Fresh Wild Maine Blueberry Pie

I've been paying annual visits to my friends Nathan and Clara and their little ones on their farm in Brooklin, Maine since 2008. But I've always visited in the spring or early summer, when the wild blueberries are blooming, but not yet ripe. This year, though, I made my yearly pilgrimage in early September, in what I discovered to be the most glorious season in Maine, with sunny days, perfect temperatures, and the wild blueberries, huckleberries, raspberries, blackberries, and cranberries all ripe for the picking. Even the early apples were ready to be pressed into cider.

One afternoon, we walked out to their blueberry fields with rakes and pails and Nathan taught us how to harvest the berries by running a hand-held rake through the shrubs. The wild lowbush blueberries, vaccinium angustifolium, that are native to Maine and other northern regions of the United States, were a staple of the Native American diet in those regions. According to the Oxford Companion to Food, native peoples ate the berries fresh or sun-dried them to be used in puddings or cakes or ground them into meal to flavor meats and soups. New England colonists called the berries "hurtleberries" or "whortleberries"-- if you come across a period recipe that calls for them, you now know what it's referring to.

The more widespread highbush blueberry was not cultivated until the early 1900s and is generally a combination of highbush, "rabbit-eye," and lowbush varieties. Low-bush berries can be about four times smaller than their domesticated highbush counterparts and lack the tartness, instead packing a sweet, potent punch. Because of this, they are ideal to be enjoyed just fresh as is-- and by the handful.

After we raked several bushels, we lugged our full pails back down to the barn, where Nathan put them through the winnower-- a sort of steampunk contraption composed of various belts and gears, designed to separate the stems and sticks that collect with the berries while raking. 

Clara and Nathan like to make this Fresh Blueberry Pie, layering a quick jam with fresh berries on top, in a baked pie crust topped generously with whipped cream. Their recipe offers the best of both worlds-- cooked and fresh berries, and aside from the pie crust preparation, it comes together quickly, so you can get to eating faster. It would be suitable for any type of berry-- huckleberries, blackberries, raspberries, or maybe a combination for a "Maine in September Fresh Berry Pie."

Fresh Wild Maine Blueberry Pie
From Clara & Nathan of Stoneset Farm

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust recipe, halved
1 quart fresh low-bush blueberries (can also use high-bush blueberries or any kind of berry, really)
1/2 cup white sugar
1 Tablespoon cornstarch
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
Turbinado sugar, for dusting
Whipped cream

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. Prick crust with fork all over the bottom. Place pie pan in the freezer for 1 hour to set before baking. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2.  Remove crust from freezer, line with parchment paper and fill with pie weights or dried beans. Blind bake crust for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, remove paper and weights, brush with egg wash and dust with Turbinado sugar. Return crust to oven and bake for 5-8 more minutes more or until fully baked, puffed, and golden brown. Let cool while you prepare the filling.

3. In a saucepan, mash 1 1/2 cups of the berries with the sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, and nutmeg. Bring sauce to a boil and stir until thick. You're essentially making a quick jam, so it should be about the consistency of thick sauce or heated preserves.

4. Gently stir in another 1 1/2 cups of berries until incorporated. Pour into baked pie crust and smooth. Top with remaining 1 1/2 cups of berries and chill until set, at least 1 hour. Serve, as Nathan and Clara say, with "scads of whipped cream."

Related recipes:
Blueberry Buckle
Blueberry Hand Pies
Blueberry Icebox Pie
Blueberry Pie

Campfire Skillet Crisp

One of the drawbacks of shooting film, and multiple cameras* at that, is that there can be so much lag time between shooting, finishing the roll, and getting the developed photos back. Here it is September and I'm finally sitting down to share some photos, words, and a campfire recipe from a canoe trip back in May. But there are a few weeks of summer yet, so hopefully this will come in handy for your summer and fall camping trip cuisine.

