Another savory pie. I have a soft spot for them.
I have a tendency to make far too much food. I don't know where this comes from. I'm not Italian, or Jewish, or Polish, or any of countless ethnic groups that have such a reputation. I didn't grow up with a large family. I am a cook, but on a line, you're far more likely to make one serving at a time, not twenty. Caterers are really the ones who deal in numbers.
On New Year's Day this year I made Hoppin' John, as I do every January 1st. A pound of peas, 1/2 a pound of ham, a little of this, a little of that, and some rice. Every time it turns into Strega Nona's spaghetti pot. The point of Hoppin' John, of course, is to eat it all, in order to receive the benefits of luck and wealth. We never eat it all. Next year I'll have to farm it out to friends, neighbors, and co-workers. Share the wealth.
And so it goes with Pot Roast. I bought a chuck roast on Monday, because I've had a hankering. I asked for 3 pounds, which is conservative considering my usual 5, and the first time the butcher put it on the scale, it was 3.57. I felt bad asking him to cut off half a pound, because no one would buy that, right?, so I said that was okay and took home the whole dang thing. Oh well.
I also have a boy who does not really eat leftovers. He will, but not continuously until they are gone, which was my understanding of a male's purpose until the age of 10. So, in the name of frugality, for the purpose of keeping meals interesting, and in the spirit of old-school lunchladies, I do my best to re-purpose last night's dinner into tonight's. And probably tomorrow's. And maybe the next day's.
Beef Pot Pie
12 oz AP Flour
Reserved tallow from pot roast braising liquid
Butter to make up the balance of 8 oz
2-6oz ice water
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
2 T butter
2 T olive oil
4 T AP flour
1 small yellow onion, small dice
2 carrots, 1/2" bias cut
2 medium or 3 small new potatoes, large dice
6 button mushrooms, sliced
1 C Brandy
Salt
Pepper
Thyme
Reserved braising liquid, strained through cheesecloth, about 4 C
2 oz. heavy cream
2 lb. Pot Roast, cut into 2" cubes
Preheat oven to 400F.
Make the crust. Cut the hard beef fat and cold butter into the flour until the mixture resembles small peas. Moisten with water gradually until the dough holds together when squeezed with your hand. Divide the dough in half, wrap, and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
In a heavy bottomed 3-4 quart sauce pot, heat the butter and olive oil over medium high heat. Add the mushrooms and saute until browned. Remove mushrooms. Add onions, season with salt, and saute until softened. Sprinkle with flour and cook, stirring constantly, 2-3 minutes until any foam has subsided and the raw flour smell has abated. Add the brandy, a quarter at a time, stirring constantly to avoid lumps. Pour the reserved braising liquid into the pot, continuing to stir. Add the carrots, potatoes, and sauteed mushrooms, season with salt, fresh cracked pepper, and thyme. Bring the mixture to a simmer and cook until thickened. If the liquid does not thicken to your liking, you may add beurre monte (1:1 butter:AP Flour, mixed into a paste), or a slurry and continue to simmer. Finish with cream. Add the pot roast and remove from heat.
Roll one half of the dough into a 12" circle. Line a 9" pie plate with this crust, leaving the edges ragged and hanging over the edge. Place in the 400F oven 15 minutes until the center of the crust is set and beginning to brown. Remove from oven.
Roll the second half of the dough into a 12" circle. Ladle the filling into the bottom crust. Be careful not to overfill the pie, but reserve any remaining gravy to serve with the pie. Lay the top crust over the filling, pressing the dough into the edges of the pie plate and over and around the lip. Cut three large vents in the top of the pie. Brush with egg wash. Bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling bubbles through the vents. Remove from oven. Let stand 15-20 minutes. Serve in bowls with gravy.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Monday, March 2, 2009
Golden Pie
This has been a hard winter. Even now that it's spring, it is hard. The weather is cold, not in a crisp, renewing way, but in an invasive, corrosive, mildewy way. Cherry trees bloomed late this year, and even their blossoms look a little washed out and tired.
Golden Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
2 T olive oil
1 small yellow onion, small dice
2 stalks celery, small dice
2 large carrots, small dice
1 sweet potato, cubed
3-4 small golden beets, cubed
2 C dry sherry
1 C vegetable stock
16 oz heavy cream
2 T kosher salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
2 T Berbere or similar spice mixture
2 T vinegar, such as red wine or cherry
3 large eggs
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Heat a heavy bottomed pot over medium high flame. Add olive oil when the pot is hot, then saute the onions, celery, and carrots, seasoned with salt, until they have released their moisture and begun to color a bit. Deglaze the pot with sherry, and reduce by half.
