Strawberry Rhubarb Galette

Lately, I've been thinking about loss and home. Not as separate thematic entities, but rather the Venn diagram overlap of the two. These thoughts have been prompted by my move to a new state and region that has also experienced great loss-- economic, cultural, environmental and where connection to home and place is so prominent and visceral. Maybe it's because I grew up in the Midwest, or have lived so many other places, but aside from a dew special places from my childhood, that deep tie to place and state and region is mostly foreign to me. On a recent trip home for my grandma Georgette's 85th birthday, though, I was confronted by my own personal feelings on "home loss" and nostalgia, for a place I can't really return to. 

My parents and my mother's siblings and their spouses, my brother and his girlfriend, and other extended family, all gathered at my grandma's home, a mostly-retiree condo community that she moved to after my grandfather died. Their house which she moved from sat on 20 acres of woods and pasture in North Liberty, deep in Indiana farm country. My grandparents were a part of that community, but also were a little different, evidenced by their unusual home built on land between cornfields on a country road. My grandfather, a painter, lithographer, and the former art director for Studebaker, designed and built their angular, energy-efficient mid-century modern dwelling, which was tiered with balconies, decks, and the outdoor back "secret stairs" that I liked to take upon my arrival to "surprise" my grandmother who was undoubtedly waiting to greet me at the kitchen window. Their porches and yard were peppered with abstract sculptures, like the sundial "dinosaur" that stood in the center of my grandmother's flower bed, and my grandfather studio, housing his lithograph press, stood just on the other side of the driveway en route to the fishing pond. 

In Southern culture, literature in particular, there's a lot of talk about "the home place." That concept doesn't appear in the Midwest so much, maybe because so many Midwesterners were migrants with a home place elsewhere-- the south, east, or another country altogether. But that weird house on Riley Road was my home place, where extended family would gather for holidays and big Sunday meals every week of my childhood, and where my brother and I were free to roam, a thrill for us inner-city kids.

It's somewhat tangential but relevant, I think, to share that my family had actually been displaced from our original home place-- land I never knew when it was ours, but was the home of my great-grandparents, grandparents, mother and her siblings. That previous property, where my grandfather had also build a house of his own design, was taken away by the state via eminent domain for the creation of a state park that the government had hoped would bring in crucial tourist dollars. It never really did, and I have to wonder if that has something to do with the displacement of the many families who lived there and stayed in the community-- families who were also still obligated  to pay the park entrance fee to walk to land that still bears no sign that it was once theirs. Maybe I've absorbed some bitterness about it. Though that doesn't subtract from the connection I felt and still feel to the familial home I knew, it adds another inherited layer to my own sense of loss, and I imagine that feeling is even sharper for my mom and her siblings.

One of the things I remember clearly from the home place I knew were the rhubarb plants that lined my grandma's raised bed. They were the biggest rhubarb plants I've ever seen, their toxic leaves almost Jurassic, served as ample shade for the two grey cats, Blue and Pinkie, and were last-minute hiding places for our hide 'n' go seek games at dusk. The edible stalks were bright red and thick-- making the pallid and limp green and pink stalks I sometimes get at the grocery store seem like an entirely different species. 

The day before my grandma's birthday party, my mom, aunts, uncle, and I had lunch at Georgette's (or as my dad and uncles call her, "Big Gette") house. We made cold cut sandwiches, and after we were done, my grandma apologetically brought a store-bought rhubarb crisp to the table, saying it was store bought because she couldn't find any rhubarb at the store, adding that she's never found any as good as the rhubarb she used to grow on Riley Rd. When she served it, my mom and aunt refused a slice, but my uncle, now a Floridian who doesn't come across much rhubarb anymore obliged, and as a ever-rhubarb fan with an ample sweet tooth, I did too. 

I don't blame or judge my grandma for buying a store-bought rhubarb crisp. Rather, I applaud her for, after long last, allowing someone else to do some work for her- at 85, a mother of 5, and a grandmother of 5,  and the family matriarch, she definitely deserves it. The crisp wasn't bad, but it didn't taste anything like rhubarb, the cloying taste of sugar and over-use of preservatives and thickener completely masking any of that biting tartness we were after. But as we sat there chewing, here in a house that despite its cookie-cutie exterior exudes the magic of my grandmother, I realized that what I was tasting was the taste of home and loss, and it was much too sweet. 