This spring at NELP, I co-lead a canoe trip to the Debsconeag Lakes, just under the shadow of Mt. Katahdin in northern Maine. I jumped on the trip last minute--I thought I'd be leading a "Rough 'n' Tumble New Age Lumberjack Road Trip" to Rangeley, ME, but when not enough students were compelled by the promise of orgone accumulators and chainsaw collections, I joined up with my friend and co-worker James to even out canoe numbers and do a little tracing of Thoreau's footsteps (and paddle "steps") in the Maine woods.

Because we were paddling and staying at the same campsite for the three days, we didn't have to be concerned with backpacking weight. So I snagged our skillet from the kitchen and started imagining all the campfire cooking and baking possibilities.

The first day we paddled to our campsite among pine trees on a white beach, set up tents, and then paddled to the other side of the lake which boasts an ice cave along its shores. It was a hot day, especially for May in northern Maine, but when we entered the cave, it felt like we were descending back in time to the cold of winter. Judging from the ice stalactites dripping from the ceiling it was probably just above freezing.

That night we took the students out for a night paddle with no lights. It was a magical surrealist experience, seeing the stars almost perfectly reflected in the water (or as Thoreau calls it, "Sky water") which felt strangely thick and dense--like paddling through oil-- but somehow safe and comforting. We read them the passage from Walden in "The Ponds" when Thoreau describes his night fishing, "It seemed as if I might next cast my line upward into the air, as well as downward into this element which was scarcely more dense. Thus I caught two fishes as it were with one hook," and asked them what might be that second fish. 

The next morning for breakfast, I sliced up some strawberries and bananas into the skillet, scattered on a flour and sugar mixture I'd prepared back at camp, put on a lid, and stuck it on the hot embers of the fire. After about 25 minutes, we had a breakfast crisp, warm and bubbling, with a buttery, crispy top.

You could make this with any fruit you have on hand. I'd recommend mixing the flour mixture at home and storing it in a plastic bag until you're ready to use, then cut in the butter at your campsite (don't forget your pocket knife). It makes a fine camp breakfast or dessert and it fueled our mile-long portage and day of exploring waterfalls and lakes, through a rainstorm and all. 

Strawberry-Banana Campfire Crisp

Ingredients
3 large bananas, cut into 1/2-inch slices
12 oz. strawberries, sliced (instead of strawberries & bananas, you can use about 2 1/2 lbs. of any fruit)
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup oats
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon sea salt
1/3 cup unsalted butter, cut into chunks

Directions
1. In a medium-sized bowl, combine flour, oats, sugars, spices, and salt. If you're preparing the crisp at camp, pour into a gallon-sized ziplock bag and bring along with you (along with butter and fruit.).

2. If preparing at home, preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Cut butter into the flour mixture (if preparing at camp, you can do this with your hands in the ziplock bag). Slice fruit and arrange on the bottom of the skillet. Pour butter and flour mixture over top of fruit.

3. If preparing on a campfire, cover skillet with a lid or tin-foil and place on the hot embers of the fire. If preparing at home, place in the preheated oven uncovered. Bake for 25-30 minutes until fruit is bubbling and topping is golden and crispy. Serve and enjoy!



Related recipes:
Peach-Blackberry Cobbler
Plum-Cherry Crumble

*Camp photos shot on an expired disposable film camera (didn't want my good camera to get wet, so excuse the grainy lo-fi!) and close-up crisp photos shot on my Canon 20D.

A Newer Wilderness: Another Analog Spring

It's time once again for my annual reverse migration to the woods of New Hampshire, where I teach at the University of Michigan's New England Literature Program, affectionately known as NELP (see past posts from/about it here). There 40 students and 13 staff members (along with a couple of dogs) take to the northern wilds to read Thoreau and Emerson, Dickinson and Frost, and modern New England authors, write in journals, and climb mountains in an immersive experimental study of literature and creative writing and New England culture, history, and regionalism. 

As part of this process, we also relinquish our cell phones, computers, recorded music, internet and as a new experiment this year, digital cameras, so as to be more present in our work and the creative community at camp. 

Last year's analog blogging (anablogging?) during this time went so well, thanks largely to my friends Morgan and Elizabeth, that I'm going to do it again, this year hopefully with more frequency. For the next two months, I'll compose Nothing in the House posts long-hand or typed on a typewriter, taking film photos (hopefully developed at camp, as we have a darkroom!), and send them to Morgan who will scan and post them on the blog. I may also solicit contributions from a few guest bloggers. 

