Red Wine-Poached Seckel Pear Tartlets

A few weeks ago, I attended an American Folklife Center symposium at the Library of Congress, celebrating the release of the new book Ola Belle Reed and Southern Mountain Music on the Mason Dixon Line by fellow folklorists Henry Glassie, Cliff Murphy, and Doug Peach. The book, which I highly recommend, is based on fieldwork by Glassie and Murphy and relates the story of a group of southern musical families who moved to Delaware, Maryland, and Pennsylvania in search of jobs during the Great Depression. Placing Ola Belle and her relatives and descendants at the center, it examines the community of southern traditional music that took hold there and its modern iterations, namely in the music of Danny Paisley and the Southern Grass, and Zane and Hugh Campbell.

As a big fan of Ola Belle, Hugh, and Zane, as well as the book's authors, the symposium a lovely and insightful gathering. My one critique is that I wish there had been more women's voices on the stage. Upon talking about this with my coworker Greg, he suggested I get in touch with Judy Marti, a banjo player, orchardist and last student of Ola Belle's, who also self-published a biography of her that's often quoted in the new book. I emailed Judy and said I was interested in meeting her, learning about her music and farming, and possibly playing some tunes, and she invited my bandmate Nadia and me up to her orchard in Biglersville, PA on a Saturday afternoon.



I wanted to make something to bring to Judy and her husband, and figuring they already had a glut of apples, my eye turned to the quart of Seckel pears I'd bought at the farmers' market the weekend prior. I don't believe I'd baked with them before, and felt they were so remarkable in their size and flavor, that I wanted to preserve and showcase that as much as possible. I remembered seeing a beautiful wine-poached pear recipe on David Lebovitz's blog and figured I could poach these mini pears whole and place them on individual tarts. I found a similar recipe via The Telegraph, and baked these Saturday morning after poaching the pears the night before.



As usual, I was in a rush to finish baking before I head to drive up to Biglersville, but I made it out in time, and it was the perfect crisp and sunny fall day for a trip out of the city. When Nadia and I arrived, Judy took us for a tour of her orchard, which she called a "homestead farm," mostly supplying just enough for her and her family, plus some barter and sales. Then we sat on the deck of her sauna, and she showed us Ola Belle's distinctive picking technique, told us stories about their friendship, and we passed instruments around, sharing tunes with each other.

In the end, I felt a little silly bringing pear tarts to an orchard (that it turns out, also grows pears), but after I left, Judy sent me an email, saying they were "quite good." The tartlets would also do well paired with creme fraiche and could even be brought to the savory side of things with some thyme and goat cheese spread on the puff pastry prior to adding the poached pear. You can make it with store-bought puff pastry or homemade-- Food52 has a great and fairly easy recipe. Either way, the tartlets would be wonderful as appetizers or dessert, for fall dinners or a fancy Thanksgiving feast.

Red Wine-Poached Seckel Pear Tartlets

Adapted from The Telegraph

Ingredients
1 dozen seckel pears
1 1/4 cup water
1 1/4 cup Merlot (or another fruity red wine)
3/4 cup brown sugar
2 broad strips lemon rind, pith removed
1 cinnamon stick
8 black peppercorns
11 ounces puff pastry (store-bought or homemade-- recipe here)
1/4 cup butter, melted
Turbinado sugar for dusting

Directions
1. Pour water and wine into a stock pot or saucepan large enough to hold all pears and whisk together with brown sugar. Hit on low, stirring occasionally until sugar dissolves. Add lemon rind, cinnamon stick and peppercorns and let simmer on very low-- do not let boil.

2. Meanwhile, peel pears without removing the stalks and place in the saucepan with the wine mixture. Bring liquid just to a boil, then reduce heat to a vert low simmer-- you want the fruit to cook slowly. Gently cook pears, turning them occasionally so every side comes into contact with the wine. They should be tender, but still hold together. Once tender, remove pan from heat and let cool. When at room temperature, transfer wine mixture and pears to a bowl, cover, and let sit in the refrigerator for 1-3 hours. This will allow the pears to absorb both color and flavor.

