All those eggs means it's also time for gelato. Break out that ice cream maker!

Despite its incredible richness, gelato is a cream-less ice cream, favored in Italy but found just about everywhere these days. All that richness? Egg yolks. Lots of egg yolks.

Unfortunately, North American milk production results in less cream (or fat) in the milk. (No, the whole milk in the carton is not how it comes out of the cow. It's richer au naturel.) Italian whole milk runs over 5% cream; ours, somewhere around 4.2%. So to get the right texture, we have to add a little cream. Cheat, as it were.

Here's a gelato fashioned on the famous Italian dessert: zabaglione, made with eggs and Marsala wine. Zabaglione is crying out to be morphed into gelato, don't you think? 

You'll also want to start practicing your gelato technique now to be in good shape for the summer. You'd hate to come up short when your friends are watching.

In THE ULTIMATE COOK BOOK, we concocted a "road map" for granola--that is, a basic formula into which you can plug ingredients at will. For example, under the sweetener, our road map tells you to add any of the following: honey, maple syrup, unsweetened apple juice concentrate (thawed), sweetened cranberry juice concentrate (thawed), cane syrup, Lyle's Golden Syrup (a chip for the Brits), or agave nectar. Combine that with all the other choices in the road map and there are about a zillion recipes for granola, give or take five.

Which means Bruce never makes it the same way twice. Which means I can say nothing definite, unlike as to matters of theology or politics. But just yesterday he cooked up a new batch, so here's how he did it this time:

He divided the oven into thirds with the racks, got the thing heated up to 350F, and spread 9 cups rolled oats on them (no instant oats, only the real thing). He popped them into the oven--perky, no?--and toasted the oats for 10 minutes, switching the trays around halfway through to make sure the oats toasted evenly.

He set the oats aside, then warmed 1 cup honey and 1 cup canola oil in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat until the mixture started to steam. He stirred in 1 1/2 tablespoons vanilla extract and set that aside.

Next, he mixed the following in a large bowl: 3/4 cup chopped almond pieces, 3/4 cup wheat germ, 3/4 cup powdered non-fat dry milk, 6 tablespoons dark brown sugar, 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon, and 1 teaspoon salt.

In truth, you could swap those nuts for others: walnuts, pecans, cashews. (No salted version of any, of course. Blech.) And there are lots of spices you could add here in dribs and drabs: ground cloves, ground allspice, grated nutmeg. You could also use wheat bran instead of germ. It's all a matter of taste. Like love. Only a tad more exacting. (Or perhaps I've said too much.)

He poured the toasted oats into the big bowl and gave everything a good stir. Then he poured in the oil mixture, stuck his (cleaned!) hands in the bowl, and tossed up the whole thing, crumbling up any brown sugar that got balled up with the oil and making sure the goodies were evenly distributed in the oats.

He sprayed the trays with nonstick spray and then divided the oat mixture among them He stuck the loaded trays back in the oven and baked them for 10 minutes. Now for the tedious part: he pulled the trays out one by one, stirred everything on them with a metal spatula, and stuck them back in the oven in a different arrangement ("bottom rung on top," as we say in the South) to bake for another 10 minutes.

When the trays were out and again on a wire rack, he divided 3/4 cup golden raisins and 3/4 cup dark raisins among them, stirred everything one more time, and let them cool to room temperature, about 1 1/2 hours. He broke it all up and put it in a big container for breakfasts many mornings, while I sip my bowl of coffee and read up on theology and politics.

Here's a traditional if over-the-top recipe for three-meat meatballs, laced with organic Kamut bulgur to add lots of whole-grain goodness to the mix. (More on that concept in the recipe.) The meatballs are roasted, then dropped into a rich sauce, stocked with veggies, tomatoes, and herbs.

We've had this dish two nights in a row. (It makes a lot but leftovers are a dream.) We'll bet you do, too!

We made a double batch to carry to book group today, but the recipe here is for a singleton. If you've got a big paella pan as we do, then double up! Otherwise, here's the recipe.

About two years ago, one of us had a health scare: a scary colon matter, more than a polyp, with a 100% chance of its turning into cancer. It was removed--and we're all the better for it. But we started eating more whole grains--partly because the health professionals encouraged it. Brown rice at first, mostly because we didn't know much better. Then wheat berries. Maybe wild rice, too. We started by putting them on the side of the plate--with that pat-of-butter cliché.