Add the sweet potato, beets, and vegetable stock, and bring to a boil. Then cover the pot and place in the heated oven for 1 1/2 hours until the vegetables are tender.
Meanwhile, reduce the heavy cream by half. Pour the cream into a cold, large, heavy bottomed sauce pan, and heat to a boil. The cream will foam and rise a few times during the process. Make sure it does not boil over. When the cream takes on a slightly nutty aroma, remove it from the heat and season with salt and pepper.
When the vegetables are tender, remove from oven and add the reduced cream. Puree the mixture in a blender or food processor until smooth, then pass through a food mill or press through a tamis to refine the texture. Add the Berbere, and season to taste with salt, pepper, and vinegar.
Mix the eggs together, then pour into the vegetable mixture and combine thoroughly.
Pour the filling into the crust and bake until the edges are set and the center of the pie jiggles slightly. Cool at least one hour before serving.
Golden Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
2 T olive oil
1 small yellow onion, small dice
2 stalks celery, small dice
2 large carrots, small dice
1 sweet potato, cubed
3-4 small golden beets, cubed
2 C dry sherry
1 C vegetable stock
16 oz heavy cream
2 T kosher salt
1/4 tsp. black pepper
2 T Berbere or similar spice mixture
2 T vinegar, such as red wine or cherry
3 large eggs
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Heat a heavy bottomed pot over medium high flame. Add olive oil when the pot is hot, then saute the onions, celery, and carrots, seasoned with salt, until they have released their moisture and begun to color a bit. Deglaze the pot with sherry, and reduce by half.
Add the sweet potato, beets, and vegetable stock, and bring to a boil. Then cover the pot and place in the heated oven for 1 1/2 hours until the vegetables are tender.
Meanwhile, reduce the heavy cream by half. Pour the cream into a cold, large, heavy bottomed sauce pan, and heat to a boil. The cream will foam and rise a few times during the process. Make sure it does not boil over. When the cream takes on a slightly nutty aroma, remove it from the heat and season with salt and pepper.
When the vegetables are tender, remove from oven and add the reduced cream. Puree the mixture in a blender or food processor until smooth, then pass through a food mill or press through a tamis to refine the texture. Add the Berbere, and season to taste with salt, pepper, and vinegar.
Mix the eggs together, then pour into the vegetable mixture and combine thoroughly.
Pour the filling into the crust and bake until the edges are set and the center of the pie jiggles slightly. Cool at least one hour before serving.
Banoffee Pie
I have seen my future happiness and it is a barbecue joint on the northern tip of the Orchid Isle.
On the cusp of rain forest and desert, ocean and mountain, grassland and beach, a little shack with some picnic tables and an open pit sounds just about right. One of the largest and oldest cattle ranches in the U.S. deserves a little 'que down the street. And there's already an established and fervent devotion to slow smoke of the porcine variety, why not the bovine? Hawaii even has a hardwood related to mesquite - it's kismet.
Here's the menu:
Brisket
Beans
Rice
Macaroni Salad
Sweet breads from the Punalu'u Bakery, southernmost bakery in the United States
Onions
Cucumber and Jalapeno pickles
Coconut cream pie
I seriously considered coleslaw, because cabbage is a close second to beets in my favorite vegetable category. But that would really put a damper on advertising plate lunch. The macaroni salad won out - I'd like a side of starch with my starch, please. Maybe I will have both.
In tangential honor of my huli future, here is an imperialist pie with a tropical fruit. This is not for the faint of heart, and it is probably advisable to eat a very small wedge with a cup of very strong, black tea to counteract the high chance of falling into a diabetic coma. What is with the British and their sweet tooth?
Banoffee Pie
Pastry for a single crust pie
4 oz sweet butter
1 very ripe banana, frozen and peeled
1/2 C Brown sugar
14 oz sweetened condensed milk
1/2 tsp. Salt
1 tsp. Vanilla
4-6 barely ripe bananas
Lemon juice
Good quality, unsweetened cocoa powder
Vanilla ice cream
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 10" circle and place into an 8" tart plate with a removable bottom. Press the pastry into the edges and trim any excess. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove tart plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Mash the frozen banana until it becomes a smooth paste.