3. Preheat oven to 450 degrees F. Remove pears with a slotted spoon and place on a cutting board. Return wine mixture to pot or saucepan and boil until thick and syrupy. Remove from heat and let cool.

4. With a sharp chef's knife, make lengthwise cuts in pears, about 1 cm apart so slices can fan out slightly.

5. On a lightly floured surface, roll out puff pastry and cut into rounds with a biscuit cutter or glass just slightly larger than the pears. Place on parchment-lined baking sheet. Brush each pastry round with melted butter, then place pear in the center of each round. Sprinkle with Turbinado sugar.

6. Bake at 450 for 8-10 minutes until pastry is puffed and golden. Serve tartlets individually with wine syrup drizzled atop.



Related recipes:
Pear and Cardamom Fig Pie
Pear, Gruyère, and Caramelized Onion Hand Pies
Pear Tarte Tatin
Quince Biscuit Pie

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

Sorghum's Savor Peach-Sorghum Pandowdy with Cornmeal Biscuits

I was first introduced to the wonderful Ronni Lundy in 2010, when she asked my friend Lora and me to contribute a piece on Pi(e) Day to her online food magazine Zenchilada (if you're not familiar with Ronni's books, editorial work, and contributions to the Southern Foodways Alliance, school yourself!). But I didn't actually meet her in person until this May, when, covered in flour, we whirled about the Jackson County, Kentucky community kitchen, jabbering and singing Dwight Yoakam songs as we made deviled eggs, sweet potato sonker, rhubarb tarts, cake, cocktails, and more for a farm party and feature in her upcoming book on Appalachian foodways. 

We instantly connected-- so much so that when I realized that I'd remembered my Kitchen-Aid mixer but entirely forgot the attachments, she asked me if I was sure I wasn't her long-lost child. I learned a lot from Ronni from just those few hours in the kitchen, but she's been a teacher and inspiration ever since that first e-introduction. One of the biggest lessons I've gleaned from her is through her dedication to the sweet, complex syrup beloved in the Appalachian South-- sorghum.

Ronni champions the ingredient in many forums, but she published a book on the stuff, Sorghum's Savor, earlier this year. It's part reference-part cookbook, with personal essays and historical background, testimonies from chefs and favorite folk musicians (Jean Ritchie, namely) and recipes from Ronni and other notables like Edward Lee, Travis Milton, Nancie McDermott, Sean Brock, John Fleer, and Anna Bogle. It's full of information and wit and appetite-inspiring recipes-- the type of cookbook that you want to read cover to cover.

If I lost you on "sorghum," I suggest you allow yourself the full introduction via Ronni's book and a few jars of the stuff, but here's what you need to know: Sorghum is a grass that resembles corn and similarly can be processed to produce grain. Sweet sorghum varieties, however, can be crushed and processed to produce a molasses-like syrup. In the mountain South and parts of the Midwest, where it's been grown for sweetener since 1850, sorghum syrup is often referred to as "molasses," "sorghum molassses" or by some very old-timers, "sugar cane." If an Appalachian or Midwestern rural recipe from that era calls for "molasses" it's likely that sorghum syrup was what was actually used, as it was readily available and affordable for farm and mountain families.

Though in mainstream contexts, sorghum fell out of favor with the boom of the industrial food system, it has persisted in mountain communities and is now making a comeback with increased interest in traditional, regional foodways. It's a dream ingredient-- sweet but not saccharine nor as bitter as molasses, with a complex savory flavor that varies depending on provenance and process-- a distinct terroir.

I've been baking with it for a while now, and was beyond delighted when Ronni asked me to contribute a dessert to Sorghum's Savor. I liked the idea of doing a pandowdy--essentially a cobbler differentiated by the use of "molasses" as a sweetener and the spooning of filling over the biscuits at the end of the baking time. Fresh peaches and cornmeal biscuits complete the trifecta with sorghum for a hearty summer dessert, which Ronni calls, "Emily's Howdy Pandowdy with Cornmeal Biscuit Top." I recommend enjoying it with a big scoop of homemade vanilla custard. 