But something happened: those whole grains were so darn delicious, we wanted more. And more kinds. We started moving them to the center of the plate. Bye bye, pat of butter. Hello, some of the most satisfying main courses we've ever created.

Then something else happened: because of the way whole grains interact in the body, both of us ended up losing over ten pounds each, despite heaping platefuls--that is, by eating MORE, not less.

Ahem. Great taste, good health, weight loss. Convinced yet? Dig in to this freebie recipe, adapted from our new book:

You see, we believe that whole grains are the gourmet ingredients hiding in plain sight. We're not talking about their health claims. (As we say in the book, we promise never to mention your colon.) Instead, we're talking about the ways that whole grains amplify, mute, and morph flavors in a dish once they become its ballast, its very reason to be.

There's no better way to prove our theory than to start with a simple whole grain salad made from spelt berries. We love them! They've got the best chew of almost any whole grain and they have a sweet/sour slapdash flavor that turns surprisingly elegant when combined with savory, fresh ingredients. If you want to see whole grains as the gourmet finds right under your nose, just make a simple recipe like this one.

Soak a batch (maybe 1 cup?) of spelt berries in a bowl of water overnight, drain, put them in a large saucepan, fill the pan two-thirds with water, and bring to a boil over high heat, stirring occasionally. Drop the heat to low, cover partially, and cook about 45 minutes, until the spelt berries are tender with a little chew. Drain in a colander set in the sink and refresh with cool tap water to stop the cooking. Drain thoroughly.

(Having trouble finding spelt berries? Look in most high-end grocery stores and almost all health-food stores. Or order them online from dozens of suppliers. Or click here.)

Chop up some tomatoes and celery--the perfect ingredients for a summery salad.

Mix the tomatoes, celery, and spelt berries in a big bowl. Then pour in some pesto--not too much, just enough to moisten the grains. We used our own homemade pesto--but purchased can stand in for an even quicker salad.

Stir it up, give it many good grinds of fresh black pepper, stir it again, and chow down on this easy salad main course, a great lunch any day of the week. Honestly, you'll see what we mean at first bite. This is something you haven't experienced. This is a whole grain in all its glory--not shoved to the side of the plate or tarted up in a baking recipe. This is what you've been missing!

There was a literary salon at the front table. (Of course there was.) One of the participants was also known for her food obsessions. Each week, she made her way to us, the food writers, before settling into the salon and chipping Derrida quotes at her peers. One hot summer morning, she blew in, hair plastered to her forehead, and came in for her usual landing at our table. "Have you made your summer pudding yet?" she exclaimed.

Taken aback, we mumbled something about "no." Undeterred, she launched into a description. It didn't involve French literary theory. And it sounded pretty good. So we set out to discover more about this old-fashioned dessert.

We quickly became mavens. If you love bread and jam, if you search for quick summer fruits desserts, if you're a fan of berries--well, this one's for you. It's like a no-fuss bombe: the pectin in the berries sets the "pudding" (layered sandwich bread, in fact) so you can cut the thing like a cake. It's the very best reason to whip cream. Here's the recipe:

So it amazes us that they can fly under the radar. Sure, everybody knows the benefits of whole-grain toast for breakfast. But we're talking whole grains on their own, the very point of a meal. They are, without a doubt, the gourmet ingredient hiding in plain sight. Which is why our new book is so very exciting. Look to the right to learn more about it--and whole grains like rye berries.

Yep, the grain that makes rye flour--except unadulterated with a wonderful, sassy taste and a sweet/sour mix in every bite. Rye berries are the very point of this salad. This recipe's original to this blog, but there are plenty more in our new book. We want everyone excited about whole grains! So let's get to the recipe.

No wonder this one was a success: sweet and sour cucumber pickles, spicy and aromatic as well. Best of all, you don't have to steam up the house with a canning kettle.

We've made it every year since. In the summer, we like to bring the jar out from the fridge, set it in the middle of the coffee table, and let our friends nibble away over margaritas or other cocktails.

No doubt: these pickles are a treat. What's more, they keep for a month. So grab some cukes and let's make pickles!

To celebrate, we thought we'd blog a simple, whole-grain recipe that's something of a lunch standard in our house. It's made with KAMUT, an organic brand of ancient khorasan wheat--and surely one of our favorite whole grains on the market. Kamut has a nutty, chewy pop; it's mild and sweet as well, a perfect foil to the tuna in this whole-grain rendition of lunch.

So let's get to it.