[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

Call it blasphemy to all things good and right in the universe if you want, but I am just not a big fan of coffee. You can douse it in sugar, fill it up with cream, put any sort of amalgamation of honey and flavorings in it you want, I'm just probably not going to bite. In order to not appear a complete freak of nature at morning meetings and brunch time, I've learned to drink any other number of breakfast beverages, from a hearty earl gray tea to the weekend-time appropriate mimosa. My favorite coffee substitute, though, is a nice chai. Iced or piping hot, chai has the perfect balance of spices and rich aromatics to perk me up first thing in the morning while remaining a creamy, delicious drink.

My love affair with chai doesn't stop when the clock strikes noon, though. One of my favorite cakes to present at parties is the chai cake with honey-ginger cream frosting from the cookbook Sky High by Alisa Huntsman, which focuses on multi-layered, ceiling scraping cakes with refreshingly adult flavor profiles. If there's a cake taking on the wonders of my favorite sunrise concoction, it is high time a pie exists that does justice to the subtle nuances of chai flavor. Enter: the black bottom chai cream pie.

Striking the proper balance of spices in chai-flavored bake goods is really what separates an elegant dish from one that merely seems like a spice bomb. If you're looking to up the ante on spice flavor, add in two tablespoons of cardamom instead of a single one, and consider an extra tea bag. If the filling is too spicy for your palate, removing a half a teaspoon of ginger will go a long way towards calming the bursts of flavor.

The black bottom (read: totally chocolate) crust is a sugary counterpoint to a filling that is rich with mature, complex flavors. Chocolate wafer cookies may be difficult to find on your first hunt through the grocery store, but do not give up and spend your valuable baking time scraping the filling out of several dozen Oreos. Famous Chocolate Wafer cookies come in an unassuming yellow box, and might be found closer to the sweets section than the baking aisle.

When allowing the dessert to set in the refrigerator, cover the filling securely with plastic wrap to ensure that a skin doesn't form on the top of the pie. While it should be ready to go in five or six hours, letting the pie get nice and firm overnight is your best bet.

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Black Bottom Chai Cream Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Robyn Lee]

While picking up a celebratory pint of sorbet in the freezer section a couple of weeks ago, I noticed a fantastic tattoo on the shoulder of a fellow shopper: a little girl, smiling happily, eating blueberries in the middle of a field of the azure-colored treats. I immediately recognized it as the cover image from the 1949 Caldecott Award winning children's book, Blueberries for Sal. In the story, Sal is a mischievous little girl who, while picking blueberries, temporarily gets mixed up with a bear cub and causes all kinds of trouble for her beleaguered, jam-making mother.

Picking berries was one of my favorite childhood activities, and blackberry thickets were just waiting for tiny, eager hands to brave the bramble and thorns and reach for the juicy purple berries. A pretzel-crusted, blueberry-blackberry pie is just the dessert to satisfy that summer's day craving—and quite possibly stain mouths everywhere with a tell-tale blue hue.

The rule for picking out high quality blueberries or blackberries is largely the same for both fruit: if they are even a touch red or burgundy, they aren't ripe enough to eat. Blueberries should have a deep cobalt shade closer to the color of slate than a blue jay, and blackberries should look deep enough purple that they could pass for black to an untrained eye. If you're feeling adventurous, the blueberry-blackberry pie would also be just as tasty by substituting in elderberries, mulberries, or gooseberries for the blackberries in the dish.

The pretzel crust is a crunchy, savory balance to the velvety texture of the pie, and is best made with thin pretzel rods. If you're interested in a crust that errs on the side of a more traditional graham cracker style, crush the pretzels very finely and add an additional 1-2 tablespoons of sugar to the mixture. If you're more of a chunky mindset, leave the pretzels a bit of coarse texture and enjoy a bit of snap with each bite.