Peach-Sorghum Pandowdy with Cornmeal Biscuits

Appears as "Emily's Howdy Dowdy Pandowdy with Cornmeal Biscuit Top" in Ronni Lundy's Sorghum's Savor

Ingredients
For the cornmeal biscuit top:
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornmeal (I use Wholegrain Kentucky Heirloom Cornmeal)
1 Tablespoon white sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 Tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup heavy cream or buttermilk
Turbinado sugar, for dusting

For the filling:
6 cups peaches, cut into 1/4 to 1/2-inch wedges
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2/3 cup sorghum syrup
1/4 teaspoon fresh ginger, zested and peeled
1/4 teaspoon salt

Directions
1. In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, and salt. With a knife and fork or pastry cutter, cut in the butter until mixture resembles the consistency of cornmeal and peas. Add cream and stir gently to combine.

2. Form dough into a ball and cover with plastic wrap. Store in the fridge for at least 20 minutes while you prepare the filling.

3. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Lightly grease and flour the inside of a 9-inch cast-iron skillet, or if that is unavailable, a deep casserole dish of similar size.

4. In a medium bowl, combine peaches, lemon juice, flour, and sorghum. Stir in the ginger as well as the salt. Pour filling into the prepared skillet. Cover top with foil and bake for 25 minutes.

5. While filling is baking, roll out chilled biscuit dough on a clean, floured surface into a 9-to-10-inch circle. Cut 6 to 8 rounds with a biscuit cutter and set aside.

6. Once filling has baked, remove from oven, and arrange cut biscuits evenly over the filling. Sprinkle with Turbinado sugar. Return to the oven and bake for 20-25 minutes more, until biscuit dough is light golden and filling is bubbling.

7. Remove from the oven and spoon some of the steaming filling over the biscuit top (this little move is a defining characteristic of a pandowdy, along with the use of molasses or sorghum in the filling!). Return to the oven to bake for 5-10 minutes more. Remove from oven and let cool. Serve slightly warm with a scoop of homemade vanilla custard.

Thanks to Food52 for featuring this post in 8 Food Blog Links We Love!

Related recipes:
Apple-Raspberry Pandowdy
Black Walnut Pie
Peach-Blackberry Cobbler
Surry County Peach Sonker with Dip

The Friday Pie Slice: Homemade Bagel Edition

1st slice. I love making homemade bagels and Peter Reinhart's recipe via Smitten Kitchen has never failed me. I generally stick to the classics-- sesame seed, poppy seed, salt, and everything-- but tend to go wild with different flavored butters and cream cheeses.

2nd slice. I shared my Pimento Cheese and Tomato Pie recipe and some Green Tomato Pie history in the Washington Post Express this week. Find the recipe here and article here.

3rd slice. If you're making pimento cheese, you're going to need some mayo. Chefs share their penchant for Duke's Mayonnaise, accompanied with illustrations by my friend Emily Wallace, in Garden & Gun.

The tasty crumbs. SAVEUR recently profiled Indiana Sugar Cream Pie. Find Hoosier Mama's recipe here.

"Old Fashioned" Cherry Galette

I'm pretty much a fan of anything that tastes like it could be old-timey medicine. The more herbal, botanical, and tonic-like, the better. Angostura bitters are perhaps the most convenient way to achieve these type of flavors and in addition to the classics like the Manhattan and Old-Fashioned, I like to add a few drops to seltzer water for a pick-me up. When Tim of Lottie + Doof posted a recipe for an Angostura Sour a little over a year ago, I marched directly to my pantry and shook one up.

But until I actually sat down to research the history behind angostura, it remained something of a mystery-- a curious concoction with an oversized label and exotic name. As I know now, some of that secrecy has been purposely maintained by the company. What we do know, though, is that Angostura bitters are named after the village in Venezuela where they were invented in 1824 by the German doctor Johann Siegert. They were first dubbed Dr. Siegert's Aromatic Bitters and were initially intended as an alleviative for stomach ailments and seasickness. Imported by Britain in 1830; the Royal Navy liked to mix it with gin creating the popular nautically-inclined drink "pink gin."



In 1875, Siegert's sons moved the company to Trinidad, where it still resides, and in 1904 they changed the name to Angostura. The ill-fitting label is legendarily due to the fact that the two brothers did not discuss bottle and label sizes prior to affixing one to the other, but they decided to keep it as a trademark. The recipe however, remains highly protected-- part of the reason the Angostura shortage caused such a hubbub a few years ago.

