Puff Pastry Hand Pies with Goat Cheese & Hot Pepper Jelly

 Last night I got pretty deep into some historical research-- about hot pepper jelly. After making the stuff last weekend, I was curious where it came from--its roots, history, and past uses. I looked in two Oxford food reference books, The Encyclopedia of Southern Culture, and multiple cookbooks, and found next to nothing in terms of background. Nathalie Dupree's Southern Memories, she calls it a "Southern pantry staple" and in Heritage, Sean Brock says it's "pretty common to the south, appearing on the table alongside just about anything fried." But other than those brief references and some internet claims that it was invented in Fort Jackson, Texas 1978, I didn't find much.

So naturally I turned, as one does these days, to Twitter. I wasn't tweeting into the void, however. I called upon those I consider Southern food and preserves experts-- Nancie McDermott, Ronni Lundy, April McGreger, Marisa McClellan, and Travis Milton. Granted, most of them were likely not online at such a late hour, let alone worrying themselves about the origins of spicy preserves, but Travis and I ended up getting into a good discussion. He said he's also been curious and suspected the pepper variety was likely related to Corn Cobb Jelly-- a "making do/not wasting" sort of food. We both balked at the Texans' origin story, I suggested the potential influence of British aspics, and a friend from Louisiana chimed in, saying he thought pepper jelly originated in his home state.



We left it at that, but the next morning Nancie McDermott and Miriam Rubin both piped up, saying they figured hot pepper jelly to be a modern invention-- from the 1970s or 80s. Miriam said she remembered it from her days at Redbook magazine-- when the preserve was suddenly trendy, deemed Southern, and became all the rage to serve at dinner parties over saltines with cream cheese. We didn't end up verifying a true origin store with anything conclusive, but, like another contemporary Southern classic-- Pecan Pie-- I suspect both the "modern invention" and "old Southern roots" claims to be true, in a sense. Perhaps some Texans did invent the stuff in '78, but unless you're working in a chemical laboratory, food items don't generally appear out of thin air. There's always a precedent, a precursor, an aspic or a Corn Cobb Jelly to lay the foundation. Maybe we'll turn up some evidence of the real history eventually, but for now I'm content with that.

Either way, those Redbook gals from the 80s were right-- hot pepper jelly IS great with cream cheese and saltines, and these hand pies are a variation on that truth. Goat cheese lends a little more tang than cream cheese (and is better for those lactose-precarious folks like me!) and of course, puff pastry always takes things up a notch. You could use a regular pie pastry dough if you're pressed for time or don't want to mess with all that butter layering.

Pastry Pastry Hand Pies with Goat Cheese & Hot Pepper Jelly

Ingredients
Half-batch quick puff pastry (I used Ashley Rodriguez's recipe via Food52 but you can use store bought puff pastry, or your favorite pie crust recipe for 1 double-crust pie)
Hot Pepper Jelly (you'll use about 1/2 cup)
4 oz. soft, spreadable goat cheese
1 large egg, beaten + 1 Tablespoon whole milk or heavy cream (for brushing)
Coarse sea salt, for dusting 

Directions
1. Prepare quick puff pastry as per the directions. Roll out on a clean, floured workspace and cut into squares (I used a 2-inch square cookie cutter).

2. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spread about 1 Tablespoon goat cheese on half of all of the squares. Top goat cheese with a dollop (about 1 Tablespoon) of hot pepper jelly). Place empty dough squares on top of those with goat cheese and jelly. Seal edges with a fork and poke a hole in the middle for steam to escape.

3. Place hand pies on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Brush tops of hand pies with egg and cream wash. Dust with coarse sea salt and bake at 350 degrees F for about 20-25 minutes, until pastry is puffed, flaky, and golden brown.

4. Remove from oven and let cool. Serve just warm.



Hot Pepper Jelly
Adapted from Preserving Made Easy via The Tiffin Box

Makes 2.5 cups

Ingredients
1 red pepper, deseeded and finely diced
1 yellow pepper, deseeded and finely diced
1 orange pepper, deseeded and finely diced
4 hot red peppers, deseeded (I used Thai chillies)
(Peppers should measure a total of 2 cups)
1 cup apple cider vinegar
3 cups granulated sugar
1 pouch liquid pectin

Directions
1. In a large pot, combine diced peppers, cider vinegar, and sugar. Place over medium heat and bring to a boil, boiling hard for 1 minute. Stir in half-pouch liquid pectin, then boil again for 1 minute.

2. Take off heat and let cool completely, stirring occasionally. Cover and leave for 4-6 hours or up to overnight. This will keep the peppers from floating to the top when canning.

3. When ready to can, sterilize your jars (refer to proper canning guidelines, as in the Ball Blue Book) and lids. Bring the pepper jelly back to a boil and add the remaining half pouch of pectin. Boil for one minute, remove from heat, and stir constantly for 1-2 minutes.  Ladle into sterilized hot jars, leaving 1 cm, of head space. 

4. Place lids on top and screw bands "fingertip tight". Process jars in water bath canner (or follow instructions for whatever method you are using). Remove and let cool completely until jar tops pop. Jelly keeps at room temperature for up to one year. Refrigerate after opening.



