Peach Galette with Almond Buttermilk Crust

This May, my family all came home to Indiana to celebrate my grandmother's 85th birthday. We were sitting around the dining room table, swapping stories when my uncle Brett told us why he can no longer eat peaches:

It was summer, in rural northern Indiana, and my uncle, who was in high school, was broke. He and his friend went looking for odd jobs, and Don Eberly, the local apple orchardist and retired school bus driver (who I've written about previously here), said that he'd pay Brett and his friend to drive up to an orchard in Michigan, pick up a haul of peaches, and bring them back. Desperate for cash, they agreed, spending the last of their money on gas for the trip, north of Grand Rapids. On the way home, the back of their truck filled with peach crates, they were starving, but had no money left for food. So they hauled a crate into the cab, set it between them, and ate peaches all the way home, throwing pit after pit out of the open windows. When they got back, they got their money, but were completely sick on peaches, and to this day Brett is nauseated by the taste and smell of them.

I'm glad I've never had such an experience. To me, there's nothing like a fresh peach in the summer time. It's almost unbelievable that something so sweet and juicy is even real. I actually think I favor fresh peaches over baked, but this galette recipe allows the slices to still maintain their integrity, avoiding the goopy, gelatinous mess that you find in some peach pies when the steam captured by a double crust breaks down the fruit. You can use the standard Nothing in the House pie crust recipe for this-- it'll be flakier-- but this is more of a biscuit crust, with the added texture of the almond meal pairing well with the sweet stone fruit.



Peach Galette with Almond Buttermilk Crust

Ingredients
For the crust:
1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup almond meal
1/2 Tablespoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1/2 cup buttermilk

For the filling:
7-8 peaches, peeled and sliced
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract (I used bourbon barrel-aged)
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
Turbinado sugar (for dusting)
1 large beaten egg + 1 Tablespoon whole milk or cream (for egg wash)

Directions
1. For the crust In a large bowl, whisk together flour, almond meal, sugar, and salt. Cut in butter cubes using a pastry cutter or knife and fork until texture resembles cornmeal and peas. Stir in the buttermilk with a wooden spoon. Mix until dough comes together, but is not overly mixed (it should be a little shaggy). Form into a ball and flatten into a disc. Wrap the disc tightly with plastic wrap, and let chill in the refrigerator for at least an hour. 

2. In a large bowl, stir together all ingredients until homogenous. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. 

3. Roll out crust in a large circle or oval on a piece of parchment and transfer crust with parchment to a large baking sheet. Ladle peach filling onto rolled crust, leaving a 1-inch border. Fold up the pastry over the edges of the filling, leaving most of the peaches uncovered. 

4. Place galette in freezer for 20-30 minutes while the oven preheats. Once chilled, remove galette from fridge and brush the pastry with the egg wash and sprinkle lightly with the remaining 1 Tablespoon of sugar. Bake tart in the middle rack of the oven for 30-40 minutes, until the fruit is bubbling and pastry is golden brown. Let the tart cool completely. Serve just warm or at room temperature with vanilla ice cream.

Related recipes:
Apricot Galette with Cornmeal Crust
"Old Fashioned" Cherry Galette
Peach-Pecan Pie
Peach Pie with a Sweet Basil Glaze
Peach-Sorghum Pandowdy with Cornmeal Biscuits
Surry County Peach Sonker with Dip
White Nectarine Frangipane Tart with Homemade Puff Pastry

Apple Cider Doughnuts

Growing up it was an annual fall tradition to make the trip to Eberly's Orchard, near my grandparents' house in North Liberty, Indiana. Don Eberly was my mother's school bus driver, and ran an orchard and cider mill on his family farm. I have such fond memories of walking into the barn and watching the apples go up a long conveyor belt to be pressed into cider that would come out fresh from the spout and into tiny Dixie cups for sampling. While no orchard can quite compare to the one of my childhood nostalgia, I consider it a necessary autumn ritual to make a trip to a nearby orchard with friends.