Lately, in addition to my drinks, I've been using Angostura and other bitters in my baked goods-- a trick I learned from the 4 and 20 Blackbirds Cookbook. The flavor is subtle, once baked, but it contributes a little complexity and aromatics to the filling. I added a dash of it along with some bourbon barrel-aged vanilla to this cherry galette, and gave it the "old-fashioned" name for the pairing of those with sweet cherries. Like most cherry desserts, this is perfect with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.



"Old Fashioned" Cherry Galette

Ingredients
For the cornmeal crust (or use Nothing in the House pie crust, halved):
1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cornmeal (I used this Whole Grain Kentucky Heirloom Cornmeal)
1/2 Tablespoon granulated sugar
1 teaspoon sea salt
1 1/2 sticks COLD unsalted butter (12 tablespoons), cut into slices
1 large beaten egg, cold
1/4 cup ice-cold water
1/2 Tablespoon cold apple cider vinegar (I keep mine in the fridge)

For the filling:
3-4 cups sweet cherries, pitted
3-4 Tablespoons granulated sugar (depending on sweetness of the fruit)
1 teaspoon angostura bitters
1 teaspoon bourbon or vanilla extract (I used vanilla aged in bourbon barrels)
1 Tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 Tablespoons turbinado sugar for dusting
1 large beaten egg + 1 Tablespoon whole milk for egg wash

Directions
1. For the crust: In a large mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, sugar, and salt. Using a pastry cutter or fork and knife, cut in the butter. You want to make sure butter chunks remain, as that's what makes the crust flaky.

2. In a separate small bowl, whisk together the COLD liquid ingredients (Using cold liquids ensures that your butter will not melt--another crucial detail for a flaky crust).

3. Pour the liquid mixture into the flour-butter mixture and combine using a wooden spoon. Mix until dough comes together, but is not overly mixed (it should be a little shaggy). Form into a ball, cut in half, and flatten each half into a disc. Wrap discs tightly with plastic wrap, and let chill in the refrigerator for at least an hour. 

4. While crust is filling, prepare filling: In a large mixing bowl, combine pitted cherries, sugar, bitters, bourbon, and lemon juice. Remove one dough disc and leave other in fridge or freezer for another use. Roll out one crust disc on a piece of parchment and transfer rolled crust and parchment to a large baking sheet. 

5. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Ladle cherry filling onto rolled crust, leaving a 1-inch border. Sprinkle 1 Tablespoon of Turbinado sugar over the apricots, then fold up the pastry over the edges of the filling, leaving most of the cherries uncovered. 

6. 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" Peach Blackberry Pie
Sour Cherry Pie
Sweet Cherry Pie with Cornmeal Streusel

Blueberry Pie

Blueberry pie has long had a place on 4th of July menus. It's an American classic, for one, particularly in the North. A recipe appears in Fannie Farmer's 1896 Boston Cooking-School Cook Book (though strangely calling for six de-seeded green grapes to improve flavor) and is the state dessert of Maine (though wild low-bush berries are the standby there). 

The timing also aligns-- the little blue berries (or blue bellies as I called them when I was little) generally ripen shortly after the first day of summer. Food Timeline's 4th of July Food History, blueberry pie is prescribed on Good Housekeeping's suggested menus of both 1949 and 1955, in the latter to be served with "Spiced Sour Cream and Hot Coffee (instant)." 

This year a deep-dish blueberry skillet pie found its way onto my 4th of July table. I spent the weekend on the beach in Ocean City, Maryland with my friends Elizabeth, Grant, and Chickpea the dog. Along with the pie, our Independence Day menu consisted of homemade pizza, American beer (some fancy, some cheap), and homemade coffee ice cream. We enjoyed it on the balcony amidst a 360 fireworks display while Chickpea took cover under the bed.

