down unwrapped caramels in the microwave or in a heat-proof bowl set over a pan of simmering water. The contents of one and a half 14-ounce packages should be the right amount.

Another cheating method: skip the process of tempering the chocolate. Tempering gives hardened chocolate a glossy finish and keeps it from melting as easily. It's a nice touch, but strictly speaking, it isn't necessary. You can simply melt the chocolate and spoon it over the cooled turtles. Just be sure to store the finished turtles in the coolest part of your kitchen, away from direct sunlight.

This recipe yields 30 turtles. It sounds like a lot, but trust me, they go fast. You can pack them all up in a tin to make a pretty hostess gift, or drop one or two into cello bags to give out as party favors. They will last for up to two weeks, stored between sheets of wax paper in an airtight container.

The combination of flavors is incredible. First you get the crispy pecans, then the chewy caramel, then the rich dark chocolate, and finally the salty, meaty bacon.

"Messy, sticky, and unabashedly sugary, Fluff never fails to remind me of my childhood."

[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

Peanut butter and jelly is all well and good, but peanut butter and Fluff is even creamier, gooier, and more indulgent. Plus, making it at home is super easy. All it takes to whip up this honey- and vanilla-flavored version is six ingredients, a big bowl, and an electric mixer.

When I was growing up I would frequently play with a little boy who lived down the street. I didn't particularly like him, or his toys, but his mother always made us peanut butter and Fluff sandwiches for lunch. My own mom, on the other hand, dismissed Fluff as junk food, and never let me have it at home.

Of course, my mom was right. Fluff is junk food, and it probably wouldn't be a good idea to eat it for lunch everyday. But as a special treat it sure does hit the spot. Messy, sticky, and unabashedly sugary, Fluff never fails to remind me of my childhood.

There are many recipes for homemade Fluff out there. Martha Stewart has one for marshmallow cream, but you have to use a candy thermometer and cook syrup to the firm ball stage. It's not hard, but I wanted my Fluff to be drop-dead simple. Another prevalent recipe was much easier to prepare, but it called for a whopping two cups of corn syrup and yielded more than five cups of Fluff—way too much for something meant to be a once-in-a-while treat.

For my initial Fluff attempt, I tried cutting the easier recipe in half. It worked, but the Fluff didn't have enough flavor. It was sweet but far too bland. It just tasted like one-note sugary goo; not marshmallows or vanilla.

Next, I tried replacing all of the corn syrup with honey. It seemed like a good idea: not only would I be giving my Fluff more flavor but I would also be using a more natural ingredient. Unfortunately I forgot that honey is much sweeter than corn syrup. This version was tooth-achingly sugary. I had a hard time imagining even a five-year-old finishing a sandwich made with it.

Finally, I tried combining the two versions. I used one cup of corn syrup and one-fourth a cup of honey. This kept the overall sweetness of the Fluff in check, yet still infused it with floral, complex flavor. I love the way the delicate honey notes in this fluff pair with salty-sweet peanut butter. It is even creamier and gooier than store-bought versions, which (trust me) is a very good thing. It makes for a five-napkin sandwich. The recipe yields about three cups of Fluff. It will keep for two or three weeks stored in an airtight container in the fridge.

[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

Baseball season is finally here. And while my husband and I may not agree on which team to root for—I'm from Boston and he's from New York—we both love Cracker Jacks. Along with hot dogs, giant pretzels, and soft-serve ice cream served in cap-shaped cups, Cracker Jacks are a quintessential ballpark snack food.

Since it's still a bit too cold out to sit in the stands, I decided to create a homemade version of Cracker Jack, perfect for devouring on the couch while watching the game. I wanted to include all the traditional ingredients (popcorn, caramel, and peanuts), while kicking the flavors up a few notches.

My favorite part of Cracker Jacks has always been the sweet, salty peanuts. If you want to go one step further, candy the peanuts with a mixture of sugar, chili powder, cayenne, and flaky salt before proceeding with the rest of the recipe. The peanuts harden into brittle-like clumps in the oven, which are then broken into bite-sized pieces and tossed with the popcorn and caramel.

Each little peanut nugget is an addictive combination of spicy, sweet, and salty flavors, covered with caramel to boot. Just try to stop after one handful.