While Eberly's didn't have doughnuts that I can recall (I'd likely remember if they did), I got used to them as orchard treat from my time in Michigan and Vermont. When I moved to North Carolina, I was shocked that I couldn't find apple cider donuts anywhere, so I started making my own. In the past few years, they've become a staple for backyard shows, brunches, and Halloween parties. 

I use smitten kitchen's recipe, adapted only slightly, the main difference being that I like to add a little cardamom to my dough and to the sugar coating. Getting the hang of frying can be tricky at first if you've never tried it-- don't be afraid to sample the first few to make sure you're hitting the sweet spot of a little crisp on the outside while still soft and cakey on the inside. 

Apple Cider Doughnuts

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen

Makes 1 1/2 dozen, depending on size

Ingredients:

1 cup apple cider

3 1⁄2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 scant teaspoon cinnamon + 1 1⁄2 Tablespoon additional for topping

1⁄2 teaspoon sea salt

1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

1/8 teaspoon cardamom

4 Tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

1 cup granulated sugar + 1 cup additional for topping

2 large eggs

1⁄2 c. buttermilk

A lot of veggie oil for frying

Directions:

1. Pour apple cider into a medium-sized saucepan, and over medium heat, bring cider to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low so the cider is gently simmering. Let simmer about 30 minutes until it has reduced to about 1⁄4 c. set aside and let cool.

2. In a medium bowl, combine all dry ingredients except for sugar and extra cinnamon and set aside.

3. With an electric mixer, beat the butter and sugar on medium-high until smooth and creamy. Add the eggs, beating after each addition. Once the mixture is well-combined, reduce the speed to low and add the reduced apple cider and buttermilk, beating until just incorporated. Add the dry ingredients and mix until the dough is well-combined, smooth, and begins to come together in a ball.

4. On a cookie sheet lined with floured parchment paper, roll out the dough to about 1⁄2-inches thick. Move the dough and paper to a cookie sheet and put it in the freezer for about 20 minutes. Once the dough has firmed up in the freezer, remove and cut with a doughnut cutter (or ball jar and a shot glass). Place the doughnuts onto another cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Once you’ve cut all the doughnuts, place them in the fridge for about 20 minutes while you prepare your oil.

5. Now before we get to any hot grease situation, make sure you are wearing closed-toed shoes and are properly clothed—hot oil can be dangerous so be careful!  Using a pot or pan with tall sides, pour in enough veggie oil to reach a depth of approximately 3-inches. Put a candy thermometer in the side of the pan and slowly heat the oil over medium heat until it reaches 350 degrees F.

6. Meanwhile, prepare your post fry set-up: stack a few layers of paper towels on a plate for doughnut blotting. Mix the 1 cup sugar and 1 1⁄2 Tablespoon cinnamon (I like to add a pinch of cardamom too) together in a wide shallow bowl and set aside.

7. Now you're ready to fry. Add a few doughnuts at a time (3-4) to the hot oil and fry until they turn golden brown (this may take some testing and sampling), approximately 1 minute. Flip the doughnuts over and fry the other side for about 30 seconds-1 minute. Use a metal slotted spoon to remove the doughnuts from the grease and blot them on the paper towels. Then dip them into the cinnamon-sugar. 

8. Though tempting to eat right away (and you should definitely eat them while fresh and warm) try stringing the doughnuts using a sturdy rope or twine and tie them up, like a hammock, between two trees or posts. Challenge your pals to eat them from the string, no hands. Just a way to make a party that already has doughnuts, even better.



Related recipes:
Apple Galette
Apple Pie with Salted Caramel Glaze
Apple Slump
Cardamom Doughnut Muffins

Abra Berens' Celery Ham Tart aka Pissaladière

I'm very excited to have this guest post and recipe from my friend Abra Berens, a talented chef and farmer who splits her time between Chicago (where she's worked in some of the city's top bakeries like Floriole and Hoosier Mama Pie Company) and Bare Knuckle Farm in Michigan's Leelanau Penninsula. I've always loved being a guest at Abra's dinner table ever since we became friends in college, so I'm glad to be able to share some of her work here with this Celery Ham Tart. From Abra...

