Katharine Hepburn Brownie Pie

There's a photo of me from the fourth grade: I have my hair curled (it was then in its pre-pubescent stick straight stage) and piled high on top of my head. I'm wearing a blue blazer and turtleneck, and holding a wooden tennis racquet, with over-sized sunglasses completing the look. The occasion was a class biography project in which we were to impersonate one of our heroes and I, in case you haven't guessed from my surely obvious costuming, was Katharine Hepburn.

At some point prior I had graduated from Shirley Temple movies to those of Hepburn and Grant, Hepburn and Tracy, Hepburn, Hepburn, Hepburn. This little obsession was perhaps prompted by my mother and grandmother, who presented Kate as the feisty, whip smart, and athletic alternative to the other silver screen starlets my classmates were ogling over (likely via a certain "classic movie" issue of the very '90s pre-teen rag, American Girl).

Me as Katharine Hepburn, 4th grade

I admired Katharine for all of those reasons my elders saw her as an alternative role model. As a nerdy tomboy, I identified with Kate's Bringing up Baby shenanigans, leopard in tow, her cunning smarts that bested Spencer Tracy in Desk Set, and her take no guff attitude in Pat and Mike. I also just found her hilarious. Subsequently, I devoured her autobiography, Me: Stories of My Life, with abandon, and upon learning that as a child, she lived as a boy for the summer, with her parent's buy-in, considered doing the same. Six or so years later, then a sophomore in high school, I got in a heated argument with my honors English teacher who insisted that Katharine and that other Hepburn, Audrey, were sisters. I told her she was wrong, exclaiming, " I know for a fact-- I've read Me!," "So have I," she countered. Well, someone was lying and it wasn't me. 

Later in college, my older friend Ben who worked at Houghton Mifflin for his first job out of school, sent a spare copy of Ruth Reichl's bright yellow Gourmet Cookbook to my group house in Ann Arbor. The first recipe I discovered and ever made from there was Katharine Hepburn's brownies, sourced allegedly from the Hepburn family by a friend of food writer Laurie Colwin's. I've worn that page (688) out, so much that the cookbook now opens directly to it.

The recipe makes the best brownies-- fudgy and dense, they're the only ones I ever make. They're also incredibly simple-- fitting I think, for Kate-- a woman who appreciated luxuries, no doubt, but wouldn't let her get to carried away about them, always tempering her approach with that stubborn blue-blooded New England practicality.

Here, I have Hepburn's brownies the pie treatment, altering the recipe just slightly (I reduced the sugar by 1/4th of a cup) and using it as the filling in a pie crust. It's a Chocolate Chess Pie, essentially, but the richest one you ever had. The added salt and bite of the crust balances that out a bit, and of that, I think Kate would approve.

Katharine Hepburn Brownie Pie

Ingredients
Nothing in the house pie crust, halved
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into tablespoons
2 ounces unsweetened chocolate, chopped
3/4 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions, reserving the leftover egg for an egg wash and saving other half of the recipe in the freezer for a future pie. Chill dough at least one hour before rolling and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Wrap with plastic wrap and place in fridge until ready to use. 

2. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. In a medium-sized saucepan, melt butter with chocolate over low heat. Remove from heat and stir in sugar, eggs, and vanilla, beating until well mixed. Stir in flour and salt just until combined.

3. Pour filling into chilled pie crust and bake for 40-45 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let cool, then serve just warm or at room temperature. 

Related recipes:
Berger Cookie Pie
Chocolate Almond Cake
Chocolate Chess Pie
Cranberry Chocolate Chess Pie

Cranberry Chocolate Chess Pie

HELLO FEBRUARY! Though I went on two long-weekend adventures during the first month of 2015-- one to a cabin in Virginia for New Year's and another cross-country skiing in West Virginia-- the rest of my free time has largely been spent at home-- reading and writing, knitting and watching movies, listening to podcasts and making food. I've really been feeling the winter nesting alone time vibes; honoring those feelings has felt both productive and relaxing. I'm not sure if February will prompt a changing tide, but I'm open to whatever it sends my way.