Melt the butter over medium high heat in a heavy bottomed sauce pan. Add the banana to this and saute lightly. Sprinkle the brown sugar over the bananas and heat until the sugar melts into the mixture. Pour the sweetened condensed milk into the mixture, stirring constantly.
When this mixture begins to bubble, reduce the heat to medium, or the lowest level of heat needed to maintain the bubbling. Stir constantly with a heat resistant utensil. The mixture will steam and then begin to darken in color. When the color has changed to a light caramel, stir in the salt and vanilla, then remove from heat and immediately pour into the waiting tart shell.
Do not serve until completely cooled.
To serve, cut the bananas cross-wise into 1/4" slices and sprinkle with lemon juice to preserve color. Arrange a layer of slices over the top of the tart, then arrange another layer of bananas over this. Dust the top of the tart with unsweetened cocoa powder. Garnish conservative slices with vanilla ice cream.
On the cusp of rain forest and desert, ocean and mountain, grassland and beach, a little shack with some picnic tables and an open pit sounds just about right. One of the largest and oldest cattle ranches in the U.S. deserves a little 'que down the street. And there's already an established and fervent devotion to slow smoke of the porcine variety, why not the bovine? Hawaii even has a hardwood related to mesquite - it's kismet.
Here's the menu:
Brisket
Beans
Rice
Macaroni Salad
Sweet breads from the Punalu'u Bakery, southernmost bakery in the United States
Onions
Cucumber and Jalapeno pickles
Coconut cream pie
I seriously considered coleslaw, because cabbage is a close second to beets in my favorite vegetable category. But that would really put a damper on advertising plate lunch. The macaroni salad won out - I'd like a side of starch with my starch, please. Maybe I will have both.
In tangential honor of my huli future, here is an imperialist pie with a tropical fruit. This is not for the faint of heart, and it is probably advisable to eat a very small wedge with a cup of very strong, black tea to counteract the high chance of falling into a diabetic coma. What is with the British and their sweet tooth?
Banoffee Pie
Pastry for a single crust pie
4 oz sweet butter
1 very ripe banana, frozen and peeled
1/2 C Brown sugar
14 oz sweetened condensed milk
1/2 tsp. Salt
1 tsp. Vanilla
4-6 barely ripe bananas
Lemon juice
Good quality, unsweetened cocoa powder
Vanilla ice cream
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 10" circle and place into an 8" tart plate with a removable bottom. Press the pastry into the edges and trim any excess. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove tart plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Mash the frozen banana until it becomes a smooth paste.
Melt the butter over medium high heat in a heavy bottomed sauce pan. Add the banana to this and saute lightly. Sprinkle the brown sugar over the bananas and heat until the sugar melts into the mixture. Pour the sweetened condensed milk into the mixture, stirring constantly.
When this mixture begins to bubble, reduce the heat to medium, or the lowest level of heat needed to maintain the bubbling. Stir constantly with a heat resistant utensil. The mixture will steam and then begin to darken in color. When the color has changed to a light caramel, stir in the salt and vanilla, then remove from heat and immediately pour into the waiting tart shell.
Do not serve until completely cooled.
To serve, cut the bananas cross-wise into 1/4" slices and sprinkle with lemon juice to preserve color. Arrange a layer of slices over the top of the tart, then arrange another layer of bananas over this. Dust the top of the tart with unsweetened cocoa powder. Garnish conservative slices with vanilla ice cream.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Chess Pie
My practicality and impulsiveness are in a fight. It's rough.
Practicality has had the upper hand by a slim margin since the winter '07/'08 series, when the triple combination of a panic over no health insurance, a fellow line cook with chronically untrimmed, unclean fingernails, and rats in the cocktail lounge took impulsiveness down in an upset. Before that, the Big I enjoyed a nearly unchallenged three and a half year reign. The last year or so it's done some rebuilding, recruited a few promising rookies, made some trades, and it's giving Ol' P a run for its money.
I don't know enough about sports for a good metaphor.
Every few years or so, I begin to chafe in my daily routine. It's like I am a plant that requires a larger pot. Maybe not a larger one, necessarily, but a different shaped one. Maybe I unconsciously adopted David Rakoff's book title as a directive - Don't get too comfortable. Who knows. I'm not flighty. Not really. I don't know. I research things. I stew about them. I run simulations and make contingency plans. And every 14 months or so I either get a new job, get a promotion, learn a new trade, or in extreme cases, take 6 weeks off to drive across the country. I like to have my fingers in a lot of pies, so to speak. I only have 10 fingers, though, and there are many more pies than that to muck about in. Lately, I've been feeling the itch in the form of dreams about traveling in Europe. There's the usual lounging on a piazza with a glass of wine, but my dreams come complete with detailed planning about the minimum number of items I can carry in one shoulder bag and still be prepared for any eventuality. This time, it'll have to be travel that satisfies the urge. My capriciousness in this situation, though, is tempered somewhat by my significant other, who is significantly more rooted than I. He's a tree, I'm crabgrass.