This year marks my 5th year as a teacher at NELP, and 6th including my time as a student, which means that when June 22nd rolls around, I'll have spent a year of my life in these woods. Along with analog postings involving baking of bread and pies in our industrial bakery, I'm excited about leading a Transcendental Diner Society with my friend Becky (more on that soon), working on my tree and spring ephemeral identification, writing some songs with my friend Chris, re-learning how to develop film, and forever working on finding that important pedagogical balance between nurture and rigor--they really go hand in hand, yes? 

Thanks for indulging this analog-to-digital experiment once again. Wishing you a lovely, inspiring spring. For now, a favorite Emily Dickinson poem, and until soon in pen and ink.

1233

Had I not seen the Sun

I could have borne the shade

But Light a newer Wilderness

My Wilderness has made --

Blueberry Buckle

Portions of this upcoming post originally appeared in the piece "Cobbled Together: American Fruit Desserts" on NPR's Kitchen Window, which you can find here. 

I've been making this Blueberry Buckle recipe for about 8 years now. I first made it at my friend Jamie's family cottage in Maine, the summer after I'd graduated from college. In anticipation of my trip, my dad had mailed me a copy of the Cook's Illustrated recipe, and on Mt. Desert Island, we acquired fresh wild blueberries and whipped up the buckle in the vintage blue and white cottage kitchen. Since there were only the two of us there, we left most (okay half) of the buckle in the freezer for Jamie's parents, and I think it's the reason they've continued to invite me back. 

The buckle is the most distant cobbler relative, as it has a cake-like base, rather than a biscuit or pastry crust. The name comes not from shoes, but the fact that it "buckles" under the weight of all the fruit and  buttery crumble top. Though these recipe uses a dense almost cookie-weight batter, it does indeed fall a bit in the middle, but that's the berries' fault, not the baker's, and the glut of fruit is what makes it special. Blueberries are classic buckle ingredients, but any type of berry will work--now that we're past blueberry season, try it with fall-bearing raspberries, or anything you put away in the freezer. The addition of the crumble top yields a coffee cake-esque treat that's equally good for breakfast or dessert.

Blueberry Buckle
Adapted from Cook's Illustrated July/August 2005

Ingredients
For the buckle:
1 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
10 Tblsp. (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 c. granulated sugar
1/2 tsp. salt
Zest from 1 lemon
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
2 large eggs
4 c. blueberries, low or high-bush, preferably fresh, though frozen will also work

For the streusel:
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/2 c. light brown sugar, packed
2 Tblsp. granulated sugar
1/4 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. nutmeg
3/4 tsp. salt
4 Tblsp. unsalted butter, at room temperature and cut into chunks

Directions
1. For the streusel topping, in a medium bowl, whisk together flour, sugars, spices, and salt until well combined. With a wooden spoon, stir in the chunks of butter, then work butter into the dry ingredients with your hands until the mixture resembles wet sand. Set aside on the counter while you prepare the rest of the buckle.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a 9-inch cake pan, line the bottom with parchment paper, then grease and flour the paper and sides of the pan. In a small bowl, whisk together flour and baking powder and set aside.

3. In a standing mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream butter, sugar, salt, and lemon zest until combined and fluffy. Beat in vanilla and add eggs one at a time, beating until incorporated. Gradually add the flour mixture while the mixture is on low speed. Mix well to combine, but do not overmix. Batter will be thick. With a rubber spatula, gently fold in the berries until incorporated.

4. Pour filling into the greased and floured pan, spreading evenly. Scatter streusel top over the buckle batter. Bake about 50-60 minutes, until toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let cool on a wire rack and serve slightly warm or at room temperature.

