FOOD ON THE FOOD

The Truth About Lard

Look what I found at Pete and Jen’s Backyard Birds:

Laaaaaaaaaard.  Because Pete and Jen don’t just raise birds, they also raise pigs in pristine Concord (as well as sheep, rabbits, and, potentially, a cow).  I think they should change their name to Pete and Jen’s Backyard Birds And Other Animals.  They’re really nice people over there behind Verrill Farm, but, more importantly, they have lard.

Lard gets a bad rap.  It’s a terrible-sounding word from a phonetic standpoint.  It’s almost always used in a derogatory way (e.g., lard-ass).  Sure, it’s possible that there may be a correlation between eating large quantities of lard and an ever-expanding derrière, but that can be said of lots of things.  I don’t think we need to single out lard unfairly.  And while the idea of pig fat may be less than appealing in a theoretical sense, practically speaking, there’s no more delicious way to make sure all the parts of the animal are put to good use.  I mean, you like bacon, don’t you?  That’s something like 75% pig fat, if you’re lucky. You can’t love bacon and hate lard.  It’s physically impossible.

So, now that we’re being open-minded about lard, let’s put some in a pie!  A pie crust, to be exact.  Why are we back to heaving so soon?  You know how great apples and pork go together.  Here, lard just provides extra richness and a delicate flakiness to the crust.  It’s not like the pie is going to have a giant pork chop in the middle of it or anything.  I don’t think.  I mean, no, of course it’s not.  God, Tammy, show some restraint.

Dough made with lard handles very differently than dough made with butter.  The mixture is sandier, requires less water, and is softer and easier to work with.  It’s a good dough for novice pie-makers.  

I always form any leftover dough scraps into little jam-filled tarts so I have something to distract me away from cutting into the larger pie before company arrives.  Would you look at the flakiness?!

Just look at it!!!  (Calm down, Tammy.  You’re making a scene!)  This is why pie crusts made with lard are so awesome.  You can’t buy this in a box. 

Here’s the pie. 

Sorry, there was no time for even cursory styling as there was a chicken stew to be made.  Here’s what was going on in the other three feet of counter space to the left. 

Raw chicken and pie.  Two worlds that must never collide.  Unless, of course, we’re talking about chicken pot pie.  Drooooooool.  Need more lard!

 

Apple Pie for the Pork Lover

Or, if I have failed to convince you losers, the crust can be made with butter instead.  You’ll need 12 tablespoons of unsalted butter plus several more tablespoons of water.

Crust
2 cups flour
¾ cup lard
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
8 Tbsp. ice water (you may need slightly more or slightly less depending on the humidity, phase of the moon, your emotional state, etc., etc.)

Filling
6-7 tart apples, like Cortland, Northern Spy, Macoun, or whatever, peeled, cored, sliced ¼-inch thick
¾ cup sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. nutmeg (preferably freshly grated)

1 egg, beaten

For the crust, mix flour, sugar, and salt in food processor.  Add spoonfuls of lard and pulse in 1-second beats until you have little chunks the size of small peas (around 12-15 pulses).  Be careful not to process it into oblivion.  If the dough gets too uniform, I suspect some flakiness will be lost in the final product.  Dump mixture into a large bowl and add ice water, a few tablespoons at a time, fluffing with a fork until gently absorbed.  The dough should just hold together when you press on it.  Don’t knead it or it will become too tough.  Tear off two pieces of plastic wrap.  Dump a little over half of the dough mixture in the middle of one, and the rest on the other.  Flatten the mixture into disks about an inch thick, then wrap them up, and refrigerate at least a half hour until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 425°F.  In a small bowl, mix sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  Add all but 1 Tbsp. to the sliced apples and mix.  Set aside.

Flour your counter and rolling pin well.  The dough shouldn’t stick at all.  Take the larger disk and roll it out about ¼-inch thick, about a foot in diameter.  Roll from the middle out in all directions.  Don’t grind the dough down into the counter—push it out to the sides.  If the dough sticks, sprinkle more flour.  Transfer to a 9-inch pie dish by lifting the edge of the dough over the top of the rolling pin.  Gently lift and push until the dough is draped over the rolling pin (a bench scraper or even a spatula under the dough really helps).  Align over pie plate and gently unfurl.  Make sure it’s centered, then brush bottom of dough with beaten egg (this seems to help keep the crust from getting too soggy).

Pour in the apples.  Roll out the second crust the same way, only slightly smaller.  Drape over fruit.  Fold edges of top crust over edges of bottom crust and crimp.  Cut steam vents on top with a sharp paring knife.  Brush dough with beaten egg and sprinkle with reserved sugar mixture. Place pie plate on baking sheet and bake for 20 minutes.  Reduce heat to 375°F and bake until bubbly and crust is golden brown, 20-30 minutes more.  Let cool until warm.  Serve with vanilla bean ice cream.