This is not to say I don't enjoy comfort. I am an accomplished couch potato. I enjoy actual potatoes in mashed form and the occasional scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. I have recently discovered the illicit joy of that guiltiest of pleasures, a Sloppy Joe sandwich (you think I admit that to the people I work with? and yes, I make them with Heinz ketchup).
Chess pie kind of embodies this internal conundrum. Sure, it's a rich, buttery sugar pie, the epitome of easy to eat indulgence. But what's with the corn meal? Vinegar! What gives? If those weren't impulsive improvisations, I don't know what is. You can tell the difference. Instead of a one dimensional sweetness, there's a little grit at the bottom and some zing at the top to complement the happy butter tart in the middle.
Chess Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
4 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
1 2/3 C sugar
3 T yellow corn meal
2 T cider vinegar
6 oz sweet butter
1 T vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Place the whole eggs and yolks in a bowl. Break all of the yolks and stir lightly. Add the sugar, corn meal, vinegar, and vanilla and mix just to combine.
Place the butter in a heavy bottomed sauce pan. Melt over medium high heat, swirling occasionally. Leave the butter on the heat until it has foamed and the milk solids have fallen to the bottom and begun to brown. It will have a slightly nutty aroma. Arrest the browning process by submerging the bottom of the sauce pan in cool water. Allow the butter to cool a bit before adding it in a slow stream to the egg mixture while stirring constantly.
Pour the filling into the pie shell. Bake the pie at 350 until the top has browned and the filling is mostly set, about 45 minutes. Allow to cool for at least one hour before serving.
Practicality has had the upper hand by a slim margin since the winter '07/'08 series, when the triple combination of a panic over no health insurance, a fellow line cook with chronically untrimmed, unclean fingernails, and rats in the cocktail lounge took impulsiveness down in an upset. Before that, the Big I enjoyed a nearly unchallenged three and a half year reign. The last year or so it's done some rebuilding, recruited a few promising rookies, made some trades, and it's giving Ol' P a run for its money.
I don't know enough about sports for a good metaphor.
Every few years or so, I begin to chafe in my daily routine. It's like I am a plant that requires a larger pot. Maybe not a larger one, necessarily, but a different shaped one. Maybe I unconsciously adopted David Rakoff's book title as a directive - Don't get too comfortable. Who knows. I'm not flighty. Not really. I don't know. I research things. I stew about them. I run simulations and make contingency plans. And every 14 months or so I either get a new job, get a promotion, learn a new trade, or in extreme cases, take 6 weeks off to drive across the country. I like to have my fingers in a lot of pies, so to speak. I only have 10 fingers, though, and there are many more pies than that to muck about in. Lately, I've been feeling the itch in the form of dreams about traveling in Europe. There's the usual lounging on a piazza with a glass of wine, but my dreams come complete with detailed planning about the minimum number of items I can carry in one shoulder bag and still be prepared for any eventuality. This time, it'll have to be travel that satisfies the urge. My capriciousness in this situation, though, is tempered somewhat by my significant other, who is significantly more rooted than I. He's a tree, I'm crabgrass.
This is not to say I don't enjoy comfort. I am an accomplished couch potato. I enjoy actual potatoes in mashed form and the occasional scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. I have recently discovered the illicit joy of that guiltiest of pleasures, a Sloppy Joe sandwich (you think I admit that to the people I work with? and yes, I make them with Heinz ketchup).
Chess pie kind of embodies this internal conundrum. Sure, it's a rich, buttery sugar pie, the epitome of easy to eat indulgence. But what's with the corn meal? Vinegar! What gives? If those weren't impulsive improvisations, I don't know what is. You can tell the difference. Instead of a one dimensional sweetness, there's a little grit at the bottom and some zing at the top to complement the happy butter tart in the middle.