Years ago I worked at Zingerman's Deli in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I have a vague recollection of Rodger Bowser making these tarts for a daily special. When I asked him why he made it, he said, "Celery is really good right now and it is what I wanted for lunch."

When our friends Matt and Carissa showed up next to us at the Sutton's Bay market with beautiful, dark green celery, I knew what I wanted for dinner. Then work got busy, I forgot I had tomatoes that needed to be roasted that day and I never made my tart. Luckily that Sunday, our neighbors Gene and Kathy Garthe were having a party and asked me to bring an appetizer. "Aha, I'll make the tart and cut it smaller!" I thought. There was also an avid mushroom forager at this party, so I made one tart vegetarian, substituting our recently harvested wine cap mushrooms for the ham. Any sort of rich mushroom would work.

I like taking regular pie dough, which I try to keep in the freezer at all times, and treat it like puff dough to make a slightly different texture. It won't puff like true puff pastry, but it is nice and makes me feel like I'm doing something extra for my friends.

The only nerve-racking part of this recipe is inverting the tart onto the platter. The tart is usually greased enough with lard to avoid sticking, but if some sticks, just scrape it out and add it back. No one will be able to see the difference.

Celery Ham Tart aka Pissaladière
From Abra Berens of Bare Knuckle Farm

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie dough, halved
1 head celery*
1 long leek
1 teaspoon thyme leaves
1/2 cup white wine
5 strips unsmoked ham of bacon**, smoked is okay but can overpower the delicate leeks
2 Tablespoons lard or butter
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions (freeze the other half for a future pie, or make two tarts!). Once chilled, roll the pie dough into a rectangle and fold into thirds like a letter. Roll it to the same size as the original rectangle and fold into thirds again. Repeat one more time to mimic puff pastry. You could also use puff pastry if you like making your own.

2. For the final rolling, roll pie crust into a circle about the same size as your cast iron skillet (slightly larger is okay, but you don't want it smaller). Chill the dough for at least 20 minutes after all the rolling.

3. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. Thinly slice the celery and leeks and wash them in cold water. I like to slice them on a long bias so that the leeks are in long ovals and the celery doesn't look like it came out of a can.

4. In a large cast iron skillet, heat the lard or butter until melted. Add the leeks, celery, and thyme with a hefty pinch of salt and black pepper. Let sweat until the celery is softening. Add the white wine and allow to reduce until syrupy.

5. Lay the ham strips over the leek mixture. Then lay the dough circle over the whole lot and bake until the dough is golden brown and crispy, about 25 minutes.

6. Remove the pan from the oven and let sit for 5 minutes. Now your ready for the flip. Place your serving platter over the skillet and invert, flipping the tart out of the pan. Scrape any clinging celery bits from the pan and place on top of the tart. Slice and serve warm.

Recipe notes: *Abra recommends using local celery for this recipe, available in late summer/early fall in most places of the country. But I made mine in winter with grocery store celery and it was still delicious. **To make this tart vegetarian, substitute any rich mushroom for the ham.

Related posts:
Floriole's Milk Chocolate and Salted Caramel Hazelnut Tart
Hoosier Mama's Hoosier Sugar Cream Pie
Peach Apricot Raspberry Wedding 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

Pawpaw Pie

One Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago, I found myself tromping through the woods along the Patuxent River, outside Bowie, Maryland (pronounced BOO-ey, I learned) with a group of friends, heads all turned up towards the sky. We were hunting pawpaw, and they were proving themselves a little scarce. Though we came across many trees with their large banana-like leaves, few seemed to be bearing fruit, and it suspiciously seemed that someone else had been tipped off to our usually plentiful foraging spot.