Related recipes:
Apple-Raspberry Pandowdy
Blueberry Icebox Pie
Peach-Blackberry Cobbler
Plum-Cherry Crumble

Cheap Tart Bakery's Dinah Grossman on Rhubarb

When I embarked on my Chicago Pie Tour back in March, one pie slinger I sadly missed is the suggestively named Cheap Tart Bakery. Owned and operated by pastry chef Dinah Grossman, Cheap Tart offers up sweet and savory pies, galettes and tarts, hand pies and pie pops, all made-to-order with seasonal, local ingredients and available for delivery within Chicago's city limits. For all you Windy City dwellers, that means you could have fresh Ginger Cream Pie, Apple Tarte Tatin, or Maple Pecan Pie Pops (and much more) appear on your doorstep in 48 hours.

Though I didn't get to make an order when I was there, Dinah has written up a lovely little post about her love of rhubarb which developed while she was growing up in rural Maine. Then, she shares her recipe for a beautiful Rhubarb Tart.

"Before starting my pie business, I didn’t give much thought to why pie was the thing I always chose to bake. I liked to eat it, of course, and I enjoyed the tactile elements--rolling out the crust, with its pale flecks of butter showing through, slicing ripe peaches, squeezing the pits from juicy tart cherries. But perhaps more that those things I found it comforting to have a pie nearby. It wasn’t so much that pie reminded me of someone in particular (I do not come from a long line of pie makers), but through its ingredients, a pie connected me to a sense of place. I just felt better with on around.

            

I grew up in rural Maine, surrounded by acres of woods, fields, and orchards. In our family we mapped much of that land by referring to perennial edible landmarks--the blackberry patch, a particular apple tree, or the place where the rhubarb reappeared every spring. I would keep a watchful eye on these particular locations, making sure I knew when the blackberries or apples were almost ready so I never missed them at their peak. Often, impatient for the fruit to ripen, I would sample a berry or apple too soon, the intensely sour bite of the juice becoming, over the years, as welcome a taste as the mellow sweetness that followed a couple of weeks later. To this day I prefer fruits with a pronounced acidity, which explains my affinity for that tartest of pie ingredients: rhubarb.

Of all the edibles whose progress I monitored, rhubarb could be counted on to appear first and was ready to be harvested long before anything else. It was also plentiful, the long stalks and elephantine leaves growing at a pace even our steady pie baking couldn’t match. During rhubarb season a pie was almost always on the kitchen table. And not just at our house. For many of our neighbors, too, a rhubarb pie became as ubiquitous as the salt and pepper shakers on the counter. When only a slice remained in the Pyrex plate, someone inevitably walked outside and pulled another armful of stalks from the ground to be baked into a replacement.

Aside from pie, I enjoyed rhubarb best pulled straight from the ground, the end dipped in a small bowl of dark brown sugar. As kids, my ordinarily health-conscious mother would let us take our treat outside, where a stalk of rhubarb dipped then chewed and sucked on, became an activity as well as a snack. My favorite spot to sit and chew was inside a horseshoe of lilac bushes growing around an enormous rock in our yard. Surrounded by the heady smell of those pale purple flowers, the sweet and sour rhubarb would take on another taste altogether.

Like all favorite foods my love for rhubarb is inextricably connected to these memories. It is impossible to make a rhubarb pie without also remembering the cold, day-old slices eaten in my neighbor’s kitchen, how somehow the sweet-tart filling and crisp edges of crust tasted better a day after the pie was made. I can’t rinse a haul of farmers market rhubarb without also remembering the feeling of walking barefoot through the tall, wet lawn by our barn to pull up the shiny stalks, the squeak and snap as each came away from the plant. It’s been more than ten years since I lived near that patch, but as I bake my way through a third year of business I’m reminded of why I chose this pastry among all others to guide me. In a third floor Chicago apartment with no balcony or back yard maybe I can’t grow my own fruit, but I can mark the seasons by making pies from rhubarb, then strawberries, then peaches. If I can’t ground myself through the ground, I’ll do it with pie."