Chess Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
4 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
1 2/3 C sugar
3 T yellow corn meal
2 T cider vinegar
6 oz sweet butter
1 T vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Place the whole eggs and yolks in a bowl. Break all of the yolks and stir lightly. Add the sugar, corn meal, vinegar, and vanilla and mix just to combine.
Place the butter in a heavy bottomed sauce pan. Melt over medium high heat, swirling occasionally. Leave the butter on the heat until it has foamed and the milk solids have fallen to the bottom and begun to brown. It will have a slightly nutty aroma. Arrest the browning process by submerging the bottom of the sauce pan in cool water. Allow the butter to cool a bit before adding it in a slow stream to the egg mixture while stirring constantly.
Pour the filling into the pie shell. Bake the pie at 350 until the top has browned and the filling is mostly set, about 45 minutes. Allow to cool for at least one hour before serving.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Shoofly Pie
Let me just say, I was wrong. For this I apologize. I was wrong, but so was Marion Cunningham. Not Richie and Joanie's mom, silly, but she of The Fannie Farmer Baking Book. Shoofly pie is not merely a sugar pie. Nor is it a translucent custard. It is something altogether more dark and complex and strange.
Have you ever had chocolate pudding cake? Mind you, this is not a chocolate lava cake - the kind that was popping up on nearly every menu for a time, from fancy-dancy view restaurants to greasy spoons - which is really just an underbaked chocolate cupcake. No. Chocolate pudding cake is a science project that took an unexpected turn. A proto-brownie, sprinkled with cocoa and sugar, drenched with boiling water then shoved in the oven until you end up with a fluffy, rich chocolate cake floating on top of a molten lake of fudge sauce. Who thinks of these things?
As it turns out, shoofly pie is something akin to a molasses flavored coffeecake concealing an obsidian custard in a tender flaky pie crust.
By the way, today's pie crust was on the right side of perfect.
These kinds of desserts really highlight the dominance of French cooking techniques in our modern kitchens. Auguste Escoffier and Fernand Point and Julia Child really did a number on those weird English recipes you find poking around cookbooks from the teens and twenties. Boiling water used to be a key ingredient. So did dried fruits, especially raisins. A few months ago I had a cookie consisting of a lemon dough wrapped around raisins that had been boiled within an inch of their lives and then highly spiced. It was an interesting snack, and somebody's granny was famous for them. But when is the last time you ran into something like that at your local corporate coffee shop? Another one that intrigues me is mock apple pie, made with soda crackers and lemon juice. This is probably just my current fascination with Depression make-do cooking talking. Of course, a lot of these old recipes are unbearably heavy. No wonder dyspepsia was such a common ailment. Mincemeat pie with actual meat and a little beef tallow thrown in for good measure, anyone? It's an acquired taste, I'm sure.
Some of these weird concoctions are worth saving, though. Shoofly pie is certainly one of them.
Shoofly Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
1 C A.P. flour
1 C brown sugar
4 T butter
1 C black strap molasses
1/2 C golden syrup
2 eggs
1 1/2 C water
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
Preheat oven to 375. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Mix flour and brown sugar to combine. Cut the butter into the flour sugar mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs. Set aside.
In a small bowl, beat the eggs together. Pour molasses and golden syrup into the eggs and beat to combine. Set aside.
Bring the water to a boil in a heavy saucepan and then add baking soda and salt. This will foam and bubble as soon as the soda is added.
Temper the syrup and egg mixture with the boiling water, then pour this into the rest of the water, stirring constantly. Pour the crumb mixture into the molasses mixture all at once. Mix lightly until just combined - it will be lumpy.
Remove the pastry from the freezer. Prick the crust in several places with a fork or paring knife to prevent air bubbles. Pour the filling into the crust.
Bake the pie at 375 for 10 minutes. Lower the oven temperature to 350 and bake an additional 20-35 minutes, until the edges are puffed and the center is set but jiggles slightly. Remove from the oven and allow to cool at least 30 minutes before slicing. Serve with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream.
Have you ever had chocolate pudding cake? Mind you, this is not a chocolate lava cake - the kind that was popping up on nearly every menu for a time, from fancy-dancy view restaurants to greasy spoons - which is really just an underbaked chocolate cupcake. No. Chocolate pudding cake is a science project that took an unexpected turn. A proto-brownie, sprinkled with cocoa and sugar, drenched with boiling water then shoved in the oven until you end up with a fluffy, rich chocolate cake floating on top of a molten lake of fudge sauce. Who thinks of these things?
As it turns out, shoofly pie is something akin to a molasses flavored coffeecake concealing an obsidian custard in a tender flaky pie crust.