In the first few years after I graduated college, my friends and I self-published a collaborative literary journal/zine called The Dovetail Collective. The theme and concept was constantly changing, but each issue had a regular column where members shared what they were currently reading, watching, and listening to. In what were largely pre-social media days (most of us had Myspace pages, but that's about it), it was a good way to get reliable book, movie, and music recommendations. In the spirit of that and my especially bookwormish tendencies as of late, here's what I've been reading/watching/listening:

Reading: Carolyn Chute's Treat Us Like Dogs and We Will Become Wolves. I've had the pleasure of getting to know Carolyn the past few years through NELP. She writes about a side of Maine-- her side-- that's not regularly depicted in the coastal tourist paradise stereotype we're often fed and her stories are raw and real and complicated. I also just started Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven and am totally enthralled.

Watching: Star Trek: The Next Generation. Yep, when I finally finish the sweater I'm knitting, there will be many hours of TNG invested in those stitches. Also, Broad City. For movies I recently enjoyed Selma and Iranian vampire movie, A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night.

Listening: Serial and the new NPR podcast Invisibilia (one of the producers, Lulu Miller, was actually a member of The Dovetail Collective). Still blasting D'Angelo's Black Messiah in the work headphones and have been spinning Jake Xerxes Fussell's new self-titled album on Paradise of Bachelors.

What have I been baking? Along with MAV's Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies, you're seeing it right here. Hoosier Mama Pie Company's Cranberry Chess Pie has become a go-to favorite, as I've said before and I was planning to make it for Christmas. When I got home, though, I learned that my mom had already made it for Thanksgiving, so I considered how I might alter the recipe for something new. I thought cranberries would pair well with a bittersweet chocolate and it turns out, they do-- resembling cherry cordials in flavor (another family holiday standby). The recipe whips up pretty quickly and is a good pick for Valentine's Day or for just sittin' at home watching Star Trek and knitting a sweater on a Sunday afternoon.

Cranberry Chocolate Chess Pie
Inspired by Hoosier Mama's Cranberry Chess Pie

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust, halved
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
2 ounces bittersweet chocolate (60% or higher)
3/4 cup white sugar
1 Tablespoon yellow cornmeal
2 large eggs, beaten well
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon orange zest
2 cups fresh cranberries, halved

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions, reserving the leftover egg for an egg wash. Chill dough at least one hour before rolling and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Let chill in the fridge while you prepare the filling. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Place the butter and chocolate in a small saucepan over low heat, stirring occasionally. Cook until both butter and chocolate are melted into a smooth chocolate sauce, 5-7 minutes. Remove from heat and pour into a medium bowl.

3. Add the sugar and cornmeal to the chocolate mixture and stir until well combined. Then add the eggs, vanilla, salt, and orange zest. Stir with a wooden spoon until evenly mixed. Gently fold in the cranberries.

4. Pour the batter into the pie shell and smooth with a rubber spatula. Bake for 40-45 minutes, rotating pie 180 degrees halfway through. When done, filling will be puffed and set and crust will be golden brown. Remove pie from oven and let cool until warm, at least 30 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature with chocolate shavings, if desired.



Related recipes:
Cranberry Chess Pie
Cranberry Hand Pies
Cranberry Pie
Chocolate Chess Pie

Blood Orange Chess Pie

I'm writing this from a lake house in Michigan. The lake is frozen over, the high today is 18, the low is -6, and there's over 2 feet of snow on the ground. I'm loving it now while it's novel (though wishing I had my cross-country skis), but remember those college-era long Michigan winters when long underwear was obligatory, causing us to move across campus like marshmallows and making dance party dressing a conundrum. We were all hoping for spring-- because classes would be over, yes, but more so because it meant our bodies would be warm again. 

The first time I ever ate a blood orange was on an escape from one such Michigan winter. On my senior year spring break (which for the University of Michigan is in February), my friend and I took a trip to Southern California-- to visit her sister in Santa Barbara and some of my high school friends at Caltech. When my pals were in class or solving complicated mathematical proofs, my friend and I roamed the campus, pillaging citrus from the trees that surrounded the lecture halls and libraries. I was surprised when I plucked an orange from a tree and peeled it to reveal a bright red interior, with dripping juice that made me wonder if I'd unknowingly gotten a paper cut.  I didn't know what to expect flavor-wise, but I bit in and found it tarter than I'd imagined, in a good way--a classic navel orange's more interesting yet slightly sinister step-sister.

This tartness and vivid hue make blood oranges a fruit well-suited for baking, lending more complexity than standard oranges. The brilliant pop of color and flavor are also ideal for mitigating winter's doldrums.