Post and photos by Dinah Grossman of Chicago's Cheap Tart Bakery. Find Cheap Tart online and on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

Rhubarb Tart
From Dinah Grossman of Cheap Tart Bakery

Ingredients
For crust:
8 Tblsp. unsalted butter, cold, cut in the 1/2'' cubes
1 1/3 c. + 4 tsp. pastry flour
1/4 tsp. kosher salt
1 Tblsp. granulated sugar
1 Tblsp. apple cider vinegar
1 c. ice water

For the filling:
4 c. rhubarb, cut into 1/2'' chunks
2/3 c. + 1 Tblsp. granulated sugar
Pinch kosher salt
4 Tblsp. tapioca powder
1/4 orange zest
2 Tblsp. fresh squeezed orange juice (about half an orange)
1 Tblsp. all-purpose flour
1 Tblsp. whole milk or cream for brushing

Directions
For crust:
1. In a bowl of a food processor combine the flour, salt, sugar, and butter. Pulse until the butter is broken down to the size of small peas.

2. Add the cider vinegar to the ice water and stir. Add 3 Tblsp. of the water/cider mixture to the food processor and pulse to moisten the flour mixture. If the mixture still looks dry and powdery, add more water a teaspoon at a time. The dough should just hold together when you squeeze a small amount in your hand, but it should not be sticky and should not form a ball in the food processor. When the mixture looks crumbly and slightly darker in color, it's done.

3. Dump the crumbs into a big mixing bowl and pack them into a rough ball. Wrap the ball in plastic wrap and use the plastic to help you flatten the dough into a disk. Refrigerate at least 1 hour, preferably overnight.

For filling and assembly:
1. Combine all ingredients in a bowl except 1 Tblsp. of the sugar an flour. When the rhubarb pieces are coated in the tapioca/sugar mixture, set aside.

2. Toll the pie crust into a circle about 1/8'' thick. The crust should hang over the edges of the pie pan by about an inch and a half all the way around. Place the crust in the pie pan, and sprinkle the Tblsp. of flour and 2 tsp. of sugar on the bottom.

3. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Add the rhubarb mixture to the crust, mounding the filling slightly in the center. Starting with the edge of the crust farthest from you, fold the edge over the filling, then rotate the pan slightly and fold the crust over again, repeating all the way around. The crust will overlap at each fold. Brush the crust with the milk or cream, and sprinkle the remaining teaspoon of sugar over the top.

4. Bake at 400 for 25 minutes with the oven rack on the bottom rung. Reduce oven temperature to 375 and bake an additional 20-25 minutes (moving the tart to the middle rack of the oven), or until the crust is a deep golden brown and the juices are bubbling. Cool completely before slicing.

Related recipes:
Four and Twenty Blackbirds' Rhubarb Pie
Rhubarb Meringue Tart with a Pecan Shortbread Crust
Simple Rhubarb Tart

Away to the Woods, or An Analog Spring

At NELP, we talk a lot about "interstitial writing." In a student's journal, it's the writing that happens off script, between things--after a class or a backpacking trip, before a solo, when an Emerson essay or Dickinson poem has had some time to filter through her mind and experience and come out on the page in her own voice. It could be personal reflection, or close observation, but it is often the time when the best writing emerges--where the tone is honest, the thought is piercing, and the student is writing like only she can.

I've been feeling like I'm in an interstitial period of my life--on both micro and macro levels. I just turned 30, am 2 years out of grad school, wondering if I should go back, and as a freelancer, in a constant state of flux with projects constantly beginning and ending. That process is something I enjoy--to have an intense project for a spell, then let it go and exist in the world. But I feel that I'm at a place where I'm gathering up and filtering ideas through, observing closely, and thinking hard.



Another aspect of this, on a more micro level, is that I am getting ready to go teach in the New Hampshire woods for 2 months, at the New England Literature Program (NELP-- see past posts from/about it here). It's something I've done before--this will be my 4th year as a teacher and I was a student there as an undergrad. While I'm there, I will essentially be off-the-grid, as we relinquish cell phones, computers, recorded music in this 2-month experiment of reading and writing, living communally, making food and playing music and climbing mountains and "living deliberately," as we say, in the Thoreauvian way.

But that means that this space will also be in an interstitial place. While I'll be writing for hours every day and baking regularly, I won't be on a computer or the internet. So in the experiment of that which is NELP, I'm also going to try an experiment here.