By the way, today's pie crust was on the right side of perfect.
These kinds of desserts really highlight the dominance of French cooking techniques in our modern kitchens. Auguste Escoffier and Fernand Point and Julia Child really did a number on those weird English recipes you find poking around cookbooks from the teens and twenties. Boiling water used to be a key ingredient. So did dried fruits, especially raisins. A few months ago I had a cookie consisting of a lemon dough wrapped around raisins that had been boiled within an inch of their lives and then highly spiced. It was an interesting snack, and somebody's granny was famous for them. But when is the last time you ran into something like that at your local corporate coffee shop? Another one that intrigues me is mock apple pie, made with soda crackers and lemon juice. This is probably just my current fascination with Depression make-do cooking talking. Of course, a lot of these old recipes are unbearably heavy. No wonder dyspepsia was such a common ailment. Mincemeat pie with actual meat and a little beef tallow thrown in for good measure, anyone? It's an acquired taste, I'm sure.
Some of these weird concoctions are worth saving, though. Shoofly pie is certainly one of them.
Shoofly Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
1 C A.P. flour
1 C brown sugar
4 T butter
1 C black strap molasses
1/2 C golden syrup
2 eggs
1 1/2 C water
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
Preheat oven to 375. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Mix flour and brown sugar to combine. Cut the butter into the flour sugar mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs. Set aside.
In a small bowl, beat the eggs together. Pour molasses and golden syrup into the eggs and beat to combine. Set aside.
Bring the water to a boil in a heavy saucepan and then add baking soda and salt. This will foam and bubble as soon as the soda is added.
Temper the syrup and egg mixture with the boiling water, then pour this into the rest of the water, stirring constantly. Pour the crumb mixture into the molasses mixture all at once. Mix lightly until just combined - it will be lumpy.
Remove the pastry from the freezer. Prick the crust in several places with a fork or paring knife to prevent air bubbles. Pour the filling into the crust.
Bake the pie at 375 for 10 minutes. Lower the oven temperature to 350 and bake an additional 20-35 minutes, until the edges are puffed and the center is set but jiggles slightly. Remove from the oven and allow to cool at least 30 minutes before slicing. Serve with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Ur-Pie
Lately, I've been thinking about the origins of pie in a purely speculative sense. It must be something like the sandwich creation myth - Evinrude, Subearl of Pie, was playing bones one night, when he felt a rumbling in his tumbling. He turned to his manservant, Throg, and asked for a snack that he can hold in one hand and eat without getting too messy. Throg went out to the cooking terrace and took stock - a little leftover boar stew, some rendered fat, and ground wheat they used for making crackers - and had an idea. What if Throg wrapped the cracker dough around a ladle of stew and then baked it on the stone? Then Evinrude could hold the cracker and the stew would be inside. yada yada yada.
Could be. That's not such a good example, but I like to make up stories about things I like. Early last year, I went to a concert by DeVotchKa, a band I had never heard of. A guitar, a Theremin, an accordion, a violin, a double bass, a sousaphone, a trumpet, and some drums (all these played in various combinations by four people) put on a pretty good show. I’ll just say it, it was awesome. Partly, it was just great to see all the little hipster boys in girl jeans really getting in to pop-polka. Also, near the end there was a girl acrobat who danced on scarves hanging from the ceiling about 10 feet from where I was standing. Mostly, though, it made me so happy to see those people having such fun playing all this disparate music together. You could almost hear their distinct personalities peeking out of the sound as a whole.A few days later, I was poking around the interwebs, absent-mindedly looking for information about the band. I only made it as far as their website, though, because it was so vague and evocative that it tickled my fancy. I imagined three friends in music school together: two of them promising students, serious about their studies, the third a bright but distracted playboy who may or may not have been a regular class attendee, depending on whether the subject matter interested him. These three were taking a traditional music class together, and one evening while they were supposed to be working on a group project, they got to talking, and then maybe a little jamming. It was fun, and even after the class was over for the semester, they continued getting together. Maybe one night, the tuba player’s sometime-stoner friend, who was a drummer (tubas and percussion sit close to each other in orchestra), came over and joined in He confessed an abiding love of mariachi trumpet riffs. And so DeVotchKa was born.
This is most certainly not what happened, but it was exciting to think about.