Blueberry Pie

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust
6 cups fresh blueberries, washed and de-stemmed
3 Tablespoons cornstarch
1 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1/4 teaspoon salt
Splash of lemon juice
1 egg (you can use remainder from crust) + 1 Tablespoon whole milk or cream for egg wash
Turbinado sugar (for dusting)

Directions
1. Prepare Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions. After chilling the dough for at least 1 hour, roll out half of the crust and fit into a 9-inch greased and floured pie pan or a greased 9-inch skillet. Place pan and unrolled crust back into the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. In a medium bowl, combine berries, cornstarch, brown sugar, cinnamon, lemon zest, and salt. Stir together to combine. 

3. Pour the filling into the pie crust and arrange so that its mounded slightly in the center. Sprinkle on the lemon juice.

4. Roll out the remaining pie crust and cut and arrange into a lattice or crust design of your choice. Seal and crimp edges. Brush crust with egg wash and sprinkle with Turbinado sugar.

5. Bake pie on a baking sheet (this is to catch any drips) and bake for 10 minutes at 425 degrees F. Lower heat to 350 degrees F and bake 40-45 minutes more, until the crust is golden brown and the juices are bubbling throughout. Once baked, let cool on a wire rack for at least 30 minutes. Serve slightly warm or at room temperature.

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

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie

It's been hard to find the time to blog lately. That's not a complaint, necessarily, just the way it is, with long full-time hours at Folkways along with frequent trips to North Carolina and other travel, all while trying to squeeze in other personal projects.

When I do have the time through, I'm compelled to go about the aspects of posting in a more deliberate way, trying a new photo set-up, filling gaps in my recipe catalog so I'm covering the classics, but also writing about more unusual regional and historical recipes. These are pies and other desserts that may have faded with the rise and fall of baking trends, or are in desperate need of recontextualization as their story and the people attached has become glossed over, simplified, or stereotyped. This is something that happens often with recipes from the south and other rural places.





I've also committed myself to shooting more film again-- for the blog and just in general. I've been really inspired by the past couple of rolls I shot on my dad's old Nikon F. The camera and the macro lens just capture light in a way that digital can never achieve with its more flattened, even algorithm. Zeke compared it to analog tape, and that sounds right-- with film, what's in focus is completely clear, ringing out over the more gestural, fuzzy background.



I spent Memorial Day weekend at home-- a good three days to catch up on things, make a lot of food, take a lot of photos, and even work in a trip to the pool with friends. The weekend prior, Zeke and I picked 13 pounds of strawberries at Whitted Bowers Farm in Cedar Grove, North Carolina-- an organic, biodynamic U-pick patch with the sweetest, most flavorful berries I've ever tasted. I went a little crazy processing them-- pickling, freezing, baking, infusing them in vodka and putting them in ice cream (some details of such coming to the blog). A coworker also gifted me some rhubarb, so a Strawberry Rhubarb Pie was most definitely in order.



I browsed a number of recipes, settling on Nancie McDermott's from her crucial resource Southern Pies, due to it's higher ratio of rhubarb to strawberries. I'm a huge fan of rhubarb, and in my book, the best berry-rhubarb pies don't mask the rhubarb flavor, but enhance it. The strawberries were so sweet so I cut back on the sugar, and were small enough to leave them whole. This was hands down one of the best pies I've ever made, the flavor so brilliantly forward, the filling so red.

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
Adapted from Nancie McDermott's Southern Pies

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust
3/4 cup-1 cup granulated sugar, depending on sweetness of berries
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 cups fresh rhubarb, cut into 1/2-inch chunks
2 cups hulled strawberries (mine were small so I kept them whole, but if large, cut into 1-inch pieces)
1 Tablespoon fresh squeezed lemon juice
1 large egg, beaten + 1 Tablespoon milk or cream, for egg wash
Turbinado sugar, for dusting

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. Preheat oven to 425 F. In a large bowl, combine sugar, flour, cinnamon, and salt, using a whisk or fork.  Add rhubarb, strawberries, and stir together gently with a wooden spoon. Pour mixture into pie crust.

3. To make the lattice: Roll out remaining dough into a long rectangle. Using a ruler as a guide, use a knife or pastry wheel to cut strips of equal width for the lattice top. Lay 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. 