Ever since I made Hoosier Mama's Cranberry Chess Pie, I've been wanting to "chess" everything (more on what Chess Pie is here). This recipe is adapted from the Lee Brothers' Grapefruit Chess Pie. This time I used my standard pie crust, but you could also use the sweet rye crust which is in their original recipe.

Blood Orange Chess Pie

Adapted from The Lee Brothers' Charleston Kitchen

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust, halved
4 blood oranges
3/4 tsp. kosher salt
3 large egg whites
2 large egg yolks
1/2 c. heavy cream, room temperature
4 Tblsp. (half stick) unsalted butter, melted
3/4 c. granulated sugar
3 Tblsp. all-purpose flour
2 Tblsp. fine cornmeal, plus more for sprinkling.

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions, reserving the leftover egg for an egg wash. Chill dough at least one hour before rolling and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Let chill for 15 more minutes in the freezer.. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

2. Prick the bottom of the crust all over with a fork. Place a sheet of parchment paper inside the pie crust and fill with dried beans or pie weights. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove from the oven and take out the parchment and weights. Brush crust with the egg yolk, reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees F and bake 5 more minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside.

3. Lower oven temperature to 350 degrees F. In a small bowl, finely grate the zest of 1 of the blood oranges (it will yield about 1 tsp.) and set aside. Segment 2 of the blood oranges by trimming off the top and bottom so each end is flat. Then peel the fruit by placing a sharp knife at the point where the pith meets the fruit and cut with the curvature of the fruit.  

4. Over a medium bowl to catch the juice, cut along the segment membranes of the oranges to separate each segment. Strain the segments and reserve the juice and segments separately (you'll have about 1 c. segments and 1/3 c. juice). Whisk the zest and salt into the blood orange juice.

5. Whisk the egg yolks and egg whites together in a large bowl (I used a standing mixer) until they are light and cream-colored, then whisk in the cream and melted butter. 

6. In a separate bowl, mix together the sugar, flour, and cornmeal. Add the dry ingredients to the egg mixture in thirds, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the orange juice mixture until incorporated.

5. Pour the filling into the pie crust and arrange the blood orange segments in the custard (they will float to the surface as they bake). Place the pie in the oven and bake 35-45 minutes until the top has browned and the center jiggles stiffly. Cool on a wire rack at least 20 minutes before serving. Serve slightly warm or at room temperature.

Related Recipes:

Cranberry Chess Pie

Grapefruit Chess Pie

Lemon Chess Pie

Rustic Blood Orange Tart with Cream Cheese Crust

Cranberry Chess Pie

I consider cranberries to be the ultimate winter fruit, the edible counterpart of the seasonally ubiquitous holly berry. Cranberries are harvested in the fall, and are part of the evergreen family, cousins to the other plant we welcome into our homes at this time of year.

I like them for their bright red festive color and especially for their tartness, which make them a dream to bake with and an ideal fruit for pairing with others--apples, pears, pomegranates, or summer berries you've stockpiled in the freezer.



Cranberry pie in all of its forms is one of my favorites, but this Cranberry Chess Pie from The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie may just top them all. It's sour and sweet, fruity and creamy, with a smooth buttery consistency peppered with flecks of tart berry. It's perfection. I usually only eat just a sliver of the pies I bake, but with this one I could not stop. In it I may just have found the answer to that ever-so-difficult "what's your favorite pie" question. Make it for Christmas, make if for Thanksgiving 2014, freeze some cranberries and make it all year.

Cranberry Chess Pie

Adapted from The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust, halved
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
Zest of 1 orange
3 large eggs
7 Tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 Tablespoon cornmeal
Pinch kosher salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 Tablespoon vanilla paste (can substitute vanilla extract)
2 cups fresh cranberries, coarsely chopped

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions, reserving the leftover egg for an egg wash. Chill dough at least one hour before rolling and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Let chill for 15 more minutes in the fridge. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. In the bowl of a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine sugar and butter. Zest the orange into the bowl and cream together the ingredients until the mixture is light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl after each addition.

3. In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, and salt. In a separate small bowl or pitcher, stir together the buttermilk and vanilla paste.

4. Add 1/3 of the dry ingredients to the butter mixture and mix just until combined. With the stand mixer set to low, add half of the buttermilk mixture and mix to combine. Add another 1/3 of the dry ingredients and mix just until combined. Add the rest of the buttermilk mixture, mixing to combine, and then the final third of the dry ingredients. Mix until combined.