I’ve been trying to reduce pie to its essence, at least the sweet pies. What is the barest list of ingredients you can have and still have something recognizable? You gotta have sugar, obviously. Then some eggs, to make it stick together. A little bit of liquid, because otherwise you just have sweet scrambled eggs, and some flavor, from the liquid or otherwise. Maybe some fat. Okay, of course some fat. Really, the simplest pie that is pie is sugar pie, honey bunch. Then you’ve got treacle tarts, and shoofly pie, and pecan pie, for when you want to be fancy. I could go on. So I will. Consider this next little while a meditation on sugar pie.
Brown Sugar Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
1 C packed brown sugar
4 T butter
3 large eggs
1 C whole milk
1 T vanilla
1 tsp. salt
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Cream butter and sugar and salt.
Add eggs one at a time, incorporating each completely before adding the next.
Mix in milk and vanilla until well combined.
Pour filling into pie crust. Bake at 350 until edges puff and the center is set but still jiggles, 40 minutes to an hour. Allow to cool completely before slicing.
Serve with sweetened whipped cream, if desired.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Beet Pie
When I was little, I was the kid sitting at the dinner table, long after everyone else had left, after dishes had been washed and dried and put away, after my sister had tired of taunting me about the television she was able to watch and I was not, because I would not eat my vegetables. Lima beans, peas, those fucking Brussels sprouts, I did not have a taste for them.
This was an unhappy coincidence, because my mother loved all vegetables. It was not uncommon for my sister and me to finish setting the table ("forks on the left!"), look at each other wordlessly weighing the pros and cons of a spat in the moments before supper, decide better of it before sliding along the walls of the dining room around the doorway into the kitchen to find not one, but two green things steaming next to the meatloaf or roasted chicken thighs on the stove. It is a testament to my mom's cooking in general, or maybe my optimistic nature, that I did not dread these meals. Eventually I figured out the trick of mixing peas in with mashed potatoes to get through.
The only vegetable I don't remember encountering was a beet. I had a vague notion that they existed, of course, but we didn't cross paths for many years. The first time I actually saw a beet in any form, I was a teenager visiting my mother's brother and his family. It was after supper on a humid but breezy summer evening, and various members of the family were still lingering around the table, conversating, when my little girl cousin climbed up into my aunt's lap and asked if she could have some beets. My aunt looked at her a little quizzically, since we'd all finished eating, and beets had most certainly not been part of the menu, but shrugged and reached into the refrigerator, retrieving a Ball jar full of a dark red liquid with rounded chunks jostling around in it. The little girl pulled out a few chunks, chewing thoughtfully between each one. My aunt reached for the lid to screw it back on, but my cousin emitted a little whine to indicate that she intended to eat some more. I think she ended up finishing the jar.
Curiosity eventually got the better of me. After I moved away and began feeding myself, I gradually retried my old enemies. Yellow squash, eggplant, mustard greens, even sauerkraut turned out to tickle my fancy. On a whim one evening, I bought a can of pickled beets, just to see what it would be like. I know, a can. But I was probably 22 and who really thinks clearly at that age? And anyway, I loved them. I have never looked back. Steamed, roasted, but best of all, home pickled, hiding in the back of the fridge, just waiting for a 2 am date with pumpernickel toast and goat cheese. Beets taste like the earth from which they come, but not hard, cold winter dirt. More like warm, black loam, freshly aerated in anticipation of new seedlings. They taste like potential.
Beet Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
1 1/2 # red beets (4-5 medium)
1/2 large yellow onion
1 medium fennel bulb
Olive oil
2 C dry sherry
1 C vegetable stock, plus additional for blending
4 T butter
4 oz chevre
1 T kosher salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
3 large eggs
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Raise oven temperature to 400. Wash and trim beets. Rub with olive oil and sprinkle liberally with salt. Roast until very tender, about 1 1/2 hours.
Meanwhile, finely dice onion and 1/2 of fennel bulb. Heat 2 T olive oil in a heavy bottomed skillet. Sweat onions and fennel until translucent. Raise heat to medium high, and saute until the edges of the aromatics turn golden brown. Deglaze with 1 C sherry. Reduce until almost dry, and then deglaze with 1 C vegetable stock. Reduce by half. Remove from heat and transfer vegetables to a clean bowl.
Return skillet to heat and pour in remaining sherry. Reduce by half. Remove from heat and swirl in butter 1 T at a time. Whisk in chevre until the liquid is completely smooth. Set aside.
When beets have cooled enough to handle, peel away the skins. Reduce oven temperature to 350.
