In honor of my mom, and Thanksgiving

Lately I’ve been thinking about this movie, my first 16mm film, and then, serendipitously, a friend mentioned wanting to see it again.  I shot this film on Thanksgiving morning 2002, and since Thanksgiving is once again approaching it seemed an appropriate moment to post it.

I’ve written (lovingly, I hope?) about my mom and her mania regarding pies in earlier posts, but the truth is I would never have started making pies if I hadn’t so much admired the ones she made.  I still like how this film captures her methods and her spirit; I made it then and I post it today as a tribute to her. 

This year I am looking forward to spending Thanksgiving with my mom and my husband’s parents— neither of us have been home for the holiday since we’ve lived in California (7 years for him, 6 for me).  As might be expected, we are already discussing the pies we might bake.  Maybe if I’m lucky I will get to enjoy a lemon chiffon.

Last year (2009), I participated in the first KCRW Good Food Pie Contest.  While it was fun, there were a few weird things about that event, not the least of which was that it took place in a mall.  Competing with over one hundred fifty pies, my humble Caramel Pumpkin, even with its high fluted all-butter crust, lacked the glitz and glamor of those flashy meringue-topped concoctions of which I’ve honestly never been a fan. 

I think I make a pretty good pie, so I was disappointed that I didn’t place, but I developed a stragegy for this year: I would make a visually dramatic pie, I would make a pie with an exotic crust, I would pull out all the stops to get this pie noticed.…or so I thought.  My planning began over the summer, before the pie contest was even announced; unfortunately, I started a new job that week and had to work all weekend, forcing my withdrawal from the pie contest at the last minute.  I’m OK with it, and had made a practice pie, so I’m sharing some pictures and the recipe for the pie I would have made, if I hadn’t spent Labor Day weekend assistant editing an infomercial for, ironically, a convection oven.

Key Lime Pie

Super easy to make, this pie still tastes pretty sophisticated, as the crunchy spiciness of the ginger snap crust contrasts the cool lime custard.

Trader Joe’s triple ginger snaps (or whatever they call them) work great for the crust, but this time I wanted to step everything up so I made my own (and used the leftovers to make ice cream sandwiches).  From a recipe originally published in Gourmet, these gingersnaps have been a perennial staple of my holiday “Cookies and Cocktails” party.  I find them spicy and delicious, but one of my Chinese friends thinks they’re weird because they are made with five-spice powder, which is traditionally used to season meat.  So, just a heads up.

- crust -

1 to 1 1/2 c ginger snap crumbs (from homemade or store bought cookies)
4 to 6 tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled to room temperature

Combine, adding more butter or crumbs to make a workable mixture, and press as thin a layer as possible into a 9” pie plate, or, for added drama, a springform pan. 

Bake in preheated 350 oven for 10-12 minutes, until a shade darker, then let crust cool while assembling filling.   Leave oven on.

(If using a springform pan, place it on a baking sheet so butter doesn’t melt and smoke on the oven floor— I learned this the hard way.)

- filling -
4 large egg yolks at room temperature
1/2 c key lime juice (10-20 “key” or “Mexican” limes depending on size and juiciness)
2 tsp lime zest
1 14 oz can sweetened condensed milk

Beat yolks until light, then add juice, zest, and condensed milk.  Mix well and pour into crust.

Bake 15-20 minutes (again, on baking sheet for springform pan) or until slit poked in custard does not reseal— custard will set more as it cools.

If using a springform pan, cool completely before CAREFULLY un-molding.  Et voila!

For the contest I wanted my pie to be more visually striking than just a 9” round expanse of custard, so I tried out some decorating techniques.  I pressed some raspberry jam through a sieve to remove the seeds, mixed some creme fraiche with a little water to get a thinner consistency, then drizzled each in patterns over the pie in an attempt to figure out what shapes worked best.  It wasn’t exactly what I was envisioning, but I actually liked the abstract look of it— not too fussy, but still kind of pretty. 

In the end, I was happy with the look and flavor of the pie, even if I wasn’t able to compete in this year’s contest.  But I’m not gonna lie, I really want to know what Zoe Nathan would have thought.

Obviously, I am a pie lover.  I love pie for dessert, but I also think it’s pretty much the best breakfast food in the world.  With every season, I look forward to baking a different fruit pie with my farmer’s market bounty.  At the height of summer, when stone fruit is abundant and sweet as candy, I just can’t get enough, eating it with my yogurt in the morning, as a simple snack, on salads, in smoothies, and baked into cobblers. 

