The Wow at the End of the Meal

In his foreword to “The Last Course” (Random House, $40), Gramercy Tavern chef Tom Colicchio explains that when he hired Claudia Fleming as pastry chef, he was looking for someone whose desserts made you say “wow” after you tasted them rather than before. What he’s getting at is the secret to the success of the New York restaurant and of this book.

“Back then the style of the day was architectural desserts--confections that towered high above the plate, with rock-hard ice cream providing the supportive structure,” he writes. “I was looking for someone who was willing to forgo theatrics in pursuit of mind-bending flavor.”

Substance and subtlety are at the heart of the recipes in “The Last Course,” and the “wow” factor is definitely there. Consider these fall ideas: Apple-Butter Crepes, Quince Thumbprint Cookies, Cornmeal Pound Cake, Almond Brown-Butter Cake and Guinness Stout Ginger Cake. If those don’t send you to the kitchen, check your pulse.

Even better than the ideas are the recipes themselves. Once you’re in the kitchen, these won’t chase you away. Professional pastry cookbooks--whether they come from restaurants or fancy bake shops--usually rely on multiple sub-recipes with long lists of ingredients that need to be assembled just so. Fleming’s desserts are perfectly adapted for the home kitchen. They are straightforward and common-sensical. The professional touches--the perfect plating--are what gilds the lily, they’re not the flower itself. Their drama is intellectual rather than visual.

The organization of the book plays right into Fleming’s sensibilities. Instead of the more familiar chapter divisions of cookies, cakes and pies, Fleming (along with co-author Melissa Clark) uses categories that are more intimately tied to the food rather than the form. There are sections of recipes for berries, stone fruits, citrus, nuts and (of course) chocolate. There are also more provocative groupings. When was the last time you saw a vegetables chapter in a dessert book? There’s also one for herbs and flowers as well as one for spices.

And then at the end (the last chapter in “The Last Course”) comes the fireworks--the work-all-day production numbers she calls “signature composed desserts.” The stuff everyone else puts first, intended to dazzle but that instead is more likely to intimidate, comes at the very end, after you’ve been thoroughly seduced by the rest of the book. Coming at this point, just as with Fleming’s desserts at the restaurant, they’re much more than a “wow,” they’re a “yahoo!”