5. Scrape down the sides of the bowl to incorporate any unmixed ingredients and gently fold in the cranberries. Pour the batter into the prepared pie shell, smoothing the filling with a rubber spatula.

6. Bake for 40-45 minutes, rotating 180 degrees half-way through. The pie is done when the top is golden brown and slightly puffed. Cool to room temperature. Serve pie at room temperature or slightly chilled.



Related recipes:
Cranberry-Lime Galette
Grapefruit Chess Pie
Lemon Chess Pie

Berger Cookie Pie aka Baltimore Bomb Pie

Earlier this week my friend Sara Camp Arnold passed along this Medium article written by the folks at Robicelli's regarding recent press on the bursting of "the cupcake bubble." She directed me specifically to item #7, a response to Jezebel's claim that "cupcakes represent prescribed modes of femininity and our cultural fixation on eternal girlhood." For now I'm not going to get into what I think about that (it's complicated), but the Robicelli's response hit home.

They argue that while lady chefs are common these days, lady chef business owners are not. When the cupcake trend hit in the late 90s, numerous women saw it as an entrepreneurial opportunity. Many opened businesses out of their homes and hired a mostly female staff, catering to a mostly female clientele. This all rings a bell. The idea of women's creative domesticity as an empowering force for entrepreneurship, social capital, and community engagement is a theme I wrote about in my folklore Master's thesis at UNC, where I studied Vimala Rajendran's transition from community dinner home cook to chef and restaurant owner. Running a food business out of a home kitchen is something I've also dabbled in myself--first with Tarts by Tarts and now with Nothing-in-the-House Baking Co. This endeavor has allowed me and others like me to explore my interest in small business, develop my own baking skills, and make connections--creative, social, and entrepreneurial-- in my community. Now that doesn't sound anti-feminist to me.



This pie was one that was a special ordered from Nothing-in-the-House by my friend Martha. She had cousins coming to town and wanted to show off some local flavor, so requested a "Baltimore Bomb Pie". The recipe was developed by Dangerously Delicious Pies, and is essentially a chess pie with Berger Cookies embedded in the filling. Never had a Berger Cookie? That probably means you just haven't spent much time in Baltimore, where they're a cultural icon. The rich, generously fudge-topped cakey shortbread cookie is of German origin and was brought to the Baltimore area by George and Henry Berger in 1835. The cookies are now baked by DeBaufre Bakeries and have only recently made it out of Baltimore's city limits--I found mine just outside DC at the Silver Spring Giant, but here's a list of other places where they're sold.

While the cookies are decadent enough, the pie only makes them more so, the 5 eggs and stick of butter  really taking it to a whole. nother. level. I imagine that's the reason for the explosive title.  Considering my generally pacifist beliefs and especially in light of current events, though, that name doesn't sit too well with me. Instead, I think I'll call mine a Berger Cookie Pie. Even by a different name, it'll still taste as sweet.

Berger Cookie Pie aka Baltimore Bomb Pie
Adapted from Dangerously Delicious Pies via Biscuits and Such

Ingredients
Nothing-in-the-House pie crust, halved
1 c. granulated sugar
1/2 c. light brown sugar
5 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 Tblsp. flour
1/2 c. unsalted butter, melted
6 Berger Cookies (about 3/4 of a pack), quartered

Directions

1. Prepare half of the Nothing-in-the-House pie crust as per the directions, retaining extra egg for an egg wash. Chill dough at least 1 hour before rolling out and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Place the pan in the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place the quartered cookies in the pie crust. In a medium bowl, whisk together sugar, brown sugar, and flour. Beat in the eggs one at a time and add the butter, stirring constantly. Pour this mixture over the cookies.

3. Brush the edges of the crust with egg wash and bake for 45-55 minutes until the center is golden brown and the top is mostly solid (it should still jiggle a little). Let cool and enjoy!

Related recipes:

Kentucky Lemon Chess Pie

Chocolate Chess Pie

Grapefruit Chess Pie

The other day my friend Mandy posted a quote from Michael Pollan's new book Cooked. It reads, "Is there any practice less selfish, any labor less alienated, any time less wasted, than preparing something delicious and nourishing for people you love?"