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Blueberry-Blackberry Pie with Pretzel Crust »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

For most folks, comfort food involves some combination of cheesy and greasy, gooey and sweet, or maybe even something inexplicable, like tuna noodle casserole. (Or, if you're of the Betty Draper mindset, comfort food can consist of just shooting whipped cream straight from the can into your mouth.) While I'm never going to be a person to turn down a guacamole-heavy burrito or a sticky toffee pudding in a time of crisis, my go-to snack when I'm feeling lowdown is always going to be apple butter. There's nothing quite like the homey, sweet-meets-spicy flavor of apple butter spread over a mammoth, fluffy cat head biscuit to make you forget all about your woes, one bite at a time.

Apple butter is an Appalachian staple that's used for a smattering of purposes from an early morning breakfast condiment to livening up a turkey sandwich. Cooking large batches of this sweet spread was traditionally a family affair and an opportunity for cousins, aunts, and uncles to visit for a kind of impromptu celebration. Today, there are still half a dozen festivals across the mountain region devoted specifically to cooking up and cheering about this country treat.

While apple butter from the store or farmer's market will ensure this pie is delicious, nothing beats spicing your own creamy apple concoction. Even when working in small batches, going about it the traditional way is a bit time consuming, so using store bought (or homemade) organic applesauce can help speed up the transformation of ho-hum apples into rich, aromatic apple butter:

Combine 3 cups of sweetened organic applesauce in a crock pot with 1 tablespoon each nutmeg, allspice, clove, cinnamon, 1 teaspoon lemon juice, and 1/4 cup of sugar. Allow to cook on low heat for 24 hours, stirring often, with the lid removed for the last 1-2 hours.

The oatmeal pecan crust is an easy to assemble, crunchy foundation for the pie, with flavors similar to those in an oatmeal cookie. The hearty texture gives a bit of bite to each piece. When pressing the mixture into the pie plate, be vigilant not to add too much filling and create an unnecessarily thick crust: about 1/4 inch on both the bottom and sides is ideal. The pecans should be chopped finely enough to provide an additional textural element but not overshadow the balance of oats and spices. A fan of honey? Add 2 tablespoons to the crust for an additional rustic touch of sweetness.

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Apple Butter Pie with Oatmeal Pecan Crust »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

On a recent dining excursion, I was fortunate enough to end my meal with a giant, crimson slice of red velvet cake, which had a depth of color and flavor I had yet to encounter in my years of baking and eating this Bible Belt favorite. The secret ingredient? Beets. The vegetable not only helped the nuances of the cocoa flavors to shine, but served as a natural food coloring for the cake that rendered the traditional seven drops of red-from-a-bottle seem like a complete relic.

Who knew that a paltry looking little root vegetable could be the star of such a sugary spectacle? While apples are notoriously delicious in a tart and no one is ever going to turn down a big, heaping slice of blueberry pie, it's high time that vegetables get their fair share of the limelight as beauties of baking.

Vegetables and sugar have been flirting for years with one another through dishes like the Thanksgiving stand-by sweet potato pie and autumnal pumpkin bread, but these relationships have been fleeting and seasonal at best. This week's carrot mascarpone pie is proof that veggies are ready to come into their own as a part of the dessert course by reimagining the springtime favorite carrot cake as a vehicle for creamy, complex flavors.

If you've always tiptoed around working with vanilla bean in dishes, this is the perfect recipe to revolutionize your baking through this tiny, powerful pod. Vanilla beans are a bit on the pricey side, so when selecting them ensure that the pod is aromatic, dense, and—most importantly—pliable. If you can bend it into an arc shape without it crumbling, it is still at the peak of freshness. After splitting and scraping your vanilla bean for the pie, don't let the pod itself go to waste. Fill a sealed container with cane sugar and drop the vanilla bean pod inside to create a delicious vanilla sugar.

The cream cheese crust, a play on traditional cream cheese frosting, is a joy. It holds its shape incredibly well, distorts less readily than traditional lard-based crusts, and tends to be more tender than flaky. Even if this crust endures a bevy of rolling, shaping, fixing, and general manhandling, it will retain a lovely, smooth texture. The cream cheese taste is able to peek through, and is well complimented by the vanilla.