If you have an air popper, by all means use that to make your popcorn. I don't have one, so I made my popcorn the old-fashioned way, in a big pot on the stove. A half cup of kernels popped in two tablespoons of vegetable oil should give you just the right amount for this recipe. It yields approximately 12 cups of nutty, crackly, irresistible caramel corn. It will keep for two to three weeks stored in an airtight container at room temperature.

[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

At the end of a large and lengthy Seder meal, the last thing most people want is a slice of leaden flourless cake or a sticky macaroon. This year, in lieu of more traditional baked desserts, try serving Passover candy. The first is a quirky twist on French pâte de fruits using Manischewitz wine. The second is my version of cookbook author Marcy Goldman's famous Caramel Matzo Crunch, gussied up with coconut and almonds.

Pâte de fruits are delicate jelly candies that come in flavors like orange, raspberry, and strawberry. They're a bit like American fruit slices, but bolder and juicer. One of the best things about pâte de fruits is how easy they are to make.

You can whip up a batch in fewer than 10 minutes active time. For a Passover-inspired version, swap the usual juice or water for sweet kosher wine, like Manischewitz's concord grape. I added seedless strawberry jam because I didn't want my candies to be too grapey, but it's a matter of preference. Feel free to use grape jelly for that over-the-top Manischewitz wine flavor. You can make these pâte de fruits up to a week in advance and store them in an airtight container. Just be sure to roll them in sugar again before serving.

I've been making the Caramel Matzo Crunch from Marcy Goldman's cookbook, A Treasury of Jewish Holiday Baking, for years. Many people rightly refer to it as "matzo crack." Each spring, even my non-Jewish friends ask for it when Passover rolls around.

In this version, I eased up on the caramel layer just a bit then added a few handfuls of shredded sweetened coconut as an homage to traditional Passover macaroons. A layer of crunchy toasted almonds is the finishing touch. You can make this up to two weeks ahead and store it in an airtight container.

Recipes!

• Coconut Chocolate Almond Caramel Matzo Crunch
• Passover Pâte de Fruits

[Photographs: Lucy Baker]

This carrot cake conserve is just the thing to make on the cusp of spring, when you're itching to bust out your canning supplies but strawberries and rhubarb aren't quite yet in season. It's filled with juicy raisins and crunchy walnuts, and spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. At first I was a bit skeptical about whether it would truly taste like carrot cake, but trust me—spread over any kind of bread with cream cheese (bagel, toast, English muffin, etc.), it's exactly like the real thing.

I based my recipe on one for carrot cake jam in the Ball Complete Book of Home Preserving. Ball's recipe calls for ripe pears, but who can find ripe pears in early April? All the ones at my supermarket were rock-hard and a little sallow-looking.

Instead, I used tart Granny Smith apples, which I thought would complement the sweetness of the carrots. It's important to dice the apples very finely so they soften and break up completely as they cook. Otherwise, the finished conserve will have big chunks of apple in it, which, while probably delicious, wouldn't be very much like carrot cake.

Next, I added 1/2 cup of raisins, pulsed them in the food processor a few times to get them all chopped up. You don't have to chop your raisins (it is a bit fussy) but I like the way the tiny bits infuse the conserve with flavor without adding any clumps. I also added 1/2 cup of chopped walnuts. You could substitute pecans or almonds, or leave them out all together. As with real carrot cake, some people prefer it plain while others like the added crunch.

This recipe yields seven (8-ounce) jars. If you process them in a hot water bath, they will keep on the shelf for at least six months. Otherwise, store the jars in the fridge like you would any other open jam. It would make a wonderful gift for Mother's Day, or tucked into a grown up Easter basket.

[Photographs: Lucy Baker]

Graham crackers remind me of good things: elementary school recesses, tall glasses of cold milk, and, of course, campfires and roasted marshmallows. But until now I'd never had anything except the store-bought variety. It turns out DIY graham crackers are incredibly easy, even for novice bakers. The results taste just like Nabisco or Honey Maid—but with loads more flavor.

I used Nancy Silverton's recipe from her cookbook, Pastries from the La Brea Bakery, and then tweaked it ever so slightly to give it my own New England spin.