With one caveat, I would say that sentence pretty much sums up how I feel about pie baking. My primary motivation is not to develop my own skills, not necessarily for creative expression, or for a blog (sorry), but to make something to make something to share with friends and family. I like to bring pie with me when I go somewhere-- to a friend's house for dinner, a party, a show. It's celebratory, a way to show someone you care, yet still a small, humble gesture. It also explains why I often don't have "cross-section" shots on my blog-- it's not as nice to give someone a pie that's missing one slice.

My one alteration, though, is on the idea of alienation. I get (I think, though I haven't read the book and am only working from this quote), what Pollan is trying to say--that food preparation for loved ones is unalienating because it positions us in connection to the land, to season, to familial traditions or culture, to our farmers, our friends and family. But today and throughout history, I think the actual act of food preparation can still be an alienating experience for many, especially women. I'm thinking particularly of the often lonely experience of the housewife, today and throughout history, and the 1st wave material feminists' all for communal kitchens--what compelled Zona Gale in 1919 to state, "The private kitchen must go the way of the spinning wheel, of which it is the contemporary." Despite these womens' work, much of that lone experience did not change. It's something that still needs to be acknowledged and addressed with creative solutions.



But when we think of those meals that have the most meaning, its those prepared alongside friends and family, for friends and family, that we remember.This Grapefruit Chess Pie was one such shared pie I made surrounded by friends, for friends. My best friend Heather was in town from Chicago for the weekend, and I was putting on a show at my house--an old-time string band "battle of the sexes" of sorts, featuring my pals Ariel, Chloe, and Meredith of Locust Honey and Brent, Graham, and Lars as the one-off Cowboy Coffee Drinkers. But before the music, we had an afternoon cookout. Lars grilled hot dogs, Leslie brought a Green Gate Farm kale salad, Brent and Heather worked on the long-awaited smoked salmon deviled eggs, Meredith's family brought a full tray of homemade chicken wings, and I worked on this pie, and a few others.

The recipe comes from the Lee Brothers by way of A Sweet Spoonful. As for what it's all about, think pineapple upside down cake flavor in a custardy base with a sweet rye crust. It's a different rye crust than what I've used in the past, but I like it--it's also really easy to work with and hold it's shape beautifully, allowing me to experiment with a new crust fluting treatment. As the name suggests, it's a classic chess pie with a touch of early-spring citrus, a little something special for the common table.



Grapefruit Chess Pie with a Sweet Rye Crust
Adapted from The Lee Brothers Charleston Kitchen via A Sweet Spoonful

Ingredients
For crust (yields 2 9-inch pie crusts, so wrap and freeze one for later or make 2 pies!)
2/3 c. rye flour
1 1/2 c. unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp. kosher salt
1 Tblsp. granulated sugar
16 Tblsp. (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
3-6 Tblsp. ice water (I had to use just about all 6)
1 egg yolk

For filling:
2 grapefruits
3/4 tsp. kosher salt
3 large egg whites
2 large egg yolks
1/2 c. heavy cream, room temperature
4 Tblsp. (half stick) unsalted butter, melted
1 c. granulated sugar
3 Tblsp. all-purpose flour
2 Tblsp. fine cornmeal, plus more for sprinkling.

Directions
For crust:
1. In a medium bowl, whisk together flours, salt, and sugar. With a pastry cutter or knife and fork, cut in the butter until the mixture is the texture of cornmeal and peas. Drizzle the vanilla extract over the dough and sprinkle in the water 1 Tblsp. at a time, stirring with a wooden spoon until the dough begins to come together in clumps. Use your fingers to bring it all together in a ball. Divide the ball into two flat disks and wrap each in plastic wrap. Chill in the fridge for at least 1 hour and up to 1 day.

2. Once chilled, and you're ready to roll out your crust, preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Roll out one disk of dough on a lightly floured surface. Fit into a greased and floured pie plate and flute edges decoratively. Prick the bottom of the crust all over with a fork. Place a sheet of parchment paper inside the pie crust and fill with dried beans or pie weights. Bake for 15 minutes, then remove from the oven and take out the parchment and weights. Brush crust with the egg yolk, reduce oven temperature to 350 degrees F and back 5 more minutes.

For filling:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a small bowl, finely grate the zest of 1 of the grapefruits (it will yield about 1 tsp.) and set aside. Segment both grapefruits by trimming off the top and bottom so each end is flat. Then peel the fruit by placing a sharp knife at the point where the pith meets the fruit and cut with the curvature of the fruit.  