Oh, and tiramisu, it's time you learn to share your favorite velvety component: mascarpone. In this pie, it shines as the perfect balance of tangy and rich against the earthy undertones of the carrot puree. The mascarpone and carrot also do an interesting two-step complimenting one another's understated sweetness. If mascarpone is unavailable, ricotta or cream cheese can be substituted, but the consistency and flavor will not be quite up to par—it's best to find this (alarmingly addictive) Italian favorite.

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Carrot Vanilla Bean Mascarpone Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

Make no mistake about it: I love boozy fruit. Some folks aspire to be fantastic jam makers or the kind of picklers who expand their range to include exotic treats like chili-vinegar fiddlehead ferns and pickled sweet potato greens. These canning dreams are all well and good, but I'm staking my claim right now on the niche market of alcohol-laden sweet produce. After all, what could make a better housewarming gift than giant chunks of pineapple soaked in rum or fresh cherries mingled with a fine bourbon? Definitely not pickles, that's for sure.

Brandied peaches are the grand dame of boozy fruit, a Victorian Christmastime favorite, and a mainstay of cookbooks from the late 1800s until the 1950s. When canning dropped off in favor of the speed and convenience of gloopy, mass produced store bought fruits in a tin, brandied peaches and their simple elegance all but faded from the culinary radar. It's high time they begin their ascent back to their former regal status.

In this Brandied Peach Almond Pie, the peaches are given a very speedy soak in brandy before baking—just enough time to give them the proper flavor, but not enough time to fully macerate. Suddenly been bitten by the boozy fruit bug? I suggest trying your hand at preserving whole brandied peaches to spoon over ice cream or as a dessert in and of themselves. This process involves several additional steps to make sure they are properly canned (let's all try and avoid botulism, please) but can be the perfect treat months later on a cold winter night. If you are a fan of brandy and would like to make your pie a bit more potent, cover the bowl while the peaches are soaking and refrigerate the mixture overnight; the longer the peaches are allowed to macerate, the stronger the brandy flavor.

The unexpected crunch of the almond-tiled pie crust against the juiciness of the fruit is a nice textural balance for a dish overflowing with major peach flavor, as the almonds are able to counterbalance their sweetness with nutty depth while also reinforcing the candied nature of the pie. If you're an almond fan, take an additional 1/3 cups of ground almonds and sprinkle generously into the crumb mixture once it is removed from the heat in order to add even more crunch to the topping.

While baking, the crumb topping may begin to brown before the pie is finished baking. If this happens, tent the pie for the last 15 minutes with aluminum foil to ensure it is cooked through and to prevent burning.

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Brandied Peach Almond Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

When I was growing up, my grandmother's house was a wonderland of trinkets and tinkering. A place where an early 20th century pimento cheese grinder dominated the dining room table, a taxidermy bobcat served as a coffee table, and an extensive collection of bird-shaped pie vents perched on the kitchen windowsill, peeping down (in what I assumed to be harsh judgment) at the messes of sugar and lard that I would concoct as a child.

One of the first successful pies I whipped up was the Kentucky regional favorite Transparent Pie: a dessert so filled with sugar (two cups!) that I'm sure it alone has bankrolled several area dentists for decades.

What makes Transparent Pie different than the old Southern standby Chess Pie? The use of heavy cream. While they may be kissing cousins, the cream adds a level of richness which sets it apart with a smooth, custardy texture. The Texas classic Buttermilk Pie, which has a tart, tangy bite, also falls into this saccharine family of confections, along with Indiana Sugar Pie and the rural Pennsylvania favorite Shoofly Pie. (Little old ladies across the state of Kentucky would shake their heads disparagingly at these comparisons, though, so keep it to a whisper.)

The additions of rosewater and lime add an international flair to a traditionally regional sweet, and help the dessert to develop a much more complex flavor. Rosewater has been associated with romantic folklore for centuries—Cornish maidens would adorn their blouses with rosewater-dipped rosemary sprigs before going to market in hopes of attracting a suitor—and is an alternate flavoring used for marzipan. However if you don't have a taste for its fluttery, floral notes, orange blossom water can be easily substituted and would continue to compliment the rosewater crust. Consider the Transparent Pie a dense, sticky palate on which to paint your own vibrant flavors.