Roughly chop the beets and add them to the bowl with the onion and fennel mixture. Place a third of this mixture in a blender, along with enough vegetable stock to lubricate. Blend until homogenized. Pour the blended mixture into a food mill fit with the finest die. Blend the remaining mixture in thirds and pour into the food mill. Press the beet mixture through the food mill. If desired, you may press this mixture through a tamis for further refinement.
Beat the eggs together. Temper with the sherry chevre sauce. Add this all to the beet mixture.
Pour the filling into the crust. Bake until the sides have puffed slightly and the center has barely set. Remove from the oven and cool for at least one hour before slicing.
This was an unhappy coincidence, because my mother loved all vegetables. It was not uncommon for my sister and me to finish setting the table ("forks on the left!"), look at each other wordlessly weighing the pros and cons of a spat in the moments before supper, decide better of it before sliding along the walls of the dining room around the doorway into the kitchen to find not one, but two green things steaming next to the meatloaf or roasted chicken thighs on the stove. It is a testament to my mom's cooking in general, or maybe my optimistic nature, that I did not dread these meals. Eventually I figured out the trick of mixing peas in with mashed potatoes to get through.
The only vegetable I don't remember encountering was a beet. I had a vague notion that they existed, of course, but we didn't cross paths for many years. The first time I actually saw a beet in any form, I was a teenager visiting my mother's brother and his family. It was after supper on a humid but breezy summer evening, and various members of the family were still lingering around the table, conversating, when my little girl cousin climbed up into my aunt's lap and asked if she could have some beets. My aunt looked at her a little quizzically, since we'd all finished eating, and beets had most certainly not been part of the menu, but shrugged and reached into the refrigerator, retrieving a Ball jar full of a dark red liquid with rounded chunks jostling around in it. The little girl pulled out a few chunks, chewing thoughtfully between each one. My aunt reached for the lid to screw it back on, but my cousin emitted a little whine to indicate that she intended to eat some more. I think she ended up finishing the jar.
Curiosity eventually got the better of me. After I moved away and began feeding myself, I gradually retried my old enemies. Yellow squash, eggplant, mustard greens, even sauerkraut turned out to tickle my fancy. On a whim one evening, I bought a can of pickled beets, just to see what it would be like. I know, a can. But I was probably 22 and who really thinks clearly at that age? And anyway, I loved them. I have never looked back. Steamed, roasted, but best of all, home pickled, hiding in the back of the fridge, just waiting for a 2 am date with pumpernickel toast and goat cheese. Beets taste like the earth from which they come, but not hard, cold winter dirt. More like warm, black loam, freshly aerated in anticipation of new seedlings. They taste like potential.
Beet Pie
Pastry for single crust pie
1 1/2 # red beets (4-5 medium)
1/2 large yellow onion
1 medium fennel bulb
Olive oil
2 C dry sherry
1 C vegetable stock, plus additional for blending
4 T butter
4 oz chevre
1 T kosher salt
1/2 tsp. black pepper
3 large eggs
Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Raise oven temperature to 400. Wash and trim beets. Rub with olive oil and sprinkle liberally with salt. Roast until very tender, about 1 1/2 hours.
Meanwhile, finely dice onion and 1/2 of fennel bulb. Heat 2 T olive oil in a heavy bottomed skillet. Sweat onions and fennel until translucent. Raise heat to medium high, and saute until the edges of the aromatics turn golden brown. Deglaze with 1 C sherry. Reduce until almost dry, and then deglaze with 1 C vegetable stock. Reduce by half. Remove from heat and transfer vegetables to a clean bowl.
Return skillet to heat and pour in remaining sherry. Reduce by half. Remove from heat and swirl in butter 1 T at a time. Whisk in chevre until the liquid is completely smooth. Set aside.
When beets have cooled enough to handle, peel away the skins. Reduce oven temperature to 350.
Roughly chop the beets and add them to the bowl with the onion and fennel mixture. Place a third of this mixture in a blender, along with enough vegetable stock to lubricate. Blend until homogenized. Pour the blended mixture into a food mill fit with the finest die. Blend the remaining mixture in thirds and pour into the food mill. Press the beet mixture through the food mill. If desired, you may press this mixture through a tamis for further refinement.
Beat the eggs together. Temper with the sherry chevre sauce. Add this all to the beet mixture.
Pour the filling into the crust. Bake until the sides have puffed slightly and the center has barely set. Remove from the oven and cool for at least one hour before slicing.
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