Apple Cake and a Word About Flour

If I’m going to follow all of these Eat Local rules, then I have some rules of my own for this apple cake.  First, you must use a cast iron pan.  Preferably one that has spent a large portion of its life span getting cozy with bacon fat.  If you don’t have one, you must get one now.  Quickly, before the market gets any worse.  They’re cheap.  Just heavy.  Then you must cook 200 lbs. of local bacon to properly season it.  (Hey, I didn’t make the rules.  Or did I?)

Actually, those are my only requirements for this cake, besides eating it slowly, which is impossible.  Some rules are meant to be broken.  (Except the cast iron one.)

But first, a word about flour.  I found a local source for whole wheat flour last year: Wood Prairie Farm in Maine (they also have rye flour and oats).  Yes, I know that having stuff like that shipped to me isn’t exactly sustainable from a fuel- consumption standpoint, but maybe if there’s enough demand, people will start growing grain again in Massachusetts.  Not on a Midwestern scale, but on a community-supported scale.  It’s been known to happen.

It should be noted, however, that, in addition to local grains, I’m also allowing myself to use King Arthur all-purpose flour in equal parts when I see fit.  King Arthur grain comes mostly from the Midwest, but they are an employee-owned, Vermont company that originated in Boston in 1790.  They’ve got history and they make really good flour.  This, too, falls under the umbrella of “I value their craft.”  (BTW, I also value the craft of the baking powder and baking soda people, so add those to my growing list of exemptions, too.)

This cake may not be the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen, but few apple cakes are.  They’re rustic.  This one has a large, soft crumb, and all these buttery, nutty, mapley notes that make it pretty irresistible.  When I made it yesterday, though, the cake wasn’t tall enough due to the size of the pan I was using, so I doubled the amount of cake batter in the recipe.  I HAVE NOT RETESTED THE RECIPE SINCE.  I don’t have time.  I’m, like, barely holding things together as it is.  The recipe should work, by my calculations.  I’m like 99% sure, but I will not accept hate mail on this particular point since I’ve already issued a warning. 

So, who’s going to be the guinea pig?  If anyone does my recipe-testing for me, I’ll link to your blog in return.

Apple and Maple Brown Butter Upside-Down Cake

If you’re not eating locally, you can still make this with regular brown sugar and apples from China.

Topping
½ cup unsalted butter
1 cup maple sugar
3-4 tart apples, peeled, cored, cut into ¼-inch slices

Batter
2/3 cup unsalted butter
2 cups maple sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup milk
½ cup apple cider
1-1/3 cup whole wheat flour
1-1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. fresh grated nutmeg

Preheat oven to 350 F.

In a 12-inch cast iron skillet, melt butter.  Heat for 3-4 minutes, gently tipping pan back and forth, until butter turns a medium shade of amber.  It’s hard to tell against the jet-black metal, but just make a call before it burns.  Remove pan from heat and stir in maple sugar.  Spread evenly on bottom of pan.  Arrange apple slices on top.  Don’t burn yourself.  Go on, try it.

In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar.  Add the eggs, milk, and cider, and mix well.  Add dry ingredients and stir just until incorporated.  Pour batter on top of apples.  Bake 35-45 minutes, or until toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Let cool a bit and then loosen edges and bottom carefully with a spatula.  Invert a plate on top of the skillet and carefully flip.  It’s really freaking heavy.  You will have some words for me.  Cake should come loose onto the plate, apple side up.  Serve warm.  Vanilla ice cream never hurts.

Sources:
Apples: Autumn Hills Orchard, Groton, MA
Butter: Cabot, Montpelier, VT (Russo’s)
Maple sugar: Warren Farm and Sugar House, North Brookfield, MA (Waltham Farmer’s Market)
Eggs: Chip-In Farm, Bedford, MA (Russo’s)
Milk: Our Family Farms of Western Massachusetts, Bernardston, MA (Russo’s)
Apple cider: Allen’s Cider Mill, West Brookfield, MA (Waltham Farmer’s Market)
Whole wheat flour: Wood Prairie Farm, Bridgewater, ME (mail order)

Crisp Autumn

Last weekend, there was a CSA potluck dinner at my farm.  I cursed myself for already having plans.  After all, that might have been the only chance I’m ever offered to see the Farmer in a purely social setting (deep breath), with his hat off (gasp!), eating something that he himself prepared (hyperventilating).

I thought about standing up our friends at our own house, as I’m known to do when something better comes along (or when nothing better comes along).  But then my conscience got in the way.  I mean, what were the odds that I’d get to have the Farmer all to myself at a romantic table for two that I would have set up in the spot with the best view with candlelight and lots of booze?

Not good, I thought.  Might as well keep my plans intact.

The esteemed harrison3 brought his family over, and we had burgers with homemade pickles, coleslaw, and watermelon.  Apparently I was trying to fool myself into thinking it was still summertime.  I know that menu looks like I totally phoned it in, but did I mention that the pickles were homemade?  Homemade and amazing.  I made the hamburgers and coleslaw, too (half-hearted applause).  Oh, and apple raspberry crisp, the only clue that we were, as we continue to be, firmly entrenched in fall. 

I’m not sure which was better, the pickles or the crisp (the pickles?), but the photo of the crisp came out better, so that’s the recipe you’re going to get!