Before this excursion I don't think I'd ever had a pawpaw, even though I grew up in "Michiana" where there is even a whole town named after the fruit. When my friend Joseph found a pawpaw patch at a fiddlers' convention last month, he too was surprised I'd never eaten one, as he called them, "the Indiana banana." I've heard the wild fruit described in different ways--some say it is is the non-tropical papaya, (though Wikipedia suggests that they are only alike in name, not species, and the paw paw is, in fact, tropical), some say it tastes like a mango, banana, or avocado. All of these made sense--I found the texture similar to the latter, and the flavor like a more floral mango. The pawpaw is the kind of wild fruit, like mulberries or persimmons, that you can't really find at a grocery store--you just have to go find for yourself (though NPR has this wonderful story on a plant scientist who is trying to change that).

 In our hunt along the Patuxent, Adam and Sarah ended up going deeper into the forest and found a good cache, while Caitlin, Mike and I seemed to have the most success following the river and shaking down the tree branches, then collecting the fallen fruit from the river bed. Luckily though, Sarah and Adam were willing to share their spoils, so we all went home with at least enough for some sort of pie, pudding, or custard. I, of course, made a pawpaw meringue pie, adapting a recipe from Kentucky State University. Pawpaw's smooth texture is perfect of a custard or curd, though the floral flavor took some getting used to, it's a special seasonal treat for adventurous eaters.



Paw Paw Pie
Filling Adapted from a Kentucky State University recipe

Ingredients
For crust:
Nothing in the House pie crust, halved, or for cookie crust:
1 1/4 cup gingersnap crumbs
3 Tablespoons sugar
1/3 cup unsalted butter, melted
 
For filling:
3/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup cornstarch
3 egg yolks, beaten (reserve whites for meringue)
1 cup milk
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup paw paw pulp, puréed

For meringue:
3 egg whites (reserved from filling)
3 Tablespoon sugar
pinch of salt
pinch of cream of tartar

Directions
For cookie crust:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Put gingersnaps in the bowl of a food processor and pulse until crackers are finely ground into crumbs. Add sugar and melted butter and pulse until well mixed.

2. Pat the buttery crumbs into a 9-inch pie pan, pressing mixture into the bottom and sides to form a pie crust. Place in oven and bake until crust is lightly browned, about 10 minutes. Place on a cooling rack and let cool to room temperature before adding the filling.

For filling and meringue:
1. Combine 3/4 sugar and cornstarch in a medium bowl. Add the beaten egg yolks, milk, and cream. Whisk until well combined and the add the puréed paw paw pulp. Pour the mixture into a medium saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly. Once thickened (about 10 minutes), remove from heat and let cool. When at room temperature, place plastic wrap over the surface of the paw paw curd and refrigerate while you make the meringue.

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Beat egg whites with 3 Tblsp. sugar, salt, and cream of tartar until stiff peaks form. Pour the curd into the crust and spoon the meringue on top, curling it decoratively with the back of a spoon. Place in the oven for about 10 minutes until meringue has browned. serve chilled or at room temperature.

Sour Cherry Pie

It's getting to be that gloriously overwhelming time of year when just about everything is ripe. Just last week at the Mt. Pleasant Farmers' Market there were strawberries, raspberries, nectarines, apples, and sweet and sour cherries. So much fruit, so much pie-making potential. I wandered back and forth amongst the stalls a few times, caught, as I often am, in indecision. I bought some raspberries (I'll show you what I made with them soon), and then remembered that I had some dear Michigan friends coming to play a show at my house on Monday. Of course! Cherries. I had to get tart cherries.

It is a little-known (at least seems to be when I tell people) that Michigan, Traverse City, specifically is the cherry capital of the world. The mitten state grows about 75% of the nation's tart cherries. Thus growing up not too far from the capital, I was spoiled with an extended season of the fruit and all their products--jams and pies, salsas and syrups. This year, though, the Michigan cherry crop is sadly depleted, due to extreme spring weather, and down here in the mid-atlantic, tart cherries are harder to come by and the season is rather fleeting. All the more reason, then, to buy a few pints at the Farmers' Market, bring them home, put them in a pie to share it with true cherry natives. Just easing another bout of that Michigan summer nostalgia I've been feeling lately.