When the pie is baking, it will puff up much like a cake: do not be alarmed when this happens. The pie will sink back down (and many times become a bit concave) once allowed to cool. The pie is ready to be removed from the over when a crispy, golden brown shell has formed on its top. The shell is deliciously addictive—like a thin sugar cookie—but resist the urge to snap off crisp, sugary bites: it should be allowed to mingle with the creamy center of the pie in each mouthful.

This pie should not be served in regular-sized slices, but instead in very thin slivers: it is incredibly rich, and is best enjoyed in this delicate form. Explore playing up both sides of the dessert by pairing it with a cup of Turkish coffee for a warm and international bite, or keep it classic with a chilled slice and a trusty glass of frothy milk.

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Rosewater Lime Transparent Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

Justin Timberlake: A wildly popular Mouseketeer, this national treasure started his career carrying on the decades-old traditions of Annette Funicello. He was a teenage heartthrob with (regrettably) frosted hair and the indisputable leader of a boy band revolution. While other teen pop icons fell by the wayside or combusted before our very eyes, he blossomed into a dapper, tuxedo-clad gentleman, proving himself as an actor, funny guy, and dude who can seriously cut a rug while hitting a falsetto high note.

And if anyone has ever dared to doubt JT's status as a modern day renaissance man and all-American boy, look no further than the recently publicity surrounding his status as budding baker and pie aficionado. Not only does Mr. Timberlake apparently know his way around a rolling pin, he learned all his skills from helping his grandmother, Sadie, in the kitchen. (Insert a collective, "aw!" here.) According to lore, one of Justin's specialties is a three layer pie, which he adapted from his grandmother's traditional chocolate into a butterscotch treat. While my three layer maple butterscotch pie may not have the Timberlake stamp of approval, the combination of butterscotch, maple, and walnut is sure to satisfy anyone down in the dumps about missing a cabne a sucre fete.

(Also, Justin, if you're reading this, I'd be more than happy to swap recipe cards with you any time.)

When making the baked layer of a three layer pie, constant stirring is key to ensuring that the mixture doesn't begin to burn or darken too quickly in spots: a uniform, caramel color is the desired result. A double boiler could be used instead of a small saucepan if your stove top has a tendency to heat unevenly, or if you'd like to take extra care not to burn the filling.

Once the first layer has baked, waiting for it to cool completely is crucial to the pie's success. I was incredibly impatient during my first attempt at making this pie and I waited for it to only partially cool, which resulted in the second layer oozing into a maple mess. In order to be safe, double your regular cooling time.

The true pièce de résistance within this pie is the black walnut whipped cream. While it may take some hunting to find walnut extract (you can also purchase it online here), the nutty bite and unexpected earthy undertone it adds to an otherwise incredibly sweet pie ensures a proper balancing act of flavors, and helps to pick up the traces of walnut in the pie crust.

While most pies are best within a couple of days of baking, this pie is absolutely at its peak on the day of creation, so don't feel guilty about taking that extra helping.

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Butterscotch Maple Walnut Three Layer Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

While most folks tend to make their (perhaps champagne-fueled) resolutions for self-improvement at the first of the year, it's the springtime, when the crocus pop up their heads and the cherry trees shake out frothy pink blossoms, when I tend to make mine. This year, I've resolved to make better use of my sunny kitchen window space and start a small potted herb garden. (I'll never again have to shell out exorbitant amounts of cash for a lackluster hunk of wilting cilantro at the grocery store—victory!) My daydreaming about this undertaking has quickly escalated into some pretty serious visions of grandeur: a small jungle of exotic basils, a tiny rosemary topiary, and enough lavender bursting forth that I can make small scented wreaths out of braided sprigs. Whether or not my over-the-top herb dreams will be realized remains to be seen, but so far I'm doing super well keeping my one terracotta pot of dill from turning brown.

