100 recipes. Page 3 of 5
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Chestnut paste folded with whipped cream is piped in thin strands over small butter cupcakes until each one looks like a tiny Mont Blanc. In Japan the Mont Blanc is closely tied to autumn, and the cupcake format makes it easy to serve one per person rather than cutting a whole cake.
Two Korean autumn staples go in, each with its own job. The sweet potato is mashed smooth and loosened with milk so it spreads through the whole batter, while the chestnuts are chopped coarsely and folded in last, leaving starchy, nutty pieces to bite into. The sweet potato's moisture keeps the muffins from drying out once cool.
The light, springy crumb that bounces back like a sponge when pressed comes from stiffly whipped egg whites. Oil instead of butter means it stays soft straight from the fridge, the main difference from a butter cake. The chiffon pan is left ungreased, and the cake is turned upside down as soon as it leaves the oven; cooled right side up, it sinks under its own weight.
Split warm by hand, these scones have a crisp golden top and a soft interior that crumbles rather than chews, ready for clotted cream and strawberry jam. Cold butter rubbed into the flour is what keeps them light; the more the dough is handled, the firmer the centers turn.
Each square of the grid becomes a small cup for syrup, melted butter, or fruit sauce, around a crisp edge and a soft, airy middle. The airiness comes from separating the eggs, whipping the whites to stiff peaks and folding them in over two additions.
With more cornmeal than flour, this American quick bread has a coarse, grainy crumb and just a little sweetness from the sugar. Baking powder does all the rising, with no proof, and the batter heads straight into the oven once mixed. That loose crumb breaks apart when hot, which is why it cools in the pan until the steam inside settles before slicing.
In the Philippines, bibingka is sold outside churches after the dawn Masses of the Christmas season, baked in clay pots lined with banana leaves over charcoal. Coals above and below cook both surfaces at once and keep the inside moist, while the leaves leave a green fragrance and faint dark marks on the underside. This version swaps all that for a round pan in a regular oven, and it leaves out the salted duck egg and coconut slices that vendors press on top midway. Rice flour and coconut milk give a texture somewhere between a rice cake and a sponge cake: a little chewy, but still soft and springy.
Leavened with baking powder instead of yeast, the dough is patted flat by hand and fried until the edges brown and the middle puffs unevenly. This version follows the recipe by Rosanna Sanders-Wallulatum published by Oregon State University and does not stand for every Indigenous community's way of making it. Light kneading and a 30-minute rest keep the dough tender. An even thickness, center included, prevents a browned outside over a raw middle.
Batter poured in a thin stream into hot oil fries into a lacy disk of crossed strands. Unlike a twisted yeast doughnut, nothing is kneaded or proofed; the width of the stream decides the texture. Piling batter in one spot leaves a raw center, while strands that never overlap fall apart when you flip the cake. Dust it with powdered sugar and eat it warm, since a covered funnel cake steams itself soft.
Instead of buttercream, a cooked coconut and pecan filling made with egg yolks and unsweetened evaporated milk fills the layers and covers the top. Slices end up with a textured center between soft cocoa layers rather than the uniform richness of a dense chocolate gateau. The cocoa is natural unsweetened, not melted sweet chocolate or Dutch-process. With nothing spread on the outside, the coconut-pecan layers show from the side.
Rolled thickly in powdered sugar, the dark chocolate dough cracks open as it bakes, leaving white crackled tops over deep brown seams. A small amount of gochujang (Korean fermented chili paste) adds gentle heat and a savory, fermented note after the sweetness without announcing itself. The texture lands between a brownie and a cookie: a thin crisp shell around a soft, fudgy middle.
Gyeran-ppang, the egg bread sold at Korean street stalls, adapts neatly to a muffin tin: a lightly sweet batter fills each cup halfway, and a whole egg cracked on top bakes into it as the batter rises around it. Chopped ham and scallions add a salty, savory layer to the sweet bread.
The classic hump needs two things together: a 30-minute rest in the fridge and an oven that starts hot and is then turned down. Hallabong marmalade stirred into the batter leaves small bits of peel throughout, so a faintly bitter citrus note keeps cutting through the butter. A little honey and milk keep the crumb moist.
Black sesame paste turns the crumb a dark gray and adds a roasted, nutty taste between the coarse grains of cornmeal. Only a little doenjang (Korean fermented soybean paste) is stirred in, not enough to taste of doenjang itself, just enough to leave a salty, savory base underneath.
Split one open and you get orange kabocha crumb with white ribbons of cream cheese running through it. The cream cheese goes on unsweetened and stays tangy against the sweet, cinnamon-spiced batter.
Whole wheat flour, honey and cinnamon go into a dough rolled to about 2 mm, so the crackers come out harder than a thick sugar cookie and snap rather than bend. They work plain or crushed for a pie crust. Fresh from the oven they still feel soft; the low bake and the drying time in the switched-off oven are what make them crisp; judge them only once fully cool.
These shell-shaped cakes are best eaten within 30 minutes of leaving the oven, while the edges are still crisp, with black tea or coffee alongside. A generous amount of melted butter browns those edges deep gold, and honey in place of part of the sugar gives a rounder, faintly floral sweetness that granulated sugar alone does not.
Milk and butter heated just to a boil go into a whipped whole-egg batter at the end, making a soft, plain cake served without icing. Unlike a chiffon, it leans on both the whole-egg foam and baking powder instead of separately whipped whites. Baked through, the crumb is soft and fine-grained, never wet or custardy in the middle.
Despite the name, there is no separate crumble mixture. The batter, heavy with roasted soybean powder, is left rough on top and dusted with more powder, and those craggy peaks bake up crisp. Inside, small mochi cubes, cut and separated before going in, give pockets of chew.
The rice cake is optional. Small pieces of it soften in the oven into chewy pockets, but even without them, the toasted soybean powder in the dough carries the injeolmi flavor all the way through, with a warm, nutty smell plain-flour scones lack.
Barely sweet and distinctly savory, these scones carry the sourness of kimchi and the saltiness of cheddar between buttery layers. Tossing the squeezed kimchi and the cheese in the flour before adding any liquid spreads them evenly instead of leaving clumps.
Holes poked into a hot lemon loaf let a sharp lemon syrup soak right through, and as it cools a thin layer of sugar crystals sets on top with a slight crunch. In Britain it is a plain, undecorated afternoon tea staple.
Butter, sugar, eggs, and flour go in at nearly equal weights, giving the dense, close crumb of a classic pound cake, and lemon zest and juice turn it bright. Rubbing the zest into the flour first spreads its oils so the aroma is even throughout. A crack running down the top is the sign of a good rise, and a thin powdered sugar glaze, poured once the cake has cooled, sets into a sweet, glossy film.
Browning the butter until it foams and smells toasty gives these madeleines a hazelnut-like depth that plain melted butter cannot. The hump on the back comes from resting the batter in the fridge for at least 1 hour: cold batter meeting a hot mold sets at the edges first while the center surges up. The crisp edges go soft within a few hours.