 

Apple Raspberry Crisp

You don’t need too many raspberries for this.  A handful or two will do you just fine.  Who can make it all the way home with a full pint anyway?

Topping
¾ cup rolled oats
1/3 cup brown sugar
½ cup flour
1/3 cup cold butter, cut into pieces
1/3 cup sliced almonds

Filling
6-8 apples, peeled, cored, cut into ¼-inch thick slices
½ cup raspberries
Juice from ½ lemon
½ cup brown sugar
2 Tbsp. flour
1 tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. grated nutmeg
¼ tsp. almond extract

Preheat oven to 350°F.

For the topping, combine oats, brown sugar, flour, and butter in food processor.  Pulse until crumbly, with butter pieces the size of small peas.  Stir in the almonds by hand to keep them whole.

In a large bowl, combine apples, lemon juice, brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and almond extract.  Gently fold in raspberries.  Dump into an 8x8-inch baking dish, spreading evenly.  Pour topping over the fruit.  Bake 50-55 minutes, until apples are tender and bubbling and top is golden brown (use the broiler if you must).  Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.  That is not a suggestion.

How To Salvage a Mistake

Well.  I had planned to share with you a very special and virtually-unheard-of family recipe for spiced tomato jam, but apparently tomato jam is all the rage this year, what with both Mark Bittman and Amanda Hesser beating me to the punch.  And with a lineup like that, you have to wonder what in the world I could bring to the table that they couldn’t.

Mistakes, that’s what.  Mistakes and I will always have each other.

My mom’s recipe was simple enough.  Not something you could easily screw up.  So although I hadn’t ever made it before or even tasted it since childhood, I laughed, hahahahaha, as I wandered down the baking aisle and grabbed a box of that powdered gel stuff the recipe called for.  And when I got home, I snickered about all the crazy shit I’d have to make up for this post since nothing remotely interesting was going to happen.  Hooohooohooo, slapping at my knee as I dumped the powdered gel stuff into the pot of simmering tomatoes.

Hmmmm.  Why is it clumping up like that?  Gross.  It looks like I tried to cook a jellyfish.  It’s almost like what happens if you dump gelatin into hot liquid without dissolving it first…

Fuck! 

The English writing on the box confirmed my worst fears.  I had used gelatin instead of pectin.  What’s the difference, you might ask?  Well, pectin isn’t made from crushed-up, boiled-down animal bones, for one.  Pectin is plant-based and not quite so…gelatiny?  It’s a kinder, gentler jelling agent.  Anyway, I don’t know what happened.  My hand automatically goes straight for the animal product.  I can’t control it.

The “jam” ended up tasting great, just like what I remember, but the texture is creepy.  It’s way too firm to spread, which kind of defeats the purpose of a jelly.  It’s even too dense to qualify as a Jell-O mold (thank god), so here’s what I decided.  Get yourself some Manchego cheese and slice it into thick pieces.  Scoop out a big glob of this tomato concoction, slice it (yes, you can totally slice it), and place atop cheese.  Voila.  It reminds me of the quince paste the Spaniards like to eat on their Manchego for dessert, except with autumn spices.  And less quince.  It was truly delicious, much less creepy in this format, and I’m looking forward to trying it with other cheeses, too.

Or, here’s another idea.  Make it correctly.

 

Spiced Tomato Jam

Sure-Jell is pectin.  Sure-Jell is not gelatin.  Double-check your work.

2¼ lb. tomatoes
1½ tsp. grated lemon rind
¼ cup lemon juice
½ tsp. allspice
½ tsp. cinnamon
¼ tsp. ground cloves
1 box Sure-Jell
4½ cups sugar

Into a pot of boiling water, gently place 3 pint jars and their lids for 5 minutes to sterilize them.  Let dry on a dishtowel.

Scald tomatoes in boiling water for 30 seconds and then dunk them in a bowl of ice water to cool.  Peel and discard skins.  Chop tomatoes roughly (no need to remove the seeds).  In a large pot, simmer tomatoes for 10 minutes.  You should have about 3 cups of cooked tomatoes.  Add lemon rind, lemon juice, spices, and pectin.  Cook over high heat until mixture comes to a hard boil.  Immediately add sugar and bring to a full rolling boil (a boil that cannot be stirred down).  Boil hard 1 minute, stirring constantly.  Mixture will threaten to overflow the pot’s edges, which is why you need a large pot.  If you’re freaking out, grab oven mitts and, while stirring, remove the pot from the heat to let the foam subside a bit, but keep it boiling as hard as you can for that minute. 

Remove from heat, skim off foam with a metal spoon.  Ladle into sterilized jars, leaving ¼-inch space at the top.  Seal jars and place them in a pot of boiling water for 15 minutes.  Let cool on rack.  After half an hour, shake to prevent fruit from floating to the top.  Store in a cool place.

Peach Blueberry Pie

This peach blueberry pie may be the best pie I’ve ever made! 