The tweaks: I replaced a half cup of the flour with finely ground walnuts, and swapped maple syrup for the honey. I also decreased the amount of vanilla extract a bit (two tablespoons sounded like a lot). The teaspoon of maple extract in my recipe is nice but not necessary. If you don't have a bottle in your pantry, don't feel like you have to go out and buy one just for this.

The best part about this recipe: its simplicity. The dough just involves throwing a bunch of ingredients in the food processor, which is then chilled overnight. The next morning it was super easy to work with. I used a rolling pin, tape measure, and kitchen knife to form the dough into perfect rectangles, and the tines of a fork to decorate them.

These graham crackers are crunchy, toothsome, and just a smidge sweet. They really do taste like a punched-up version of the store-bought kind. The hints of walnuts and maple syrup make me want to slather them with cream cheese, but they would be equally delicious sandwiched with chocolate and marshmallows, or served in lieu of a biscuit with coffee or tea.

[Photographs: Lucy Baker]

Because pistachios are expensive, I limited my recipe to only one cup. Then I added one cup of more wallet-friendly whole blanched almonds. I toasted the nuts in the oven to give them a deeper, more intense flavor. I definitely wanted my pistachio butter to be sweet, but I didn't want it to be as sugary as supermarket peanut butter. 1/4 cup of honey did the trick, but it's entirely a matter of personal taste; use anywhere from 2 tablespoons to 1/2 cup. Ditto with the salt. I wanted my butter to have a nice salty kick at the end to balance the honey and bring out the flavor of the pistachios. If you prefer less of a bite, decrease the amount to 1/4 teaspoon.

While my pistachio is a bit darker in color than the imported version that inspired it, the taste is every bit as addictive. The pistachios are rich and nutty, and the honey adds a mild, floral sweetness. The consistency is smooth and slightly granular, with tiny nuggets of pistachio throughout. This recipe makes about 1 1/2 cups, which is enough to fill three 4-ounce jars, and it will keep for up to two months in the fridge. The lovely green hue makes it an especially appropriate gift for spring.

[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

Storebought butterscotch sauce can be thick, gluey, and cloyingly sweet. The homemade stuff, on the other hand, is a marvelous combination of brown sugar, butter, salt, and booze. In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I decided to whip up a batch of butterscotch sauce spiked with a healthy dose of Irish whiskey.

Here is a secret: making butterscotch sauce is almost as easy as making toast. Seriously.

Get out a medium-sized pot. Throw in a lot of brown sugar, a knob of butter, a pinch of salt, some water, and just a little bit of corn syrup to keep things smooth and silky. Simmer this mixture for a few minutes. Pour in a generous amount of heavy cream and keep simmering until the sauce is syrupy, about 10 or 12 minutes.

Stir in the whiskey and a dash of vanilla and simmer for two or three minutes more to blend the flavors. There. That's it. You're done. The hardest part is waiting for the butterscotch to cool down enough that it won't melt your bowl of ice cream.

This recipe makes approximately two cups of butterscotch sauce, which is enough to fill two eight-ounce jars. It will keep for up to a month in the fridge. Give one as a gift and keep the other for yourself. Of course it's positively marvelous over ice cream, but try it over bread pudding, waffles, and pancakes as well.

Something Carla did on Top Chef last week really resonated with me. After Paula Deen voted her fried fish one of the worst Quickfire dishes, she went on to make fried fish again for the Elimination Challenge. If she makes a dish wrong, she said, she makes it again and again until she gets it right.

Over the past few weeks, I've been dreaming of bacon biscotti. But I just couldn't seem to get it right. I wanted to make savory biscotti but my attempts kept coming out too floury or too eggy. The bacon chunks were too big and caused the biscotti logs to crumble when I tried to cut them. And miraculously, despite the bacon filling, they tasted bland and under-salted.

After last Wednesday's episode I woke up with renewed enthusiasm. "You're making biscotti again?" my fiancé asked incredulously. "Yes," I replied. "I'm channeling my inner Carla. I will not be defeated."

The most successful contestants on Top Chef cook what they know and love. In keeping with that notion, I abandoned the idea of savory biscotti. After all, I wrote a dessert cookbook!