The ability of herbs to open up fruit desserts cannot be overstated: a touch of sage, tarragon, or rosemary will allow even the simplest of fruit pies to bloom. While thyme is more commonly associated with creamy béchamel sauces and rich risotto, it is the ultimate supporting cast member for fruits and spices. Thyme adds a natural warmth to any dish, enhancing the flavors already present without overpowering. This is especially true of its complimentary nature with mint, and the interplay between the mint glaze and thyme crust becomes a dynamic back-and-forth of subtle and powerful notes. If you're not a fan of thyme, I recommend replacing the thyme with basil in the crust and filling, and skipping the mint glaze altogether.

The key to success is twofold for ensuring that thyme gets its proper day in the sun. When mincing the thyme for the pie crust, work diligently to ensure it is as fine as possible: this allows the oils from the herb to be absorbed into the dough, while also ensuring no one gets a giant mouthful of green. Also, using fresh herbs is a necessity. If you have an advanced herb garden (I'm jealous!) or live somewhere with many thyme options, go with a lemon thyme.

The foundation of this tart is a play on the traditional pâte sucrée dough. Pâte sucrée has a crumbly, shortbread-like texture that makes the perfect foil to juicy, fruit-heavy fillings. After removing the dough from the food processor, it is important not to over knead it: it makes the dough difficult to work with and ultimately produces a tougher crust. What's more, the chilling step needs to be given due reverence. I would suggest, if possible, making the dough a day ahead and refrigerating overnight. However, if you're in a pinch for time, an hour of chilling will do.

Oh, and about those strawberries: don't go with the plump, juicy ones you just want to pop in your mouth. Instead, find strawberries that are still a bit firm. These will emit less water when baked, ensuring that your crust bottom doesn't become a soggy mess.

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Strawberry Thyme Tart with Mint Glaze »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

Before every urban gardener and fan of a rustic rooftop lifestyle decided to try their hand at beekeeping, it was an antiquated practice in my rural Appalachian hometown. It was generally reserved exclusively for eccentric old men, folk medicine practitioners, and the family of my high school crush, who had a well-known apiary between the thickets in the woods behind their house. After mustering up the courage to let him know how I felt, our first—and last—date consisted of us both donning protective bee headgear and traipsing out into the woods to collect a honey harvest: the sticky nectar was delicious in my tea for months to come, but my bee sting covered arms really soured any chance at a relationship.

While I might not have a future as an apiculturist, I'm sweet on any recipe that requires a healthy dose of this delight, especially when it's paired with deep, rich spices like anise to balance out what can be an overpowering, gummy taste. The type of honey used in this dessert will have a profound impact on the resulting flavor: while any locally sourced honey will do, I recommend clover honey, which has floral notes, or acacia honey, which is widely regarded as a flavorful favorite. In any case, don't shortchange your pie by using the standard supermarket honey bear fare: it's worth the extra effort to locate and use the highest quality honey possible.

If you're feeling ambitious and want to toast your own pine nuts, doing so with just a touch of cardamom sprinkled on top will compliment well the licorice-like bite of the crust and add an undercurrent of spice to the pie. The buttery-smooth pine nut often gets a bad rap for allegedly causing the unappetizing, mysterious phenomenon "pine nut mouth": a metallic, bitter taste for days or weeks after eating a dish containing pine nuts. The origins have tentatively been traced to specific shelling processes used on Chinese pine nuts, so to save yourself from this fate, stick with the Italian kind when selecting your nuts.

When first making the filling, I tempered the honey mixture, still hot, into the egg mixture, which left me with a runnier custard consistency than my target texture. By allowing the honey mixture to fully cool to room temperature, the egg mixture can be folded into the honey mixture, ensuring a thicker filling and that the eggs won't curdle due to the heat.

Looking to add a bit of extra flare to the pie? Whip up some fresh anise cream to dollop on top of this nutty, earthy treat.

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Pine Nut Honey Anise Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Sarah Baird]

While a white Christmas complete with snow angels, eggnog, and Bing Crosby crooning on the stereo is undeniably a magical experience, few things are more disheartening than waking up to a blanket of the fluffy stuff on a morning in early March. When snowflakes start falling at a time in the year when everyone is antsy to lose their trench coats and earmuffs, the only way to cope is through sweet indulgence—or moving to Hawaii.