It’s shocking for two reasons.  One, because I’m out of practice making pies.  Two, because my oven decided to stop working midway through the baking time.  I didn’t even realize it was broken until hours later when I went to preheat the oven for dinner and it never got past 100°F. 

Suddenly, everything made sense.  How I kept having to add 10 minutes to the baking time over and over again, because the pie filling still wasn’t bubbling the way it usually does when it’s done.  How I kept checking to make sure that when I reduced the heat from 425°F to 375°F, I didn’t accidentally press 75°F.  Because it really didn’t feel too hot in there.  How the whole house didn’t smell like PIE!!!!, but merely pie.  And how I finally gave up and stuck it under the broiler to get the top nice and brown instead of a waxy shade of beige. 

Yes, any combination of these things should have set off warning bells, but no.  I was all, it’s been a while since I’ve made pie.  Maybe they don’t really smell that good?  Perhaps now that summer is waning, I’ve lost all ability to sense heat?  Anyway, I guess the secret to an awesome pie is to bake it fast and furious at the beginning and then long and sloooooow at the end.  You heard it here first, Chris Kimball.

The peaches and blueberries are from Carver Hill Orchard in Stow, where we went peach-picking on Saturday.  Unlike our cherry-picking extravaganza earlier in the summer, this expedition involved a ridiculous amount of whining and misbehavior from the kids.  So much as to render it almost not enjoyable at all.  But the payoff came in the form of pie.  Sweet, sweet solace. 

Peach Blueberry Pie

If anyone wants some, come to my house by noon tomorrow or it will be gone.

Crust
2 cups flour
1 Tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
12 Tbsp. cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
8-10 Tbsp. ice water (or more)

Filling
3 lb. fresh peaches (about 5 large or 7 small peaches)
1 cup blueberries
1/3 cup brown sugar
¼ cup white sugar, plus 1 Tbsp. to sprinkle on top
¼ cup flour
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. vanilla
¼ tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
1 egg, lightly beaten
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cut into cubes

For the crust, mix flour, sugar, and salt in food processor.  Add cold butter and pulse in 1-second beats until butter is the size of small peas (around 20 pulses).  Dump mixture into a large bowl and add ice water, a few tablespoons at a time, fluffing with a fork until gently absorbed.  You don’t want it wet and sticky, but if there’s too much dry flour, the dough won’t come together right.  It should just hold together when you press on it.  Don’t knead or it will become too tough.  Tear off two pieces of plastic wrap.  Dump a little over half of the dough mixture in the middle of one, and the rest in the middle of the other.  Flatten the mixture into disks about an inch thick, then wrap them up, and refrigerate until ready to use.

Preheat oven to 425°F.  Set a large pot of water to boil.  Dunk the peaches in the boiling water for about 30 seconds, then submerge in ice water.  Peel off their velvet cloaks.  Cut into thin wedges, discarding the pits.  To the bowl of peaches, add the washed blueberries, brown sugar, white sugar, flour, lemon juice, vanilla, and nutmeg.  Mix it up and set aside.

Flour your counter and rolling pin well.  The dough shouldn’t stick at all.  Take the larger disk and roll it out about ¼-inch thick, about a foot in diameter.  Roll from the middle out in all directions.  Don’t grind the dough down into the counter—push it out to the sides.  If the dough sticks, sprinkle more flour.  Transfer to a 9-inch pie dish by lifting the edge of the dough over the top of the rolling pin.  Gently lift and push until the dough is draped over the rolling pin (a bench scraper or even a spatula under the dough really helps).  Align over pie plate and gently unfurl.  Make sure it’s centered, then brush bottom of dough with beaten egg (this seems to help keep the crust from getting too soggy). 

Pour in the fruit.  Dot with cubes of butter.  Roll out second crust the same way, only slightly smaller.  Using a pastry wheel or sharp knife, cut thin strips for a lattice topping.  Arrange strips like so.  Fold over edges of bottom crust and crimp however you like.  Brush crust and lattice with beaten egg and sprinkle with sugar.  Place pie plate on baking sheet and bake for 20 minutes.  Reduce heat to 375°F and bake until bubbly and crust is richly caramelized, maybe 30-40 more minutes if your oven is functioning properly.  Keep an eye on the crust—if it starts to brown too much, cover with foil.

Let cool until warm.  Serve with vanilla bean ice cream.

For Dessert: Cherries Over Ricotta

It was hard to justify doing anything to these cherries besides eating them out of hand, but it seemed even sillier not to make the dessert that inspired the whole trip in the first place.  Stupid’s more like it. 

So here it is:  2 cups of Port boiled down to a thick syrup (15 minutes or so).  Add the pitted cherries.  Let macerate for as long as you can stand it.  Spoon over the best ricotta you can find (Russo’s carries ricotta from Purity in Quincy and sometimes Gigi’s Mozzarella House in Everett).  A few generous cracks of black pepper made it 200% better, something I wish I had discovered before I snapped the photo.  Oh well. 

I loved this dessert, but I suspect that not everyone will.  You have to pick your crowd.  It tastes like actual cherries and wine, not cherry pie filling.  It comes nowhere near the sweetness level that most Americans have come to expect when cherries are on the menu.  Rather, it’s subtle in that beguiling way that leaves you wanting just a little bit more.  Just a little.