4. Brush lattice with egg wash and dust with Turbinado sugar. Place pie on baking sheet and bake for 15 minutes, then lower temperature to 350 degrees F and bake until filling bubbles and crust is golden brown, 45-50 minutes more. 

5. Place pie on cooling wrack and let cool for at least 30 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature. 

Related recipes:
4 & 20 Blackbirds' Rhubarb Pie
Rhubarb Meringue Tart with Pecan Shortbread Crust
Simple Rhubarb Tart
Strawberry Apricot Pie
Strawberry Crème Tart
Strawberry Icebox Pie

Apple Slump (or Fruitlands?)

I'm now out of the woods and catching up on posts and pretty much everything else in my (digital) life. I have a number of film shots of baked goods to share from the spring and am excited about continuing to do more. For now, though, I'll start here with a Rhode Island Apple Slump.

As I mentioned earlier, this NELP, my friend Becky and I co-led the "Transcendental Kitchen Society," a 5-class workshop exploring transcendental ideas with a feminist lens, and examining the intersection between creative space and domestic space/daily work and intellectual work (read some words from Becky on the class and other feminist pursuits at NELP here).

At all of our meetings, we engaged in some type of creative domestic work while discussing readings and ideas. For this particular class, in which we talked about Louisa May Alcott's Transcendental Wild Oats, a parody of her father Bronson Alcott's highly idealistic cooperative farm, Fruitlands, we made an Apple Slump.



The connection between the text and the dessert appears in the final sentence of the story. Sister Hope--the analog for Mrs. Alcott and female protagonist who ends up taking on most of the domestic work of the commune while the men spend time "thinking"-- acknowledges the failure of the Fruitlands and wittily comments,  "Don't you think Apple Slump would be a better name for it, dear?"

A fruit slump, cousin to a pandowdy and British steamed pudding, consists of fruit simmered in a skillet, which is then topped with biscuits/dumpling dough and cooked until the dough is baked through. It's then inverted, with the fruit being spooned over the biscuits-- a cooked shortcake, of sorts (for more on slumps, grunts and pandowdys, see this New York Times article from last year).

This particular recipe comes from Becky's 1947 edition of The United States Regional Cook Book edited by Ruth Berolzheimer. As many recipes of the era, the directions are not especially detailed or proscriptive--I added in a few details here, but it is meant to be approximate-- there's not much danger of failure. The apple slump's deliciousness exists in that tension between soft and doughy biscuits and the dark and rich caramelized apples.



Rhode Island Apple Slump
Adapted from The United States Regional Cook Book c. 1947

Makes 8-10 servings

Ingredients
For the apple filling:
3 pints apples, peeled and chopped into slices
1 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup water
2 teaspoons cinnamon

For the baking powder biscuits:
2 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 Tablespoons unsalted butter, cold
3/4 cup whole milk

1 cup heavy cream (optional)

Directions
1. In a 9-inch cast iron skillet over medium-low heat, simmer apple slices, brown sugar, water, and cinnamon until liquid is reduced and apples begin to soften.

2. Meanwhile, prepare the biscuits. In a medium sized bowl, combine flour, baking powder and salt. Cut in the cold butter, until mixture is the consistency of cornmeal and peas, then pour in the milk and bring dough together into a ball. Roll dough out onto a floured surface about 1/2-inch thick and cut into circles with a biscuit cutter or jar top.

3. Once apples are soft, place cut biscuits over the dough, cover skillet, and cook over medium-low heat until biscuits are baked through but still soft and apples are completely cooked and caramelized, approximately 20-25 minutes.

4. Remove biscuits from skillet and spoon caramelized apples over top. Serve with cream and enjoy warm. We warmed the cream in the skillet after the apples had been scooped out, so that it took on some of the caramelized flavor. We then drizzled it over everything.



While the slump cooked, we also created a "dance" composed of actions from experimental recipes the workshop the students wrote for an assignment. Rachel Pernick's wonderful graphic representation of that dance is pictured above.

Related recipes:
Apple Pie with Salted Caramel Glaze
Apple-Raspberry Pandowdy
Peach-Blackberry Cobbler
Surry County Peach Sonker with Dip

Cardamom Doughnut Muffins

Rosemary-Raisin Bread