Strawberry Rhubarb Galette
Adapted from Food & Wine

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust
2 cups (1 pint) strawberries, sliced thick
1 pound rhubarb stalks, cut into pieces
1/2 - 3/4 cup sugar, depending on your tartness preference
2 Tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon of your favorite bitters (I used black cardamom bitters; or substitute vanilla extract)
4 Tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into pieces
2 Tablespoons whole milk
Turbinado sugar

Directions
1. Prepare Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions here. Chill dough at least 1 hour before rolling out into a 13-14 inch circle on a sheet of parchment paper or a Silpat. Put the rolled crust and parchment/Silpat on a cookie sheet and return it to the fridge while you prepare the filling. 

2. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. In a large bowl, mix together sliced strawberries, rhubarb pieces, sugar, flour, lemon juice and bitters (or vanilla extract). 

3. Remove rolled crust from fridge and spread the fruit filling over the pastry, leaving a 2-inch edge. Fold the edge over the filling, pleating at the corners. Dot the filling with butter pieces. Brush crust with milk and sprinkle with Turbinado sugar. 

4. Place the galette in the oven and bake on the middle rack for 1 hour or until fruit is bubbling and the pastry is golden brown. Let cool before slicing into wedges and serving with vanilla ice cream. 

Related recipes:
4 & 20 Blackbirds' Rhubarb Pie
Rhubarb Meringue Tart with Pecan Shortbread Crust
Rhubarb Tart
Simple Rhubarb Tart
Strawberry Rhubarb Pie
Strawberry Rhubarb and Wine-Soaked Fig Rustic Tart

Apricot Galette with Cornmeal Crust

I've spent five springs of the last seven living off the grid in the New England woods. It's still cold there in May and early June; the spring and its flowers and fruits are slow to arrive. But part of the joy of being up there is seeing the season come in slowly-- on early hikes there are green buds, fiddleheads, rare appearances of spring ephemerals. Then the trillium comes in, jack in the pulpit, then ladyslipper, and by mid-June, the peepers have become frogs, the ferns have unfurled, and the beech trees have all leafed out. I've missed that, and living in a season that's unplugged from "technology," yet so clued in to the natural world, other people, text and the senses.

But it's also been nice to experience spring a different way, elsewhere. In Kentucky a few weekends ago, I was amazed by how green everything was, and this past weekend in Durham, the smells of the honeysuckle and peonies were overwhelming. The seasonal foods of southern climes feel new again too-- I've gotten to enjoy ramp season and red buds and early glow strawberries-- and that's been a delight. 

On a rare weekend when I was home in D.C., Morgan came over for backyard cocktails and baked goods. Though not quite local yet, I'd received some Blenheim apricots in my farm box, and Morgan had a selection of spirits from Art in the Age. With both, we opted for simplicity-- to let the flavors of the fruits and herbal liquors shine. Galettes are perfect for this in the baked goods department, and this one has few ingredients and a basic crust with a touch of cornmeal, adding a little grit and whole grain that's complimented by the pistachio pieces sprinkled on top. I kept the sugar to a minimum here-- the apricot filling still had a tartness to it, but feel free to adjust to your own taste.

Apricot Galette with Cornmeal Crust
Inspired by Apt. 2B Baking

Ingredients
For the crust:
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:
About 8 (3 cups) fresh apricots, pitted and quartered
3-4 Tablespoons granulated sugar (depending on sweetness of the fruit)
1 teaspoon cardamom bitters (or your favorite bitters)
1 Tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 Tablespoons turbinado sugar
1 large beaten egg + 1 Tablespoon Turbinado sugar, for egg wash
2 Tablespoons finely chopped pistachios, for topping (optional)

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 apricot quarters, sugar, bitters, 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 apricot 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 apricots 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, then sprinkle with pistachio crumbles, if desired. Serve just warm or at room temperature.



For simple Art in the Age cocktail recipes, with Root and Snap + more photos, visit Panda Head Blog. Thank you to Whole Foods P Street for the flowers and ingredients.

Related recipes:
Apricot Kuchen
Gooseberry-Apricot Pie
Italian Plum & Port Crostata
White Nectarine Frangipane Tart with Homemade Puff Pastry

Photos by Morgan Hungerford West

Satsuma Orange Galette with a Cream Cheese Crust & Inspiration

I've been thinking lately about the function of a recipe-- how it is inherently a teaching text. That seems obvious, but I think it's something I often forget. How these thoughts translate to my own purposes is:
1) In how I interact with a recipe and consider the type of recipe I like to follow and 2) In how I can best write recipes in a way that not only teaches the reader how to make the thing that the recipe is in fact describing, but that also allows the reader how to have their own agency. I don't want my recipes to be so proscriptive that a reader doesn't feel like they can stray from it, improvise, or use their own variation. Because ideally, they will make it their own. To take that one step further, I've been considering how a recipe--or at least one in the form we think of it--could become unnecessary--where a text or combination of text and image might not be proscriptive at all but rather inspirational. It's like the difference between a traditional classical music score and something by John Cage or Pauline Oliveros or Christian Wolff where there is a range of variability allowed for, welcomed even, in each performance of the piece.