I perused a few different recipes and borrowed a little bit from each for my own sour cherry pie rendition. I highly recommend getting your hands on a cherry pitter--before I had one I'd pit them by hand, which was hand-staining and time-consuming, especially when you consider that there about 250 cherries in each cherry pie. A lattice top is traditional, but you could get creative, or opt for a standard double crust if you're pressed for time and not up for all that weaving.


Sour Cherry Pie
An amalgamation of several recipes including Lottie + Doof & Martha Stewart

Ingredients:
Nothing-in-the-House pie crust recipe
1 c. sugar
3 Tblsp. cornstarch
1/4 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. ground cinnamon
1 vanilla bean, halved lengthwise and seeds scraped and reserved (vanilla bean is expensive, so if you're being frugal, substitute 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract)
1 tsp. lemon zest
6 c. fresh sour cherries, pitted (cherry pitter highly recommended!)
2 Tblsp. unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 Tblsp. milk
Turbinado sugar (for dusting--can use granulated sugar, if necessary)

Directions:
1. Prepare pie crust as per the directions here. Refrigerate dough for approximately 1 hour. Once chilled, roll out 1/2 of pie crust and fit into a 9-inch greased and floured pie pan. Return crust to the fridge while you prepare the lattice & filling.

2. Roll out remaining dough into a long rectangle. Using a ruler as a guide, use a knife or pastry wheel to cut 10-16 (depending on the size) strips of equal width for the lattice top. Place strips on a piece or parchment and refrigerate until cold, about 10 minutes.

3. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Meanwhile, combine sugar, cornstarch, salt, cinnamon, vanilla bean seeds, and lemon zest in a small bowl. Add cherries and toss with the dry mixture. Remove crust from the fridge and pour in the cherry filling. Dot the top of the filling with butter.

4. To make the lattice, lay 5-8 strips parallel across the pie and fold back every other strip. Weave the same number of strips perpendicular to the first strips, alternating over and under. Trim strips so that they leave a 1-inch overhang. Fold bottom crust over the lattice and tuck the excess under. Seal and flute edges decoratively. Brush lattice with the 1 Tblsp. milk and dust with Turbinado sugar.
5. Bake until crust is golden brown and filling is bubbling, approximately 60-75 minutes. Once done, remove from oven and let cool on a wire rack. Serve slightly warm with a scoop or two of vanilla ice cream.



On Monday night, after going back and forth whether to have the show in the backyard under storm-threatening skies, we settled into the Dollhouse living room for two sets of traditional music--ragtime jazz and string band numbers from Baltimore's Bumper Jacksons, and ballads, old-time tunes and such sweet harmonies from Michigander's Red Tail Ring. Though Michael and I have been friends for about eight years now and I've seen him play in so many bands--ska and loud bluegrass and quiet singer-songwriter, I think he's found his place here in this extremely tight and talented and duo.



After the show, I warmed the pie, and we dished it up with vanilla bean ice cream for the bands and remaining friends. The flavor was tart and just-sweet and complex, and just perfect. So good, that after Michael devoured the last sliver of a slice the next morning, I caught him unabashedly running his fingers through the leftover juice. The pie and pals and ping-pong (a rousing around-the-world session the next day) was the perfect antidote to my summer Michigan longing. Now I think it's just been postponed until fall.

All Around the Mulberry Tree

It was a big week for me and my writerly pursuits. Both pieces I have been working on came out within two days of each other. The first one, for The Hairpin, was a quippy real-life rom-com about dating a Civil War reenactor. Aside from a hardtack reference and a somewhat era-appropriate supper description, it really has nothing to do with food. The second though, "The Mulberry's the Worst Berry There Ever Was" for Gilt Taste (with its wonder editor Francis Lam), is an ode to the little pesky berry that launched this whole pie making obsession and is essentially responsible for the existence of this here blog.