For the next 2 months, I'm going to be writing my posts long-hand, or typing them on a typewriter, taking film photos (and maybe even developing them--we have a darkroom here), then sending them to a penpal back home, who will post them here, as scanned pieces of paper and photo prints. My friend Morgan of Panda Head has graciously agreed to be that penpal, my analog-to-digital maven.

I'll also be soliciting some posts from friends and collaborating with pie almanac illustrator Elizabeth Graeber while I'm in the woods and galavanting around New England. I'll be sending her little snippets of my adventures, which we'll post here, if they're pie related, on her blog Hand Drawn Bazaar, and saving some for another project.

Thanks for indulging me in this little experiment. I'm not sure how it's going to work exactly, but I'm excited to see what it becomes. For now, jumping off...

Exotic Pies: Try Them You Will Like Them

 

My friend Jocelyn told me about this folk art painting, Acupuncture Pitchfork Style, by John William "Uncle Jack" Dey, which hangs in the Smithsonian American Art Museum (click here for a larger image of the piece). It depicts a bizarre scene where crows or blackbirds (four and twenty, perhaps?) hover over an attempted pie theft by kite! A woman in a blue dress, evidently the vendor of these "exotic pies" ("try them you will like them"), uses a pitchfork to defend her threatened pie mixes which include raisin rum peach, French apple, and mince with rum. Yum.

Uncle Jack was born in Phoebus, Virginia in 1912, and painted this work with model airplane enamel on wood in 1974. The inspiration for the piece apparently came from memories of Maine, where Dey worked as a trapper and logger, combined with his vast imagination.

The painting reminds me of this photograph of Bill Carter Mug Baker's weird pie shack as well as a time when I stopped for one of "Priscilla's pies" at a house on the side of the road in Maine. I didn't meet Priscilla, (only her husband), but I imagine she looked a little like the woman in a blue dress, and might have even poked you with a pitchfork if you attempted to steal her desserts. I must admit, I have not yet visited Uncle Dey's painting at the art museum, but perhaps I'll make a pilgrimage to view this exotic pie scene this weekend.

5th Annual Portland Thanksgiving in March!

So I know it's March and 81 degrees here in D.C., but before we slip too far into warm weather and the end of storage crop season, I first want to show you some pics and share some recipes from last year's Thanksgiving! There was a bit of a stall in getting the photos, but it was well worth the wait, as they were taken by my talented photographer friend Maria (MAV) of 3191 and More & Co.

Though I was not able to make it to Maine for the 2010 Thanksgiving, last year marked my 5th year spending Turkey Day with the Portland crew. It's always the best of times, with music playing, record shopping, and food making, and this year my friend Jamie (of Nothing-in-the-House plate lickers club fame), was in on the fun.

I assembled the crust in Maria's beautiful kitchen on Wednesday, while she prepped the cookie tray. I love being in the kitchen with and working alongside this lady (remember the apple galette I made last time I was visiting?). On Thursday morning, after a midnight trip to the 24-hour L.L. Bean headquarters the night before, Jamie and I made the pies. We settled on a drunken pumpkin bourbon pie with marscapone cream (adapted from Tartlette) and a Maine blueberry-cranberry pie (with frozen Maine blueberries Maria had picked in the summer, and fresh Maine cranberries). The recipe for the drunken pumpkin bourbon pie is as follows.

Drunken Pumpkin Bourbon Pie with Mascarpone Cream
Adapted from Tartlette 

Ingredients for pie:
Nothing-in-the-House pie crust recipe, halved
2 c. canned pumpkin purée (for why I often use canned pumpkin instead of fresh, read here)
3 eggs
1/2 c. light brown sugar
1 c. heavy cream
2 Tblsp. bourbon
1 Tblsp. vanilla extract
1 tsp. sea salt
2 Tbslp. molasses
2 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. ginger
1/4 tsp. cloves
1/4 tsp. nutmeg

Ingredients for mascarpone cream:
4 oz. marscapone
1/4 c. honey
1/2 cup heavy cream, whipped until soft peaks form
Roasted pumpkin seeds (for garnish, optional)