On those summer days when turning on the oven seems deranged (and making a pie crust equally masochistic), the less time spent in the kitchen the better.  Though I eschew store-bought pastry dough, Phyllo is something I un-apologetically get from the freezer section.  These turnovers still need to be baked, but with some care towards the handling of the phyllo they still yield a very satisfying “pie” without the demands of a traditional pastry crust. 

Light and crispy, they are delicious for dessert, breakfast, or both.  They do keep for a few days, but are best the first day when the phyllo is crispy.  To re-crisp on the second or third day, return to a 350 oven for 3-5 minutes.

Stone Fruit Phyllo Pies

6 medium nectarines (or peaches, apricots, etc), firm-ripe
3/4 to 1 c sugar
1 tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp cinnamon
1 c sliced almonds
packaged phyllo, thawed overnight in the fridge
1/4 c (4 tbsp/ half a stick) butter, melted and cooled to room temp

- pastry brush
- cling wrap
- one large or two standard cookie sheets lined with parchment

Preheat oven to 375

Cut nectarines in half and remove pits, then slice 1/4 inch thick.  In a large bowl, toss nectarine slices with sugar (less if fruit is very sweet, more if tart), lemon juice, and cinnamon until coated.  Add sliced almonds and stir to combine. 

Place two strips of cling wrap (side by side) on a work surface, then carefully unwrap phyllo, unrolling onto cling wrap.  Cut the stack of phyllo in half length-wise with a large, sharp knife.  Immediately and completely cover phyllo with more cling wrap, then with a dampened kitchen towel or paper towel. 

(Phyllo dries out very quickly, becoming brittle and impossible to work with; covering it with both cling wrap and a damp towel is the best method I’ve found for keeping it pliable for long enough to work with.) 

Remove two to four strips of phyllo and then re-cover the stack.  Place a dollop of nectarines at the close edge of the strip.  Brush the strip of phyllo lightly with the melted butter.  If using four sheets, brush two, then top with two more, then fruit.

Fold the bottom right corner across and over the fruit, then continue folding in a triangular shape, like a flag. 

At the top, brush the folded pastry with butter and fold edges over.  Sprinkle with sugar and transfer to baking sheet.  Repeat with remaining fruit and pastry.

Bake pastry for 20 - 30 minutes, or until phyllo is lightly golden and crispy.  Transfer to cooling rack and enjoy warm or room temperature.

Listening to the radio last summer on the 40th anniversary of Woodstock,  I heard that Wavy Gravy, a sort of psychedelic clown, introduced granola to those stoned, hungry, and no doubt smelly masses.  Although some kind of proto-grapenuts version called “granula” dates back to the 1860s, Wavy Gravy’s fruity/nutty/oat-y “breakfast in bed for 400,000” seems to be the style that really caught on, forever establishing the link between hippies and granola.

While I would never self-identify as a hippie, I gratefully acknowledge Gravy’s contribution to the breakfast pantheon, and indeed start most mornings with a bowl of yogurt, honey, and fruit, topped with homemade granola.

I started making my own granola when I realized that the one I was buying was hideously expensive.  With such simple components, I figured it couldn’t possibly be that hard to make, and it isn’t.  I started experimenting, basing my ingredients on the brand I liked most, and at this point have refined it to a pretty consistent recipe.   I like to make it with less oil than typical granolas and without processed sugars, and I vary the nuts and fruits depending on what I have on hand.  I also make it in sizable batches so that it lasts 2-3 weeks.

Granola - makes a lot!

6 cups rolled oats
1 cup wheat germ
1 cup ground flax seed
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp ground cloves
1 cup pepitas (raw, hulled pumpkin seeds) or other seeds
1 cup nuts
1/2 cup pure maple syrup (grade B is best)
1/2 cup water (plus additional if needed)
2 tbsp honey
2 tbsp neutral flavored oil (such as canola)
1-3 cups dried fruits
canola or vegetable oil spray (optional)

Preheat oven to 325.

Combine oats, wheat germ, and flax in a large bowl.

Add salt, and spices.  The spices can be varied depending on personal taste.  I also grind whole cloves with a mortar and pestle for more potent flavor.