Tuesdays with Dorie: The Lemon Cream Tart That Never Was

See that photo?  You have to pretend there’s a piece of lemon cream tart on that plate.  Instead of just a spoonful of lemon cream.  C’mon, just use your imagination.

It’s not that Dorie Greenspan’s lemon cream tart recipe failed or sucked or anything like that.  The lemon cream was just too good.  It never made it into the tart shell.  Fine, I never made a tart shell.  But even if I had, it never would have made it in there.  So, I’d like to pretend there was something fancy going on in that picture, but, really, it was just me spooning out lemon cream from a mixing bowl and eating raspberries by the handful with no plate involved. 

So much for making a good impression with my first Tuesdays with Dorie post. 

Since I failed to make the assigned recipe because I was too cheap/lazy to spring for a madeleine pan, and then failed to make, in its entirety, the substitute recipe, I think it’s safe to say that things aren’t off to a fantastic start.  And that’s pretty much how it’s going to continue until I get kicked out of the club.

But, damn, that was good lemon cream.  Here’s the recipe if you’re interested.  If it seems like a lot of butter, it is.  I don’t want to think about how many sticks of the stuff I consumed in less than 24 hours, but the good news is this.  The lemon curd, before you whip in the butter, is also outstanding.  Tart and addictive, and I already have some plans for it.

Lemon Cream
Like lemon curd except the butter gets whipped in at the end to a silky, emulsified finish. 

1 cup sugar
Grated zest of 3 lemons
4 large eggs
¾ cup fresh lemon juice (from 4-5 lemons)
2 sticks plus 5 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cut into Tbsp.-sized pieces

Have an instant-read or candy thermometer, and a blender with a strainer resting on top at the ready.  Bring a medium pot half-full of water to a boil. 

Find a large metal mixing bowl that can be set on top of the pot without the bottom touching the water.  Off the heat, rub the sugar and zest together between your fingers until the sugar is moist, grainy, and very aromatic.  Whisk in the eggs followed by the lemon juice.

Once the water is boiling, set the bowl on top of the pan and whisk quickly.  When it starts to get hot, insert the thermometer.  Keep whisking vigorously (so the eggs don’t scramble) until the mixture thickens and the temperature reaches 180°F (between 5 and 10 minutes).  Immediately remove it from the heat and pour it into the strainer over the blender, a bit at a time, using a rubber scraper to push it through.  Discard the zest.  Let the cream sit in the blender bowl for 10 minutes to cool a bit. 

Turn the blender to high and, with the machine going, add the butter about 5 pieces at a time.  Scrape down the sides as needed.  Once all the butter is in, blend the cream for another 3 minutes.  Pour cream into a container, press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface, and refrigerate for at least 4 hours.  When you’re ready to use it, just whisk the cream a bit to loosen it.  You can use it as a tart filling, a cake filling, on toast, over fruit, or straight out of the bowl like yours truly.
Source: Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: From My Home to Yours and Pierre Hermé.

Cookbook Friday: Jam and Apple Butter

On the farm where my great grandmother, Ethel Shepherd, grew up (between Price and Brush Mountains in Virginia), there was fruit aplenty in the summertime.  There were wild blackberries in the pasture fields, and pear, wild plum, and cherry trees nearby.  They also had a small apple orchard.  Sometimes, they would even borrow a team of horses and wagon to go up the mountain for the day to pick huckleberries, packing sandwiches and water for lunch. 

The fruit was eaten fresh in season, and then canned, dried, or preserved to enjoy the rest of the year.  Here were her techniques for making jam and apple butter:

Jam

Preserves were made by measuring one cup of fruit to one cup of sugar, and boiling in an open pot until thick.  To judge thickness, put a spoonful on a saucer and let cool to see how it sets.  This requires twenty minutes minimum for strawberries, and more for other things depending on the ripeness of the fruit.

Apple Butter

Making apple butter presented an occasion for neighbors to get together.  Peeled apples were cut into snits (small sections).  The next day, the 40-gallon copper kettle was set up over an open fire with several gallons of cider in it.  The apples were dumped into the kettle and cooked to a mush.  Then, the sugar and spices were added and it was cooked some more.  It had to be stirred constantly.  The stir was ten to fifteen feet in length, with a crossbar on the handle.  The stirring was done by two people at a time, preferably a courtin’ couple.  If they hit the handle on the kettle with the stir, they got to kiss!

And you’re buying your apple butter at the store!

Sweet and Sour

As I mentioned before, I’m making an effort to be nicer to my husband.  To relive the early days of romance when, if he asked for a bowl of rice pudding, for example, I would immediately leap into action and return with 16 bowls of rice pudding balanced atop my head.  Instead of plopping a bag of rice down in front of him. 

(Why is new love so unreasonable?)