Directions for pie:
1. Prepare Nothing-in-the-House pie crust. Chill dough for at least one hour. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Then roll out single crust and fit into a greased and floured 9-in. pie pan. Flute crust decoratively (I tried out a braid and I liked it!).
2. Place pumpkin purée in a large bowl. Add eggs and brown sugar and mix with a Kitchen Aid or handheld mixer. Add remaining ingredients and blend until mixture if fully combined and fluffy. Pour filling into pie crust and place in oven. Bake for 15 minutes at 375, then reduce heat to 325 and bake for 45 minutes or until filling only slightly wiggles in the center when nudged. Let cool and keep at room temperature or chill in the refrigerator if making ahead.

Directions for mascarpone cream:
1. In a medium bowl mix (by hand or with a mixer) together mascarpone and honey. Gently fold in whipped cream. Scoop on top of baked and cooled pie and garnish with roasted pumpkin seeds! Enjoy! 

Dang, this is a great pumpkin pie (you know it's good when it's got molasses, brown sugar AND bourbon!) with a good amount of spice that adds flavor without being too overbearing. I don't think I'll ever make another pumpkin version. For the Maine blueberry-cranberry pie, I essentially followed this recipe, but with the berries instead. 'Twas also quite tasty, and with the tartness of the cranberries, similar to a blueberry-rhubarb pie (one of my favorites), yet seasonally and regionally appropriate.

After dinner and some music playing, we set up our dessert buffet, which featured a cookie tray by Maria, a walnut torte by Robs and Tals, two varieties of chocolate-pecan pie, and various other treats. Afterwards we retired to the living room for more song-singing, joke telling, and an awe-inspiring dance performance by 3-year old Miles. You can see and read more about our Thanksgiving via MAV's blog 3191.

Big thanks to MAV, CDR, RTS, Robert, Talya and Jamie for being awesome hosts and all-around rad people. Looking forward to my 6th Portland Thanksgiving, which is now only 8 months away!

Pie & Doughnuts for Woodsmen and You

A few weeks ago, I was scouring the Library of Congress Print & Photograph Online Catalog for work. I was looking for images of western culture and song--mostly cowboys and Texas fiddling and pow-wow drum, but I was having so much fun looking at those old photographs that I decided to put in a few search terms that were of a more personal interest, namely "pie" and "doughnuts" (another baked good favorite). The search yielded exciting results--historical images of a little girl feeding doughnuts to a bear cub, national doughnut queens and pie contests and socials. One group of photos combined these two queries--a collection of images by John Collier from May 1943 of Maine loggers and woodsman on a Spring pulpwood drive on the Brown Company timber holdings.

According to the photos' captions, the woodsmen ate four meals per day, with the two "lunches" at 10am and 2pm served "on location", cafeteria style into individual pie tins. Desserts included "several kinds of cookies, gingerbread, doughnuts, and two kinds of pie." Hmm... that dessert menu sounds familiar... Maybe we should start serving our doughnuts out of barrels too.

 

In the above picture, "Cookie" the cook's assistant is dishing out pie at the mid-morning lunch near where the men are working. Below, a woodsmen enters the Pie Enjoyment Zone during his mid-afternoon "lunch" by Long Pond. On the menu that day: roast pork and dressing, boiled potatoes, turnips, baked beans, hot cakes, hot biscuits, bread, butter, cookies, apple pie, orange pie, milk, tea, coffee, and water. These men must have been working hard. I also wonder what that orange pie was all about?

  

Based on the limited knowledge I have of New England foodways, mainly from folklore and literature (I'm thinking of Sarah Orne Jewett's The Country of the Pointed Firs, which is full of both doughnuts and pies!), pie and doughnuts were traditional rural foods, consumed for both dessert and for breakfast. I wonder when and where doughnuts became more of a standard breakfast item than a dessert?