Add seeds, if using.  I like pumpkin seeds best, but other varieties (such as sunflower) work, too.

Coarsely chop nuts, or leave whole if desired.  Again, just about any kind of nuts, chopped or not, can be used. Add to dry ingredients, and mix well until spices, seeds, and nuts are evenly incorporated. 

In a small bowl, combine liquid ingredients and whisk until emulsified.  I used cream-style honey here, but the liquid kind works just as well.  Water that is a little on the warm side helps to dissolve the honey more easily. I also used Grade A maple syrup because that’s what I had this time, but I prefer Grade B — it has a stronger maple flavor. 

Pour liquid ingredients over dry, and toss to coat evenly (hands work well for this).  If the mix seems dry at this point, add a bit more water as needed.  It doesn’t need to be really wet, just evenly dampened with the liquid.  For granola that is “clumpy,” add more water or oil to the mixture and squeeze small handfuls together.  Note that this will take longer to bake, however.

Line a four-sided baking sheet (also called a jelly roll pan) with a sheet of parchment.  Using your hands, spread a thin layer of granola on the parchment, and spray with a light coat of vegetable or canola oil.  Bake for 20 - 35 minutes, stirring once or twice, until granola is light golden brown and crispy. (Time will depend on how much granola is in the pan as well as personal preference)

When granola is light golden brown, add some of the dried fruits by simply tossing them into the pan and stirring a bit.  This is optional, as some folks don’t like fruit in their granola (boys, mostly).  Also, pretty much any type of dried fruit can work here, as long as it is reasonably soft.  I mostly use cranberries, blueberries, and this mix that TJ’s is now making that includes dried berries and pomegranate seeds.  After adding the fruit, bake another 3-5 minutes, until golden and crunchy (Alternately, the fruit can be added after baking).

Remove granola from oven and cool on a cooling rack.  Repeat until all granola is baked.  When cool, granola can be transferred to an airtight container and will keep at least 2 weeks at room temperature. 

Super simple, delicious, and way cheaper and healthier than the commercial stuff!

I have been wanting to make Hand Pies since November when I competed in KCRW’s first Good Food Pie Contest.  Waiting in the entry line with my Caramel Pumpkin, I admired one woman’s lovely blueberry hand pies which later that day won Second Prize in the “fruit pie” category. 

A road trip up to Santa Cruz for Memorial Day weekend seemed like a perfect excuse to try out this idea, and some fragrant farmer’s market strawberries and slender pink-and-green rhubarb stalks sealed the deal. 

Excited by my plan for the most perfect picnic pies ever, I started on a crust from my go-to resource for baking, Betty Crocker’s Picture Cookbook (1950).  Now, I’m one of those people who believes a pie crust to be almost sacred.  I wrote recently about my dad making yeast dough, but my mom is the one who fancies herself a pastry chef.  And by that I mean she makes one pie a year, and it has to be perfect.  Eventually there came a time when my brother and I realized that, for our own safety, we ought to leave the house when that annual crust was being made. 

I don’t know how anyone can expect to do something once a year and have it be perfect.  The whole “easy as pie” concept, I’m convinced, only becomes a reality when you make a lot of pies.  Before the pie contest I tried to do some research online about pie crusts and was overwhelmed by a gazillion different theories, from people who make their pie crusts with vodka or vinegar instead of water, to the food-processor school, to those who swear by lard. Gross.  I decided to stick with the tried and true method.  For one thing, I’m one of those butter people (for baking anyway), and was before the whole trans-fats mania.  It just tastes better.  And I don’t even want to know how long that Crisco has been sitting on my mom’s shelf. 

One great technique I learned from the Betty Crocker cookbook: CUT THE BUTTER INTO THE FLOUR IN TWO STAGES. Betty says to cut half the butter in until you achieve a texture like coarse meal; this, she writes, makes for tenderness.  Then, cut in the rest to achieve that famous “small pea stage,” which makes the crust flaky (the butter melts leaving tiny air pockets).  Tenderness and flakiness— you gotta have both!

Once the soon-to-be flaky dough is all pressed into two beautifully swirled, striated discs, they need to chill.  Chilling the dough relaxes the gluten, making the dough easier to roll out.  (One other note: if the dough cracks while I am rolling it, I just gently mush it back together and re-roll.  No need to hurl it at the wall and start over, in tears, like my mom did.) 