Last week, I made Dorie Greenspan’s lemon poppy seed muffins with dabs of jam inside.  Husband loved them despite the fact that he usually doesn’t like lemon- flavored things, which I had forgotten when I decided to make them (Strike 2).  Anyway, he liked them so much that he commanded me to make them again.  His exact words were: “I command you to make these again.”  It’s sort of a joke between us because he knows how well I respond to commands.  How the mere implication touches off an internal struggle in my brain between wanting to do the nice thing, and wanting to DENY anyone anything that is commanded of me.  (I’m the kind of woman that religious extremists dream of oppressing.  Except that nobody can oppress me better than me, so the joke’s on them!)

But, I still haven’t made the muffins, again.  Geez, Tammy, can’t you take a joke? 

Maybe not.

 

Lemon Poppy Seed Muffins

I broke my local rule so I could sneak some of my favorite jam into these muffins.  It’s Bonnie’s Black and Blue.  Blackberry and blueberry jam.  Together.  In one jar.  And it even has the local berry farmer’s name on the label: Pio Angelini.  How sweet!

2/3 cup sugar
Grated zest and juice of 1 lemon
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. baking soda
¼ tsp. salt
¾ cup sour cream
2 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 stick unsalted butter, melted cooled
2 Tbsp. poppy seeds
¼ cup blackberry jam

Preheat oven to 400°F and center rack in oven.  Butter a regular-sized muffin pan and set on cookie sheet.

In a large bowl, rub the sugar and lemon zest together with your fingers until the sugar is moist and strongly scented of lemon.  Whisk in the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.  In a medium bowl, whisk the sour cream, eggs, vanilla, lemon juice, and melted butter together until well blended.  Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and, with a rubber spatula, gently but quickly stir to blend.  Stir in the poppy seeds.  Do not overmix.

Fill muffin cups with batter to the halfway mark.  With the back of a spoon, push a depression into the batter for a teaspoonful of jam.  Divide remaining batter between the cups and, using a clean spoon, push down the batter around the edges to seal in the jam.  Bake about 20 minutes or until the tops are golden.  Let cool in pan at least 5 minutes before removing them.

Source: Adapted from Dorie Greenspan’s Baking: From My Home to Yours.  And by the way, I’ve just joined the Tuesdays with Dorie baking club, so you’ll be seeing a lot more from her starting next week.  And maybe then my dad will stop complaining that we never have anything good in the house.

Cookbook Friday: Fried Apple Pies

Pearl [Price] Shepherd circa 1900 in Price’s Fork, Virginia.

Remember that little girl in last week’s post?  Here she is all grown up.  Ain’t she purty?

In 1899, Pearl Price married Zack Shepherd, who we’ll meet next week, and they had three daughters: Willie Mae, Ethel (my great grandmother), and Claribel.  They lived on a small, half-acre farm between Price and Brush Mountains in Virginia.  The land was quite fertile and they grew potatoes, corn, beans, cabbage, beets, turnips, and sweet potatoes, among other things.  They also had a cow, some pigs, and a small orchard of fruit trees. 

As I mentioned before, a lot of my great grandmother’s early recipes aren’t too terribly detailed, including this one:

“My mother [Pearl] used dried sour apples to make fried pies.  She cooked the apples, mashed them, and added spice, cloves, and sugar.  Next, she took a ball of biscuit dough and rolled it out round.  She spread the apple mixture on one half, and folded the other half over it.  Then, she fried it to a golden brown.  Boy, were they good!”

For most of these sorts of recipes, I’m leaving you to your own devices because that's just the kind of friend I am.  Plus, these excerpts are really more about preserving the history than actually replicating the dish.  But in this particular case, since I’ve made these fritters a bunch of times and I love them, it’s really the least I can do to share what I did (which I never wrote down so I had to make them again this week, hence my tardiness with the recipe).   But don’t get used to it.  I plan to revert back to my usual lazy self next week.

 

Fried Apple Pies

Instead of dried apples, I used fresh tart apples for the filling.  The biscuit dough is an adaptation of my Great Aunt Claribel's recipe.

Filling
3 tart apples, like Granny Smiths or McIntoshes or both
¼ cup sugar
½ tsp. cinnamon
Pinch cloves

Biscuit Dough
2 cups flour
1 tsp. sugar
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
3 Tbsp. shortening or lard
¾ cup buttermilk (and, perhaps, a tablespoon or two more)
Oil, shortening, or lard for frying

Peel, core, and dice apples.  In a small bowl, mix together sugar and spices.  Set aside 1 teaspoon of sugar mixture to sprinkle on finished fritters.  Add the apples and remaining sugar mixture to a small pot.  Cook over medium heat, stirring, until the apples start to release their juices.  Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook until softened, stirring occasionally, about 10-12 minutes (you may need to add a bit of water during the cooking process if it gets too dry).  Let cool.

In a medium-sized bowl, sift together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.  Rub shortening into dry ingredients with your hands until pieces are smaller than pea-sized.  Add buttermilk and fluff with a fork to combine.  If dough is too dry to hold together, add a bit more buttermilk.  Bring dough together with hands and knead a few times until cohesive.  Break off pieces about golf-ball-sized and roll out into circles with a rolling pin.  Place apple filling in the middle of the dough circle (a bit off-center), then fold over one side and seal, pressing edges together with your fingers and crimping with a fork. 