This whole post wasn't just an excuse for me to use the pie blog plug my friend Amy's donut zine release party tonight, but I'll let these Maine woodsmen's pie-and-doughnut pairing serve as one. If you're in DC tonight and want to learn more about and of course, eat some doughnuts (some even filled with pie filling!), make your way over to the Velvet Lounge at 8pm for "Donut Go There" A Zine Release Party. Tarts by Tarts will be contributing some special edition doughnuts to the doughnut buffet, my friend Pete will deliver a west coast doughnut scene report, Amy will be speaking, bands are playing, I'll be performing this little doughnut ditty, and you can get your hands on one of these zines, free with admission. There wont be pie, but who doesn't love doughnuts?

Shaker Pie Furniture

My friends Becca and Justin recently visited Maine's Portland Museum of Art, where they saw the Gather Up the Fragments: The Andrews Shaker Collection exhibit, which features Shaker furniture and objects from the most extensive collection of materials and works by the United Society of Believers. There, Becca slyly snapped these iphone photos of some Shaker pie furniture--a pie safe and pie board rack with boards. Thanks, Becca, for taking one for the Nothing-in-the-House team!

I love that pies were baked in such large quantities, that they needed that large of a rack to hold all their pie cooling boards. It looks like there is space for at least 20 boards! I'd like to enrich my repertoire of Shaker and other traditional pies this year. I love Shaker lemon, but what else should I try?

TEZ/PEZ on Film

I like shooting film (still), but sometimes it means photos are late to the digital party. Here's Ryan in the strawberry-rhubarb and wine-soaked fig rustic tart enjoyment zone (TEZ). Read more about it here.


And here's Artie, Justin, and Jamie in the strawberry-apricot pie enjoyment zone (PEZ). Read more here.

The Unofficial Roches' Strawberry Apricot Pie

I spent the 4th of July weekend in Maine for some summer days in the ocean air with good pals. Having listened to a lot of my favorite 80s sister trio cheese folk group The Roches before the trip, this song in particular, I had it in my mind to make a strawberry apricot pie. This might sound like a weird desire to have in the land of wild blueberries, but up there, blueberries were still mostly green or purple, but strawberry season was in full force.

I know for a fact, because on our way up to my friend Jamie's cottage, our main haunt for the weekend, we stopped into my friends Nathan & Clara's blueberry farm in Brooklin (the site of Jamie's last plate licking nothing-in-the-house appearance), and there Magpie and I closely inspected the status of the berries. Not ready yet, as much as Magpie wanted them to be.

On our first full day on Mount Desert Island, I walked to the downtown grocer's in the morning to pick up a few items and check out the potential pie fruit. There I found the ripest local Maine strawberries, and some decent fresh apricots (probably not local). Then we went out for an afternoon sail, capped by an evening gin-and-tonics plus nachos happy hour at Dockside.

While the boys foraged for mussels along the causeway and prepared dinner, I set to work on the pie. I initially envisioned making a cold "ice box" variety, but when I asked the dudes whether they preferred warm or cold pie, all three of them gave me a blank look, and were like "WARM, DUHnoquestionHELLO!!"

Using a strawberry-rhubarb pie recipe as a guideline, here's the approximate recipe I improvised:

The Roches' Strawberry Apricot Pie

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust
4 c. (approx.) fresh strawberries, hulled and sliced
4 c. (approx.) fresh apricots, thinly sliced
1/4 c. port
1 c. sugar
3 Tblsp. corn starch (can use arrowroot)
1/2 tsp. lemon zest
1 egg, beaten
1 Tsp. Turbinado sugar

Directions
1. Prepare dough for crust.

2. Soak apricot slices in port for approx. 1 hr in a medium-sized bowl. Add strawberries, sugar, cornstarch, and lemon zest.

3. Roll out half of crust in a 10-inch greased and floured pie plate. Pour fruit filling into crust and top with crust, fluting edges. Brush on an egg wash and sprinkle with Turbinado sugar.

4. Bake at 425 degrees F for 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 375 and bake for 35-40 minutes more. Let cool, but serve while still warm, with vanilla ice cream.

Don't worry Maggie and Suzzy and Terre, I can't vouch for Dublin, but if you're going away to Maine, there's strawberry apricot pie. You might be compelled to lick your plate, but you won't die.