2. Over a medium bowl to catch the juice, cut along the segment membranes of the grapefruit to separate each segment. Strain the segments and reserve the juice and segments separately (you'll have about 1 c. segments and 1/3 c. juice). Whisk the zest and salt into the grapefruit juice.

3. Whisk the egg yolks and egg whites together in a large bowl (I used a standing mixer) until they are light and cream-colored, then whisk in the cream and melted butter. 

4. In a separate bowl, mix together the sugar, flour, and cornmeal. Add the dry ingredients to the egg mixture in thirds, mixing well after each addition. Stir in the grapefruit juice mixture until incorporated.

5. Pour the filling into the pie crust and arrange the grapefruit segments in the custard (they will float to the surface as they bake). Place the pie in the oven and bake 35-45 minutes until the top has browned and the center jiggles stiffly. Cool on a wire rack at least 20 minutes before serving. Serve slightly warm or at room temperature.

Related recipes:

Kentucky Lemon Chess Pie

Grapefruit & Pepper Meringue Tartlets

Chocolate Chess Pie

Have you seen those brownie pans that are designed so that every piece is a crusty edge piece? Well what about something for those who like those more rare gooey middle squares?? Where's our special pan?? Well, I think I've figured it out, and the answer is... Chocolate Chess Pie. Yep, this pie filling is pretty much all oozy, chocolatey, "middle" pieces with none of the crispier bites. PLUS there is the added bonus of a buttery pastry crust. A double temptation that might even win over those stalwart edge lovers.

I've talked previously about Chess pie and its nomenclature speculations here. The chocolate cousin, however, is a little bit different. Though it lives up to its name in basic ingredients and simplicity of preparation, I'm not sure I would call it a true Nothing-in-the-House pie, the way regular Chess pie is, for chocolate was historically expensive and a bit of a luxury. According to Nancie McDermott in her Southern Pies (buy this cookbook, already!), chocolate is a relative newcomer on the Southern pie scene. Though as an ingredient, it appears in cookbooks such as The Virginia House-Wife in 1824, it isn't used in pies until the early twentieth century. Even so, it is still a straightforward Southern classic that is just divine.

I made up my recipe from a few different versions. Originally I used one cup of sugar, but I'm reducing it to 3/4 cup here, as it was just a tad sweet for me. But as my co-worker Helen matter-of-factly said, "Chess pie is supposed to be sweet," so adjust according to your taste. It would also be delicious with a splash of bourbon or a dash of orange zest.

Chocolate Chess Pie

Ingredients
Nothing-in-the-House Pie Crust, halved
1/2 c. (1 stick) butter
2 oz. (2 squares) bittersweet chocolate (I used 60%)
3/4 c. white sugar
1 Tblsp. yellow cornmeal
2 large eggs, beaten well
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1/4 tsp. salt

Directions
1. Prepare half of the Nothing-in-the-House pie crust as per the directions. Chill dough at least 1 hour before rolling out and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Put the rolled and fitted crust back in the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. Place the butter and chocolate in a small saucepan and over low heat, cook until they melt together and make a smooth chocolate sauce, about 5-7 minutes. Remove from the heat and pour into a medium bowl.

3. Add the sugar and cornmeal to the chocolate mixture and stir until well combined. Then add the eggs, vanilla, and salt. Stir with a wooden spoon until evenly mixed.

4. Pour the filling into the pie crust and place the pie on the bottom shelf of the oven. Bake until the pie filling has puffed and formed a crusty top, and crust is golden brown, about 50-60 minutes. Remove pie from oven and let cool until still slightly warm, about 30 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature with a scoop of bourbon whipped cream.

I brought this pie into work yesterday and shared it with my co-workers who gave it rave reviews. Though it was very very good, I think we all needed to indulge in a little stress eating to take our minds off of the election happening later. But it all turned out rather well, and it looks like we'll have a pie-loving president for another four years!

Kentucky Lemon Chess Pie

Nothin' too fancy here, after all it is just pie. jes' pie. chess pie. See what I did there? That little abbreviation and perhaps mishearing is one of the many cited stories for how chess pie-- a very unassuming dessert of eggs, butter, sugar, flour and lemon or vinegar--got its name. Another guess is that the monniker came from "chest pie," (pronounced in a Southern accent) as in a pie that kept well in a chest or cupboard. I've also heard that it was a treat served in chess houses, though to me that sounds a little too literal to be likely. Whatever the story though, chess pie originated from England, and traveled across the pond, landing in the colonies and dispersing to New England and the South. It's related to vinegar pie, mock lemon pie, or Jefferson Davis pie, and when vinegar is substituted for lemon, it's a true Nothing-in-the-House pie, made with cheap, readily available ingredients. Don't be deceived though, its economy in no way compromises its deliciousness.