Heat oil, shortening, or lard until hot (375°F if you want to get technical about it).  Fry until golden brown on each side and drain on paper towels.  Sprinkle with reserved spiced sugar immediately, and eat as hot as you can manage.

Makes at least 1 dozen.

Pearl [Price] Shepherd
Price’s Fork, Virginia
1879 – 196?

*Real Southerners, feel free to correct my biscuit technique.  There’s no substitute for experience.

Next Recipe: Virginia Cured Ham

     (Previously: Intro to Appalachia)

Winter White

       

After the Great Fudge Date Rape of 2007 (no means no), I decided I needed something sweet yet restrained to cleanse my psychological palate in this newest of years.  Something to lead me staggering back to the path of the righteous.  Or thereabouts.

So, I thought, what’s the opposite of fudge?  I know.  Grapefruit pie.

One of my favorite octogenarian relatives sent me a big box of local-to-her Texas grapefruits for Christmas.  And I do so love the occasional grapefruit, despite all those pesky food-miles.  This recipe is a twist on summery key lime pie, but I think grapefruit works any time of year.  Plus, who wouldn’t love a slice of frozen pie in the dead of winter? 

 

Grapefruit Pie

You can use any kind of grapefruit: Ruby Red, pink, white.  But, I happen to like it best with the tart whites, which are increasingly hard to find these days.

3.5 oz. sleeve Goya plain Maria cookies (In the Latin American section of the supermarket.  They kind of taste like animal crackers, which you could also use.  Or graham crackers, of course.)
4 Tbsp. butter
14-oz. can sweetened condensed milk
¼ cup grapefruit juice (from ½ grapefruit)
2 grapefruits worth of zest (Yes, you’ll be left with some bald grapefruits.  Just have them for breakfast the next day)
½ cup heavy cream
1/3 cup sour cream
3 oz. cream cheese

In a blender or food processor, whiz the cookies into crumbs.  Dump into a bowl and, with your fingers, work the butter into the crumbs until it’s uniformly incorporated.  Knead until you end up with something dough-like.  Press evenly into the bottom of a 9-inch pie plate.  I don’t bother bringing it up the sides because you never know how high the filling is going to come up, and it just ends up looking stupid.

Using a mixer with a whisk attachment, blend the rest of the ingredients in a large bowl until the lumps are gone.  It can take a while.  Okay, you can get away with a few lumps.  Pour into crust, cover with a plate, and freeze until set, I’m guessing at least 6 hours.  I stopped paying attention by this point.  I like it best before it gets to Popsicle consistency, though.  Slice it right before you intend to serve it, otherwise a few sexy drips will turn into a significantly less attractive puddle.

Apple Pie for Preschoolers

The Preschooler has developed a fascination with the Swedish Chef.  I don’t know how that could have happened.  From another room, I’ll hear him launch into the song and a second later, something crashes.  Stern words are issued, but deep down, I know it’s all my fault.

In an attempt to channel some of his “enthusiasm,” I asked if he wanted to make some Swedish apple pie.  But no smashing, I reminded him.  The Swedish Chef spends most of his days in time-out. 

My friend, Erin, had forwarded me this recipe that she said the kids could practically make themselves.  So, I tied on his apron, grabbed my coat, and left for an afternoon of unencumbered shopping.  “I want it warm when I get back,” I shouted as the door slammed behind me. 

It really is a cinch, though.  No bottom crust.  No rolling out.  Just dump a bunch of things into a pie plate, and magical deliciousness happens.  Okay, so you might want to help slice the apples.  Maybe handle the butter-melting process.  Escort the pie in and out of the hot box.  But, other than that, just let the kid go.

It was somewhere between the brown sugar and the flour that I heard it: “Mmmm.  It really is sweet-ish,” he said, licking the spoon.

Awww.  And here I was worrying about spreading baseless stereotypes. 

Sweet-ish Apple Pie

This has a cookie dough-ish crust that’s just as tasty as rolled-out pastry, but it’s quicker and even easier than, well…pie.

5-6 medium apples (we used a hodge-podge)
1 Tbsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. cinnamon
¾ cup butter, melted
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1 egg
¼ cup chopped walnuts
Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 350°F.  Peel and slice the apples into thin wedges and arrange them in a 10-inch pie plate.  Sprinkle brown sugar and cinnamon evenly on top (no need to mix it up unless it all lands in one big mound, which isn't inconceivable).  In a medium bowl, add melted butter, sugar, flour, egg, nuts, and salt, and mix until combined.  Pour over apples, spreading batter to the edges.  Bake 45-55 minutes, until crust is golden-brown.  Serve with vanilla ice cream.

A Happy Case of the Blues

I have to jump on the blueberry cobbler bandwagon this week because, well, I made blueberry cobbler.  (Yeah, it’s not really much more complicated than that.)