I usually let the dough chill overnight, then allow it to come to room temperature a bit while the oven is heating and I prepare my filling.  In this case, I sliced the rhubarb and strawberries a little smaller than I would for a regular size pie.

filling

2 cups rhubarb chunks
2 cups halved or sliced strawberries (this ratio is variable, with the goal being 4 cups of fruit)
1 cup sugar (also variable depending on ratio of fruit as well as sweetness of berries )
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
small sprinkling of freshly grated nutmeg

After I rolled the dough out, I decided to use a 3” biscuit cutter to make little round pies (like the woman at the pie contest did, though hers were bigger).  One batch of crust would thus yield a dozen pies, I reasoned, enough that we could each have 3, not including the ones I would make from the scraps and eat hot out of the oven, a.k.a. “poison testers.” 

After arranging half of the little dough circles on a baking sheet, I topped each with a dollop of fruit, then covered them with the other twelve dough circles. 

Rolling out the top circles a tiny bit more after cutting made them large enough to blanket the little mounds of fruit.  I then pressed around the edges with my fingers to seal, followed by a go ‘round with the tines of a fork.  I cut tiny holes to let the steam escape, then brushed each with milk and sprinkled with sugar, like my grandmother always used to do, to give them a nice golden glaze. 

I baked them at 425 degrees, and of course I forgot to make note of how long for, but I think I started at 30 min and just kept checking until they were golden and the juices inside were bubbling.

In retrospect, perhaps the biscuit cutter idea was a mistake.  For one, they were so small as to have me cursing over the filling and sealing process.  For another, I had at least half my filling left over.  Well, live and learn.  They were not a bad size for eating (about cookie size), and now I have instant pie filling in my freezer.  Additionally, it seems my sealing methods were inadequate, because they leaked juice all over the place during baking. 

No matter, they were a tasty snack/dessert/breakfast for our adventure, and next time I will make two batches of dough, cut the circles bigger, and seal them more tightly.  Here’s my husband holding “the pretty one” for a photo in Santa Cruz:

The smell of yeast dough is, for me, a kind of Proustian experience.  My dad, an immigrant from Greece with little education, spent most of my childhood working as a cook in pizza restaurants, and for a short while running his own place.  I would often watch him work, mixing huge batches of dough in enormous stand mixers, kneading and measuring out pieces by hand.  I was mesmerized by his rhythmic, sure movements, and I remember being particularly fascinated by the sensation of the sharp knife cutting though the soft, smooth dough. Smelling that dough takes me right back those restaurant kitchens and the time I spent there with my dad.

Despite those strong feelings, however, I seldom bake bread.  I always wish I baked it more, but it feels like such a time commitment, even if the effort involved is minimal.  So when I read in Gourmet a while back (still sad about its cancellation) about Jim Lahey and his “no-knead bread,” I thought, maybe I can handle this.  On a recent trip to New York, I had the opportunity to eat at Lahey’s pizza place, and it was every bit as mind-blowing as I expected.  Upon our return, I decided I HAD to try out one of Lahey’s bread recipes, and found a basic one on his Sullivan Street Bakery website. 

The bread was almost embarrassingly little work.  I mixed the dry ingredients (I didn’t have bread flour so I used two parts all-purpose and one part whole wheat),

then added the water and it almost immediately formed a dough, as if on its own.  

Then it gets transferred to a fresh, oiled bowl and covered with plastic wrap

where it just does its thing, the yeast eating and burping until the dough is all bubbly and gooey looking, which takes about 12 hours. 

Once that happens, it takes about 5 seconds of work to massage it into a round-ish shape, then some more hanging out under a kitchen towel, about an hour or two.  I think I left it a lot longer and it was still fine.

The most challenging part was getting it from the towel into the preheated pot (I used a Le Creuset) to bake.  I guess I was a bit stingy with the flour, because the dough stuck to the towel a bit and kind of flopped over on itself as I dumped it into the hot oven.  No matter, it was delicious and had an amazing texture.  I shared it with friends and we ate every bite before it even cooled (so much for having toast the next morning).  And now I’m definitely buying Lahey’s Book; In fact, I’m not sure why I haven’t made the bread again, but I sure plan to.  A friend who had also made it recommended that I start it the night before for dinner the next day, a very good suggestion.  I wish my dad lived close enough that I could bake it for him, too.