Even if you live in a place where the closest thing to a snowman is a snow cone, this Mexican Hot Chocolate Pie will tickle your senses and warm your taste buds in a way that will have you dreaming of a nice, warm mug of cocoa and a roaring fire. (Full disclosure: I live in New Orleans, wore shorts to the farmer's market this morning, and would eat this pie in the middle of July in Jackson Square.)

The dessert has a deep, robust chocolate flavor, and relies heavily on a high-quality dark chocolate to properly balance out and compliment the spices. I recommend Sharffen Berger Unsweetened Pure Dark Chocolate, which has hints of nuttiness and caramel to add a more complex flavor to your pie, but any quality dark chocolate suitable for baking will work.

Tempering the cream and chocolate should be the piece of the recipe that requires the most painstaking attention: whisk constantly and remove the mixture from the heat just when it is warm and completely melted. If the chocolate becomes too hot, the likelihood increases that the cake will have notes of bitterness and a sticky texture.

Playing with the ratio of spices inside the pie can help determine the prime level of heat that you are seeking, and will ensure that you aren't rushing for a glass of ice water after each bite. In its current state, the pie recipe has just the optional amount of balanced kick from the ancho, chipotle, cinnamon, and ginger, but feel free to up the ante if you want to play with a little fire. Hungarian paprika can also be added to give the dish a smoky, seductive undercurrent.

The most important means by which to get just the right texture is to carefully watch the clock. Removing the pie from the oven at about thirty-five minutes—when the edges are puffy but the center still has a bit of jiggle to it—will leave you with a creamy, custard-like consistency. If you bake the pie for five-to-ten more minutes, the center will firm into fudgy decadence. It's a win-win situation, so try the pie both ways to see which one you prefer.

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Mexican Hot Chocolate Pie »

About the author: Sarah Baird is a writer, editor, and petit four aficionado living in New Orleans, Louisiana. She likes planning elaborate dinner parties surrounded by her collection of dwarf citrus trees. You can read her latest musings and about her various misadventures on her website: hellosarahbaird.com or follow her on Twitter: @scbaird.

[Photograph: Carrie Vasios]

You can't get easier or more straight forward than Chess Pie. A combination of eggs, butter, sugar, vanilla, and cornmeal is poured into a pie crust and baked. The result is a simple custard pie with a just-less-than-smooth texture and sweet flavor. It's a pantry staple pie and I'm sure it's saved more than one host or hostess in a dessert pinch.

Such a simple base recipe can be tweaked in any number of ways, but in the height of citrus season I think that the addition of floral Meyer lemons is the way to go. Adding lemon juice to the pie also dials back the sweetness, making this pie appropriate for people who prefer sweet-tart combinations (any Sour Patch Kid lovers out there?). A cloud of just whipped cream provides the perfect light, milky cap to the custardy pie.

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Meyer Lemon Chess Pie »

About the author: Carrie Vasios is the editor of Serious Eats: Sweets. She likes to peruse her large collection of cookbooks while eating jam from the jar. You can follow her on Twitter @carrievasios

[Photograph: Lauren Weisenthal]

Life throws you curve balls, and those who come out winning are those who can adapt. When facing the problem of producing a delicious and texturally interesting dessert without the use of an oven or stove, it's good to have something easy in your pocket to which you may turn. If you're ever in that situation, you'll be ready—armed with this recipe for the perfect no-bake pie, which I've adapted from Martha Stewart's similar cheesecake (because odds are if you are without oven, you probably won't have a springform pan either).

This creamy, rich pie is screaming for some acidic fruit to balance it, and here in blood orange (also sometimes called Moro oranges) season, we have our perfect topping. The hardest task might be supreming the oranges, to remove the pith, peel, and all the tough skin inside, but it's fun once you get the hang of it. If you're new to the skill, there's a video to guide you, so be sure to jump over to the recipe to see what it's all about. It may be the prettiest pie you make all winter.