As I've talked a bit about before in Why I Like Pie, and as you'll read in the Gilt Taste piece, I started baking pies the summer after graduating college. I was discovering all these mulberry trees (and some black raspberry bushes) all over Ann Arbor, and used the free fruit to fill as many pies as I could make, often with other gal pals baking right along side me. When I moved to Vermont after that summer, my friend Margaret suggested we start a pie blog so we could still stay in touch via our baking endeavors. Et puis, voila.

I had such a nostalgia for mulberries, that it wasn't until I heard this recording, from the Coal River Project of the American Folklife Center (after scouring the Library of Congress archive for "mulberry" content) that I started to question their merits. Despite their drawbacks though, my feelings for the fruit remain, as do all the things that the mulberry set in motion. Here's a little musical ode to it that I came across in that mulberry search. It's a little torchy and a little cheesy, but somehow that feels right.

Cae's Pumpkin Pie Pops!

This post comes from my friend, former NELP student, and now guest blogger, Cae Keenan! Though I have read a lot of Cae's writing before, it was mostly in the form of lovely journal entries and creative responses. I'm so excited to read and be inspired by her baking and bit of food writing. Here's what she has to tell us about her pumpkin pie pops...

The apple pie cookies over at Smitten Kitchen are what first got us goin’ on this mini pie kick. They are awfully cute – a new twist on a wonderfully old tradition. They also fit in the palm of your hand and you can walk up and down the stairs while eating, no problem! Suddenly, ‘the pie is mobile’ idea had us braving holiday rush hour traffic for the grocery store. We wanted to add a stick, turn this apple pie cookie into a pumpkin pie pop.

A word on the crust: homemade is tops. But if you’re in a pinch, spinning from a long To Do list, or, in our case, if the number of holiday dinner guests you’re expecting grossly outnumbers the hours left ‘til they show up hungry… yes, we used store-bought piecrusts. I ain’t proud of it, but it’s the truth.

So! Two 9-inch pie dough crusts will do it. If you'd like to use homemade crust, use the Nothing-in-the-House pie crust recipe.

Pumpkin Pie Pops

(With a few adjustments, adapted from Cakespy, via Serious Eats)

For the filling:

¾ cup brown sugar

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

2 eggs

1 15-ounce can of plain pumpkin puree

1 12-ounce can of condensed milk

Also:

1 egg for glazing

25 wooden skewers, lollipop or Popsicle sticks

1. Preheat oven to 350 F. Mix together the dry ingredients. Send the sugar, salt, and spices into a small bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together 2 eggs. Add the pumpkin puree, the dry ingredients, and the condensed milk. Stir to combine. Set filling aside.

We were able to make 25 mini pies from the 2 pie dough crusts. Be mindful, though, that this means cutting out 50 little circles.

2. Roll out each piecrust on a floured surface. Even though our store bought (!) crusts came smooth, flat and round, we rolled each for a thinner pie pop crust – and to get 25 pops. Once the dough reaches your desired thickness, use a round cookie or biscuit cutter (I grabbed a small water glass and turned it over), and cut out 50 circles. Gather and re-roll the dough as needed to get as many pops from your dough as possible.

To assemble:

3. Lay the 25 bottom crusts across several cookie sheets, or work in batches. Press one wooden stick into each crust. Be sure the top of the stick reaches at least ½ way up the crust. Add a spoonful of filling in the center of each crust, covering the stick. (My sister Aidan says: “A small spoonful is crucial to avoid over-spillage or bursting pies.”) Top each bottom crust with its mate, Mates! Seal the seams of each pie by pressing a fork around the edges, all 360 degrees of the pop. Score the top of each pie pop with a small knife. (Aidan calls these “air breathers,” “slits,” or “filters.” We scored a few smiley faces, too.) Whisk 1 egg in a small bowl. Brush the top crusts with the egg wash… We also sprinkled sugar for added sparkle.

4. Bake, baby, bake. About 15 minutes, or until golden. Remove from oven, carefully transfer to wire rack. Allow to cool and for sticks to set.  