I'm not entirely sure what that all means for my recipe writing and for this blog, but it's something I'd like to experiment with more here and elsewhere. It feels exciting--a way to bring more experimentation and creativity to my own baking and the baking of others. Now I'm in a sense going to forgo all of what I just said and give you a pretty standard recipe, but with the side note that hopes to allow for some inventiveness and imagination.

Galettes are one of my favorite things to make because of all the possibilities they can inspire. They can be as simple as pastry, fresh fruit, and a sprinkling of sugar, or involve multiple ingredients and processes. This particular time I was called to the leaf-on satsuma oranges at the grocery store (I know I'm hitting the tail end of citrus season here, but spring was late so I'm using that as my excuse). But I've made galettes in all sorts of varieties--sweet and savory. For savory dishes they are a great way to combine multiple ingredients but for dessert galettes, I usually like to stick with one type of very fresh fruit. It's a great way to showcase what's in season and let the fruit itself shine. You can also try different crusts--I've used my standard pie crust recipes but also rye crusts, buckwheat crusts, cream cheese crusts (like I use here) and more.

Here are a few galettes I've made in the past, along with a new recipe for a Satsuma Orange Galette with a Cream Cheese Crust (which is a variation on this Blood Orange Galette I made long ago). Hopefully they'll provide a little inspiration for your own kitchen improvisation, or as my friend Mandy calls it "free jazz baking."

Savory Galettes
Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread Galette
Ham, Gruyere & Caramelized Onion Galette with Fried Egg
Heirloom Tomato-Ricotta Galette
Swiss Chard & Goat Cheese Galette
Tri-color Potato, Caramelized Onion, Goat Cheese & Rosemary Galette

Sweet Galettes
Apple Galette
Cranberry-Lime Galette
Plum & Orange Flower Custard Galette
Simple Rhubarb Tart
Strawberry Rhubarb and Wine-Soaked Fig Rustic Tart

Satsuma Orange Galette with a Cream Cheese Crust 

Ingredients 
1 cup flour, plus more for dusting 
1/4 cup plus 2 Tblsp. raw Turbinado sugar 
1/4 tsp. baking powder 
1/4 tsp. salt 
5 Tblsp. salted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces and chilled 
4 Tblsp. cream cheese 
3 Tblsp. ice water
6-8 oranges
1 large egg yolk mixed with 2 Tblsp. of water 

Directions
1. Whisk 1 cup of flour with 2 Tblsp. sugar, baking powder, and salt. Add the 4 Tblsp. of cold butter in sliced pieces and cream cheese and cut into flour mixture with a knife and fork or pastry cutter. Sprinkle the dough with the ice water and combine until pastry can be formed into a disk. Wrap pastry in plastic and chill for 30 minutes. 

2. On a floured work surface, roll out pastry to an 11-in. round, about 1/4 inch thick. Transfer the pastry to a parchment paper–lined flat cookie sheet and refrigerate for 15 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, peel the oranges, removing all of the bitter white pith with a knife. Thinly slice 2 of the oranges crosswise and remove the pits. Transfer the orange slices to a plate. Cut in between the membranes of the remaining oranges, along section lines. You will need 1 cup of sections.

4. Arrange the orange sections on the pastry, leaving a 2-inch border all around. Sprinkle 2 Tblsp. of sugar over the oranges. Thinly slice the remaining 1 Tblsp. of butter over the oranges. Fold up the pastry over the oranges, leaving most of the oranges uncovered. Brush the pastry with the egg wash and sprinkle lightly with 1 Tblsp. of the sugar. Arrange the orange slices on top, leaving a 1-in. border of pastry all around. Sprinkle the remaining 1 Tblsp. of sugar on top. Freeze the tart until solid, at least 4 hours or preferably overnight.

5. Preheat the oven to 375° and position a rack in the center. Place a baking sheet on the rack below to catch any drips. Bake the tart directly from the freezer for 1 hour and 15 minutes, until the fruit is bubbling and the pastry is deeply browned. Let the tart cool completely. Serve with salted butter caramel sauce, if so desired. Recipe here.