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No-Bake Blood Orange Pie »

About the author: Lauren Weisenthal has logged many hours working in restaurant kitchens and bakeries of Brooklyn and Manhattan. She is a graduate of the Artisan Bread Baking and Pastry Arts programs at the French Culinary Institute and holds a CS certification from the Court of Master Sommeliers. You can follow her on Twitter at @evillagekitchen.

[Photos: Lauren Weisenthal]

Key lime pie is gorgeous in its simplicity; a velvet custard full of brightness and tang, cradled in a graham cracker crust, topping optional. Devotees of the dessert tend to be traditionalists, and get offended at the slightest attempt to mess around with the flavors. To those purists out there, I'm sorry, this recipe is probably not for you. For everyone else, adding a little hint of coriander to key lime pie adds a delightful dimension of flavor that's worth trying the next time you've got little key limes in your possession.

The recipe is simple, but be sure you leave enough time. Before you make the filling, crushed coriander seeds must be mixed with freshly squeezed, warmed key lime juice, and allowed to steep overnight in the fridge. This process imparts the subtle flavor of coriander into the juice, which is then added to the recipe and baked as you would any other key lime pie.

I decided to top mine with bruleed meringue, but if you'd prefer something richer, whipped cream is a great alternative.

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Coriander Key Lime Meringue Pie »

About the author: Lauren Weisenthal has logged many hours working in restaurant kitchens and bakeries of Brooklyn and Manhattan. She is a graduate of the Artisan Bread Baking and Pastry Arts programs at the French Culinary Institute and holds a CS certification from the Court of Master Sommeliers. You can follow her on Twitter at @evillagekitchen.

[Photograph: Lauren Weisenthal]

It's as predictable as Murphy's Law—the week that we're blasted with bone-chilling winter temperatures is always when I'll crave the sweet fruit of summer most. During these desperate times, there is a fantastic option for cooks searching for a summer oasis in a sea of root vegetables and apples from the cellar: frozen fruit. Grown in peak season, ripened and preserved with no sugar or additives, it's my favorite source of flavor to cure the winter blues.

Since frozen fruit is usually best when cooked, it's great for baking into pies or crumbles, sautéed as a topping, or cooked down and pureed. The simple and fresh mousse filling in this recipe is created by simmering frozen peaches with sugar in their own juices until they are soft and easily blended. The resulting puree (stabilized with gelatin) is then folded into cold whipped cream, and sets up in your favorite pie shell with just a few hours of chilling. With minimal work for great peach flavor, it's a winning winter baking project that's good any time of year.

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Peaches n' Cream Mousse Pie »

About the author: Lauren Weisenthal has logged many hours working in restaurant kitchens and bakeries of Brooklyn and Manhattan. She is a graduate of the Artisan Bread Baking and Pastry Arts programs at the French Culinary Institute and holds a CS certification from the Court of Master Sommeliers. You can follow her on Twitter at @evillagekitchen.

[Photograph: Lauren Weisenthal]

Not all chocolate cream pies are created equal. I've tried ones with luscious, dark chocolate fillings as thick as pure ganache. I've had outstanding milk chocolate pudding fillings, and chocolate silk versions lightened by meringue and light as air. You can't rate any one best— it just comes down to personal preference and taste. But for me, if I were ever to enjoy just one chocolate cream pie for the rest of my life, this one would be it.

This pie satisfies the kid inside me, the one who prefers puddings to any fancy plated dessert creation you'd see in fine dining. When it comes to my pudding, I like it to be perfectly smooth, skin free, and lightened with a fold of whipped heavy cream just before serving. As a pie filling, this means that the pie will not be so pretty once it's sliced, (it doesn't set up the way some others do) but it's guaranteed to have a creamy, light texture and is oh-so-delightful alongside the flaky and slightly savory all-butter crust. For pudding lovers like me, this is simply not to be missed.

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Chocolate Cream Pie »

About the author: Lauren Weisenthal has logged many hours working in restaurant kitchens and bakeries of Brooklyn and Manhattan. She is a graduate of the Artisan Bread Baking and Pastry Arts programs at the French Culinary Institute and holds a CS certification from the Court of Master Sommeliers. You can follow her on Twitter at @evillagekitchen.