I got this recipe for a Kentucky lemon chess pie from the New York Times Heritage Cookbook, which features traditional recipes organized by region and specific to each state. It's just a tad fancier than a straight chess pie, but is still very simple. The cornmeal adds a little substance to the filling and the lemon zest and juice make it taste almost like the lemon bars familiar to my Midwest upbringing. Once baked, the top of the pie should form a crust, with the oozy lemony filling lying below.

 
Kentucky Lemon Chess Pie
Adapted from the New York Times Heritage Cookbook by Jean Hewitt

Ingredients
Nothing-in-the-House pie crust, halved
1/2 c. (1 stick) butter at room temperature
1 1/4 c. sugar
1 Tblsp. yellow corn meal
3 eggs
Grated rind of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lemon
1 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. salt

Directions
1. Prepare half of the Nothing-in-the-House pie crust as per the directions. Chill dough at least 1 hour before rolling out and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Put the rolled and fitted crust back in the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. Cream together the butter and sugar in a mixing bowl, using a wooden spoon or a stand mixer. Then beat in the cornmeal.

3. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in the lemon rind, lemon juice, vanilla and salt until well combined. Pour the filling into the pie shell and bake for 45-60 minutes, or until the top of the filling forms a crust and a knife inserted into the middle comes out clean. Serve with blackberries and whipped cream.

I made this lemon chess pie last Saturday, which also marked the day that the pickles we made at our pickling party were ready for the eatin'! So on Sunday morning (err, afternoon?) after a late Saturday night, we took to brunch prep, making as many items with our pickles as we could (none in the chess pie, though, don't worry). My friend Lars made amazing fried chicken that was brined in pickle juice, and Luigia mixed up bloody marys also spiked with pickle juice as well as dilly beans, pickles okra, and cucumber spears. I cooked some eggs, and we took the porch for a leisurely meal on a rainy afternoon. Nothin' too fancy-- chess brunch.

Sweet Tea Pie & A Barn Dance

Well, it's certainly not the most beautiful thing I've ever made, sweet tea pie. When I was taking these photos, attempting to make it look better by propping the shot with a pitcher of iced tea and a lemon, Brent and our friend Joe were teasing me, saying that ugly looking food was really the next culinary wave, because why distract yourself with unnecessary aesthetic (the philosophy behind Opaque, I suppose)? Let the food speak for itself--why make it look good?, they joked. I tried my best...

Sweet tea pie, a recipe of Mississippi chef Martha Hall Foose's via Nancie McDermott, is a chess pie spin-off that's infused with the beverage that can clearly identify southerners from non (As an Indiana-native with a health-conscious mom, I had never ever had iced tea so sweet as I did when I came to North Carolina). The filling is accented by a bit of lemon, as you might take in your tea, and a lot of butter, as you might not take in your tea. It's one of those, that like the salty honey pie, looks better before baking, because once in the oven all of that sugar caramelizes, turning brown and appearing almost burnt, like a not-so-dainty creme brûlée. But in the same way as the classic French dessert, that crusty top just masks the smooth and oozing sweet filling inside. The tea flavor is noticeable, but I wish it were a little stronger (perhaps by using more tea bags?), and that it was a little less sweet. But make it according to your preference--Do you like your sweet tea so sweet it makes your teeth quiver (I feel like that could be a line in a country song)? If so, stick with the 2 cups.

Sweet Tea Pie

Adapted slightly from Nancie McDermott's Southern Pies

Ingredients

Nothing-in-the-House Pie Crust, halved

1 1/2-2 c. sugar, depending on how sweet you like your sweet tea

1 c. butter, softened

8 egg yolks

3/4 c. strong black tea, room temperature (I used 2 tea bags)

1 Tblsp. freshly squeezed lemon juice

1 packed tsp. lemon zest

2 Tblsp. all-purpose flour

2 Tblsp. cornmeal

1/2 tsp. salt

Directions

1. Prepare half of Nothing-in-the-House pie crust (for 1 bottom crust) as per the instructions. Chill dough for at least one hour. Once chilled, roll out and fit into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Flute edges and return to the fridge until ready to use. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2. Using a Kitchenaid or by hand, beat the sugar and butter on medium speed in a large bowl until light and fluffy. Add egg yolks one at a time, beating after each addition. Turn off the mixer and add tea, lemon juice & zest, and beat on medium speed until well incorporated. Add flour, cornmeal, and salt and beat on low until mixed evenly.