Enjoy your pie pop. Walk around, talk on the phone, play the piano with your free hand while eating!

Peach Apricot Raspberry Wedding Pie

My good friends Erik and Abra got married two weekends ago at Bare Knuckle Farm (where Abra is a business partner/farmer) in Northport, MI. The weather was *perfect* (despite the fact that much of the east coast was being hit by Hurricane Irene), old pals were there in force (making for a killer dance party later), and the food, oh, the food!


Abra is a chef in Chicago, and she enlisted her Chicago chef pals to each contribute a dish, for a local farm fancy wedding potluck, of sorts.


Two of the bakers Abra works with are Paula Haney and Kelsey Coday of Hoosier Mama Pie Company. They contributed the most delicious Peach Apricot Raspberry pies which stood alongside cakes by Sandra Holl and Meghan Stone at Floriole Bakery.


I can't speak much about the pie, honestly, because I ate it in sporadic bites while trying to prep for DJing, and don't remember specificities of taste, just that it was so fresh and DELICIOUS.

Congratulations and thank you to Abra & Erik (as well as to everyone who contributed) for this quite perfect celebration. May there be many delicious pies in your future! xoxo.

Why I Like Pie

A few months ago, Whitney Brown, a talented cake baker and Folklorist who is writing her thesis on the local food movement of Carrboro, NC wrote to ask me if I could characterize my love of pie for her in 5 minutes or less. A surprisingly challenging, but exciting question to answer. It helped me clarify my thoughts and motivations, and here is my enthusiastic, albeit rambling, response...

Oh wow...this is such a big question, but one that is really exciting for me to think about. I'm just going to spill out some thoughts in a really unstructured manner...

So first, in my sustainable agriculture/local food systems/school food project work in VT, I noticed that interest in REAL food often skipped a generation--the 50s generation of food science and availability of "fast foods"-- but seems to be back among young people in search of some sort of...AUTHENTICITY (I said it). But who are also interested in health, local communities, radical leftist ideas, people power. One of my personal ideals is to restore value in HANDS-- I want to value things that are made by hands, by real people, and I also want to be able to do things with my own hands--do things for myself. I want to build as many "hand-based" skills as possible. I think this arises out of independence (rugged American individualism?!), perhaps a distrust in the modern world (at least in technology!), value of traditional arts and work, and certainly feminism.

When I think about why I love to bake, pie especially, I think about how it is a tradition, an art, and a love. The most amazing thing about traditional foods is that it is an artful expression and often a loving expression that you actually INGEST and make a part of you. Literally! I think that is so wild. So when you make a pie, you are calling upon all that past hand knowledge from so many women (mostly) of past generations. Then you invite other people to share that tradition and knowledge and love with you as you sit around the table, and then you EAT IT! It kind of blows my mind.

I also think about how the domestic arts were often the only outlet for women to creatively express themselves in past generations. Food traditions have had the best survival, perhaps, because food hits you where it counts--in the gut. Everyone has to eat, and I think it's where a lot of political change can happen.


For me there is something specific about pie in that it uses fruit, which calls awareness to seasonality and locality--place and nature. You bake with what is available at the time, and in the winter that's storage apples (maybe) and nuts and squash, and in the summer it's berries and peaches. Pies are tied to place and time.

My mom was always the pie baker in my family, and I didn't get into it until I started discovering all these mulberry trees and black-raspberry bushes all over Ann Arbor (where I was living at the time). It became a sort of ritual, often shared with friends, to go pick the berries--I did it nearly every day of the summer. We called it guerilla urban berry picking, and sometimes went at night, bringing along chairs to reach the high branches, feeling all the more guerilla. I became really invested in berry picking, and loved how I could get into a sort of meditative state while also being outside and doing something productive. (Thoreau has some great writing about going huckleberry picking--in his journals, Walden, and Civil Disobedience.) Since I was getting the berries for free, I began making a lot of pies, and would leave them on neighbors/friends doorsteps (or give them to boys I had crushes on).