And why should cobbler be complicated, anyway?  Some sweetened fruit, some flaky dough, and vanilla (bean) ice cream melting all over the place.  So, here’s my favorite recipe, an adaptation of something that came out of the Cook’s Illustrated test kitchen many years ago.  Did I mention I worked there once?

I learned a great many things in those hallowed halls, including the best way to peel garlic (with the back of a knife and a mighty thwack) and how to mince it finely (with a little salt and your knife at an acute angle making a sort of rhythmic mashing motion).  I also learned that sometimes I like things better when they’ve only been tested, say, 7 times, as opposed to 57.  So, I started making this recipe at home before the head recipe-tester was even done, yet.  Good enough for me, I thought.  (This attitude might have something to do with why I no longer work there.)

Anyway, the “best” recipe is always a matter of opinion.  For me, though, it doesn’t get any better than this.

 

Maybe the Best Blueberry Cobbler (print-friendly version)

6 cups blueberries
1 Tbsp. cornstarch
½ cup sugar, plus 1 Tbsp.
Pinch ground cinnamon
Juice from ½ lemon
2 cups flour
2 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
12 Tbsp. cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes
½ cup milk, plus 1 Tbsp.

Preheat oven to 400°F.

In a 9-inch deep-dish pie plate, combine blueberries, cornstarch, ½ cup sugar, cinnamon, and lemon juice.  Stir well and cover with foil.  Place pie dish on rimmed baking sheet and bake until berries start to release their liquid, about 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, add flour, baking powder, and salt to the work bowl of a food processor and pulse to combine.  Add butter and pulse until the mixture forms a coarse meal, about 15 seconds.  Dump mixture into bowl and add ½ cup milk.  Combine with fork until a scrappy dough ball forms.  Turn onto counter and knead briefly.  Press into a disk about ½-inch thick.  With a biscuit cutter, cut into a dozen or so shapes, enough to cover the cobbler (recombine the scraps to make extra biscuits).

After 15 minutes, remove blueberries from oven, uncover, and stir.  Arrange biscuits on top, brush with 1 Tbsp. milk, and sprinkle with remaining 1 Tbsp. sugar.  Bake uncovered until biscuits are golden brown, 25-30 minutes more.  Cool 10 minutes before serving.  Don’t forget the ice cream.  Vanilla.  Bean.

Source: Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated (specifically, Kay Rentschler).

My Kind of Salad

This is just me trying to make my salad look as much like dessert as possible.  And, you know, it worked.  I ate almost the entire head of lettuce myself. 

Only one more head to go.

 

Salad with Cherries and Queso Fresco

1 head Boston lettuce, washed, dried, leaves torn
10 cherries, pitted, halved
2 Tbsp. sliced almonds
4 oz. Salvadoran fresh cheese (or whatever), crumbled
1½ tsp. balsamic vinegar
1 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Toast almonds in a dry frying pan over medium heat for a few minutes until fragrant, but not burnt fragrant.  Toss lettuce, cherries, almonds, and cheese in salad bowl.  Pour balsamic vinegar into a small bowl and whisk in olive oil until emulsified (meaning mixed up real good).  Add dressing to salad and toss with salt and a healthy grind of black pepper.

The Mother of All Popsicles

When my Mother’s Day present finally arrived (which was an unsplattered, perfectly uncreased copy of The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz), I sat down with my kids and talked to them about ice cream. 

They already knew about ice cream, of course.  There had been some “experimentation” in recent years.  They’d heard their friends talk about it.  They know that the ice cream man shows up at the park at exactly quarter-of- dinnertime and they’re the only ones who aren’t getting any. 

But what they didn’t know is that Mommy has an ice cream maker.  And that if all went well, they’d be getting homemade Creamsicles that very night.  They just stared at me blankly, so I dumbed it down.  Orange popsicles, kids.  They’re popsicles.  (Cue yays and clapping.)

I pulled out the book and we went through it page by page.  I told my preschooler about all the different kinds of ice creams there were and the toppings (oh, the toppings) that the ice cream man doesn’t know how to make.  I showed my toddler all the pictures, which he then proceeded to lick.  Okay, that was me.  But, I emphasized that this was a secret book.  And only good boys who eat their dinner get to learn the secrets of secret ice cream. 

Then came the question I was dreading.  About balls.  Malted milk balls, and the ice cream that can be made with them.  I slammed the book shut and said that was for Mommy.  No one else but Mommy.  No more questions.

 

Orange Popsicle Ice Cream
This is even better than the Creamsicles I remember because it tastes like actual oranges.  The preschooler declared it to be “the best popsicle ever.”

2/3 cup sugar
Grated zest of 3 oranges
1¼ cups freshly squeezed orange juice (from 3-5 oranges)
1 cup sour cream
½ cup half-and-half
2 tsp. Grand Marnier

In a blender, pulverize the sugar and orange zest until the zest is very fine.  Add the orange juice, sour cream, half-and-half, and Grand Marnier, and blend until the sugar is completely dissolved.  Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, then freeze it in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.  (If desired, pour into ice cream bar molds, insert popsicle sticks, and freeze.)

Source: From The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz.  Used with permission.