3. Remove pie crust from the fridge and pour filling into the crust. Place it on the bottom shelf of the oven and bake until edges puff and center is fairly firm, about 45-50 minutes. The top will be crystallized and deep brown similar to the top of a creme-brûlée, and filling will bubble and appear somewhat liquid, though should only wiggle slightly when nudged. Let pie cool on a cooling rack and serve warm or at room temperature.

The lack of beauty of the pie itself was made up for by the surroundings and evening in which we ate it. Yesterday evening, Brent and Joe and I piled into Brent's truck, packed to the gills with fiddles and guitars and banjos and beers and this here pie, and got the hell outta DC, headed towards a barn dance at Moutoux Orchard in Loudon County, Virginia. After driving through the suburban monstrosities of Northern Virginia, we eventually found ourselves among horse farms and vineyards and even a cricket match(!) and rolled up in the golden hour of the evening, with the rolling hills and peach trees aglow in a warm light.

After the potluck dinner and as the band was warming up, my friends and I wandered down to the barn, where we found a very new calf trying out her wobbly legs. She put on quite a show for the camera, jumping about the pen, rubbing her nose in the mud, and practicing her moo. Eventually a crowd gathered and everyone was so taken by the bovine model that Joe had quite a task pulling them away from her to get them to come dance.

 But once he did, the party took off, with a barn packed full of dancers, many who had never square danced before. Joe did an excellent job calling and keeping everyone grapevine twisting, mountaineer looping, and shooting the hole through the old tin can late into the night-- quite a task when a good part of the crowd were farmers with early morning wake-up calls.

 As I like to do at things like this, I saved the pie for the set break, when everyone was sweaty and tipsy and tired enough to be hungry all over again. The band didn't really stop playing though, so I slipped plates with slices under their chairs and dished up the rest for whoever wanted a piece. In my own state of sweaty and tipsy and tiredness, I didn't manage to snap a clear photo of the sliced pie, but I did want to show you the smooth yellow filling under that crusty layer, so let's just call it a "mood shot" and move on.

I needed that slice with its dose of caffeine (and butter, so much butter) to keep me going, because even when the dance ended past midnight, we stayed up a few hours more to sit around and pick a few tunes. When we finally closed down the barn and curled up to go to sleep in the truck, I suddenly realized the country song-ready pun, sweet tea pie or sweetie pie?

You can find more pictures of the dance (and more of that cute calf) here.

Dangerously Delicious Pies

Is this pie dangerous?! (Please excuse the quality of these phonephotos)

I was visiting Jamie in Baltimore today, and for lunch we decided to take a jaunt to Hampden (taking the "p" out of 'ronunciation) to visit Dangerously Delicious' Savory House (a business garnering lots of pie press) for lunch. Inside we found a simply decorated red-walled cafe, with lots of customers (including the cutest baby pie eater) and today's pies (quiche, savory AND sweet) posted on a huge chalkboard on the wall.

Roasted Veggie Savory Pie

Jamie ordered a slice of the steak and mushroom and I went for the one vegetarian option, roasted vegetable. The heaping slices were served warm and delicious, with a side of spinach salad. The roasted veggie featured a well-matched medley of vegetables--potatoes, onions, mushrooms and peppers, cooked to perfection with subtle seasonings. The crust was a little dry for my liking, but perhaps that's par for the course with restaurant pie baking. I forgot to ask if they use a shortening or butter crust, but I got hints of both, so perhaps it is a mix?

Roasted Veggie side view

For dessert we split a slice of the Belgian Chocolate Chess Pie (after hearing Abra sing the praises of Chess Pie, it was time to try it--if not make it-- for ourselves), which was delicate and delicious (Abra was right...though when has she been wrong about food?). I think I favor fruit pies, though, so next time it is berries or apples or peaches for me...though the White Trash Creme Brulée is pretty tempting.

Though you can't beat fresh homemade pies, Dangerously Delicious comes pretty darned close. and I most definitely will return. Looks like Jamie will too:

"But you don't have to take my word for it!"