If there is one thing I know, it's baked sweets. I decided to make outrageously decadent chocolate chip bacon biscotti. Instead of crumbling the bacon I pulsed it in the food processor, which solved the problem of the too-large chunks, and also helped to infuse every last crumb of biscotti with smoky bacon flavor.

This bacon chocolate biscotti may not be the biscotti I originally envisioned, but it sure is the stuff of dreams. The rich chocolate chunks are the perfect complement to the salty, meaty bacon. Each bite yields layer upon layer of mostly-sweet-but-also-savory flavors. The next time I make them, I'd toss in a handful of chopped toasted pecans for an extra nutty crunch. This recipe yields about three dozen biscotti. They travel well and will keep for about two weeks, stored at room temperature in an airtight container.

I'm the kind of person that freezes the rinds of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese for soup, makes croutons out of stale bread, and gets every last bit of peanut butter out of the jar (and then repurposes the jar as a salad dressing container). Not only do I hate waste, I love to make delicious things out of the scraps most people toss. Think nose-to-tail eating, but applied to all kinds of foods, not just meat.

That's why I've always loved orangettes, otherwise known as candied orange peels dipped in chocolate. Not only are they très chic, they're also très economical, and a great way to use up something that would normally end up in the trashcan. Since oranges are in season right now, and my supermarket is stocked with perfect, juicy seedless navels, I decided to play around with my favorite orangette recipe.

What I love most about orangettes is the balance of bitter, citrus, and sweet flavors. Make no mistake, they definitely taste like candy, but it's a sophisticated sort of candy. To enhance that sense of sophistication, I decided to dip my orangettes in the darkest chocolate I could find: Lindt Excellence 85% Cocoa Extra Dark.

Next, I thought about additional flavors that would complement both the orange and the chocolate. The first one that came to mind was almond. Rolling the chocolate-dipped orange peels in crushed almonds seemed like the obvious final step in my recipe, but I wanted to ensure a deep, rich flavor. A splash of amaretto stirred in with the melted chocolate did the trick.

My bitter chocolate-almond orangettes are every bit as delicious as the classic, and then some. The almonds are toasty and crunchy, the chocolate is slick and boozy, and the orange peels are bright and citrusy-sweet. You may think you're only going to nibble on one, but trust me: your hand will be dipping into the jar again and again.

This recipe makes roughly 100 orangettes, which is enough for four or five small gifts. They will keep for about two weeks stored in an airtight container.

[Photograph: Lucy Baker]

I find it hard to resist a bowl of salty roasted nuts. Add lots of seasonings like chili and lime, maple and rosemary, and curry, and they become even more enticing. Here are three of my favorite variations.

I love roasted nuts for many reasons, beyond the fact that they're just plain delicious. Since you can make them up to a week in advance they're perfect for entertaining. They also make a terrific hostess gift or party favor—just scoop them into cello bags and tie with a pretty ribbon. Additionally, roasted nuts are a cinch to prepare and relatively inexpensive. Peanuts, for example, are usually less than $3 a pound.

Chili Lime Peanuts

These chili-lime peanuts are completely addictive and absolutely perfect for munching with a cold beer or, better yet, a margarita. The zingy lime flavor is a cool complement to the spicy chili and cayenne (my recipe calls for 3/4 teaspoon, but feel free to adjust to your taste). I also added a pinch of sugar to balance out the salt and heat.

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Maple Rosemary Bourbon Pecans

I read about these pecans on the New York Times Diner's Journal blog several weeks ago. I was intrigued by the preparation method, which involved soaking the pecans in a brine flavored with maple syrup, bourbon, and fresh rosemary. The resulting nuts are incredibly crunchy and infused with a woodsy, herbaceous flavor. The bourbon and maple syrup give them a very subtle, spicy sweetness. The recipe is endlessly adaptable. Swap orange zest or cinnamon for the rosemary, rum for the bourbon, and brown sugar for the maple syrup.

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Curried Cashews

Sometimes cashews can be a bit bland and not quite as crunchy as other nuts—not these cashews. Roasting them twice ensures a toasty crispness. The spicy curry, cumin, and cayenne are complemented perfectly by the caramelized brown sugar and just a hint of butter.

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Each of these recipes yields 3 to 4 cups of roasted nuts and can be stored in an airtight container for up to two weeks.