So that's it. My love for pie. It is out of a desire for self-sufficiency, valuing of tradition, feminism, connection to the land and the seasons, and an artful expression of love that we injest-- make part of ourselves. Plus it's delicious. fun. WILD!

Zingerman's Pot Pies

I was in Ann Arbor, Michigan for a hot minute this past weekend, and pretty much went directly from the Detroit airport to the Jewish deli-turned foodie phenom, Zingerman's for my standard #36 on sourdough with a new pickle (basically a veggie reuben with coleslaw instead of sauerkraut).

I found not only the promise of one of my favorite lunches, but an array of pot pies available there during the months of January and February. It's a good thing they were out of their vegetarian pie option, or I would have had quite a time deciding between "Lila & Izzie's Skokie Skidoo" sandwich and the "Fungi Pot Pie."
I was intrigued by this "Daria's Dingle Pie," which they purport to be "a salute to the miners on the Dingle Peninsula of Ireland," and is apparently a standard Irish savory pie recipe, traditionally sold at Lammas Fairs during the last week of August.

This tribute to the miner in pie form, though, made me wonder why Zingerman's wasn't offering a pasty-- the Cornish savory pie that was frequently consumed and popularized by Finnish miners in Michigan's Upper Penninsula. Perhaps they'll cover that later in some future 'Traditional foods of Michigan' or 'Traditional foods of the Midwest' or 'Traditional foods mistaken for stripper-garb' display.

A new farm and cherry pie.

This is a story of two friends, a whole lotta manual labor,
and a dream of growing delicious, organic goodness.

Abra and Jess have started their dream and oh my, how they are succeeding. They are currently growing multitudes of produce and selling it both at local farm markets and to various restaurants in Chicago. Bare Knuckle Farm is on its way!


The last weekend in July, Bare Knuckle Farm hosted its first annual work weekend--a gathering of various friends and ne'er-do-wells who rolled up their sleeves to paint a barn, build a permanent herb bed, weed (and weed and weed and weed), feed chickens and geese, haul rocks from Lake Michigan to be built into an outdoor oven. Despite a few rain clouds and the necessary breaks for fun, a lot of work was accomplished--really!


But let's remember that this is a pie blog, and as such, we must eventually bring this story around to pie. Well, the produce itself is situated on an old farm that houses lots of other deliciousness--like these beautiful cherry trees.


One resident pie baker insisted that we pick a few to make a pie. Twist our arms! We got busy picking, then Jess sat down to pit them all.

That man is a cherry-pitting machine! After that, Jill worked her magic. Flour flew and fingers kneaded, and after sitting a spell in the oven, those babies were baked to perfection.


Of course, we had to wait for them to cool a bit--oh, the torture! That gave us time to play the best.party.game.ever! (Tie breaking round to be held at the Bare Knuckle Farm's second annual work weekend in 2010.) Despite the intensity of the game, the smell drove us to indulge in pie before too long. Jill was so kind as to dish it up with some vanilla ice cream. The perfect combination of sweet and tart, with a wonderfully crumbly crust.


Abra, Jill, Mary, Sara, Anika, Jess, and Erik in the Pie Enjoyment Zone (PEZ).


In our pie-induced stupor, we decided we needed to show the PEZ from another angle.


But really, there's no better indication of the success of a pie than the Breakfast Test.


And it passed that one with flying colors.

Thank you for two delicious cherry pies, Jill!
And thank you, Abra and Jess, for starting a great new tradition.

Christmas Eve blackberry.

It was a bitterly cold day in the thumb of Michigan--perfect for pie baking!

A lesson from mother (Chief Pie Expert in Residence) to son (Apprentice in Overalls).



First, she modeled.



Then, she provided guided instruction. (You can tell
that the teacher in me is ridiculously excited by this process!)


Then the Apprentice in Overalls tried his hand at some independent practice.


A beautiful blackberry pie, complete with traditional
design used for years by the Chief Pie Expert in Residence.


A delicious process to be taught and practiced for generations to come.