Related recipes:
Cranberry Goat Cheese Tart with Almond Shortbread Crust
Cranberry Hand Pies
Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread, Goat Cheese & Caramelized Onion Galette
Spinach and Feta Fried Pies
Tomato Jam

White Nectarine Frangipane Tart with Homemade Puff Pastry

There's a part in one of my favorite films, Agnès Varda's The Gleaners and I, when she becomes obsessed with the idea of filming her own hands. In a documentary about people who harvest leftover crops from fields, dumpsters, and markets, this could seem tangential, but through Varda's eyes it becomes strikingly relevant, personal. She says, "I can with one hand, film the other one. I like the idea that one hand would always be gleaning, the other one always filming. I like very much the idea of the hands. The hands are the tools of the gleaners, you know. Hands are the tool of the painter, the artist."

I've had a complicated relationship with my own hands. Growing up, I was proud that I could reach an octave + 2 on the piano, but as I got older, I felt these double-jointed extremeties to be a little too large and unfeminine, oddly shaped and overly wrinkled, not to mention constantly cold. A few inconsiderate comments about them from a guy friend in college left me longing for the hands of a Victorian lady--small and smooth and delicate, or at least her gloves so I could hide my own big paws.

A palm reading by my friend Margaret helped me to come around. She pointed out my spatulate fingers, indicating wit and intellect, saw the intersecting lines and size as shape of my hands as those of a maker, an artist, a baker. She helped me to realize that they suit me and are important tools and carriers of memory.



Like Agnès Varda, I too am drawn to "the idea of the hands." They are storied entities, holding so much in their lines and wrinkles. You can tell so much about a person from their hands-- for a quite literal example, I think of the scene in Little Women when Professor Baier runs into Jo on the street. He says, "You know, when I first saw you I thought, 'ah, she is a writer."" When Jo asks how he knew, he points to the ink marks on her hands. My hands are the body part which bears most of my scars-- tissued memories of cleaning mortar off bricks at our old house, the unexplainable white line that helped me to remember my right from my left, the countless burns from baking and callused guitar string fingers. They're also the part of ourselves that we probably see the most, not through the lens of a photograph or mirror, but as they exist in the real world. Our hands are a constant presence in our field of vision. I could pick mine out of a line-up anywhere, but I could I do the same with my ankle? The back of my neck? I'm not so sure. They are such familiar agents and symbols of the self.

One of the most compelling things about baking for me is its tactile nature, of being able to bring something into existence, to shape it in my very hands in all of its stages. I'd been putting off making my own puff pastry for awhile. It seemed too daunting, too time consuming, too much butter (joke)! But some experiments in a wood-fired oven got me thinking about it again, and yesterday I found myself with the air conditioning back on in our house, a full day with nothing planned, and enough butter for the task, so the time was nigh.



For my first experimentation, I used Ashley Rodriguez of Not Without Salt's recipe for a puff pastry shortcut on Food52. It's not the full-on deal in which you work a butter packet into a flour packet, but it takes less time and effort has given me the confidence to go all the way next time. It also makes a BEAUTIFUL, puffed and buttery dough with thin flaky layer upon flaky layer. Maybe not quite as many as you'd get with the more time consuming method, but enough to make me give a little yelp of joy when I opened up the oven... and every time I've taken a bite.

I adapted a Martha Stewart recipe for an Apricot-Pistachio Tart into a White Nectarine-Frangipane (almond) Tart. This was largely because there were no apricots to be found at the farmers' market, and I happened to have a surplus of almonds at home, but you could really make this with any stone fruit (or apple or pear!) and any variety of nut. The beauty of this recipe's simplicity is that it opens up so much opportunity for variation. Put your hands and your imagination to work.



White Nectarine Frangipane Tart with Homemade Puff Pastry
Adapted from Martha Stewart's New Pies and Tarts

Makes one 17x9-inch tart

Ingredients
1 recipe homemade puff pastry (you can also use store-bought)
1 cup + 1 Tablespoon unsalted, raw almonds, toasted
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cold and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 large whole egg, plus 1 large egg yolk for egg wash
1 teaspoon vanilla
Pinch of salt
All-purpose flour, for dusting
4-5 white nectarines (1 1/4 pounds), pitted and cut into 1/4-inch thick slices
1 Tablespoon heavy cream, for egg wash
2 Tablespoons turbinado sugar, for dusting
1/4 cup nectarine, apricot, peach, or plum jam
1 1/2 Tablespoon water

Directions
1. Prepare homemade puff pastry as per the directions. On a lightly floured surface, roll out and trim dough to a 17 X 9-inch rectangle. Transfer to a parchment-lined rimmed baking sheet and chill in the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. In the bowl of a food processor, pulse to combine 1 cup almonds and the granulated sugar. Add butter and process until a paste forms. Add the whole egg, vanilla, and salt and pulse to combine.

3. Remove pastry from the fridge and using an offset spatula, spread almond paste evenly over the dough, leaving a 3/4-inch border. Arrange nectarines in 3-4 vertical rows over the almond mixture, alternating direction in which the slices face. Fold in the edges of the dough and use your index finger to create a scalloped border. Refrigerate or freeze the tart until firm, about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

4. Whisk together egg yolk and cream and brush over the edges of the chilled tart shell. Chop remaining tablespoon of almonds and sprinkle them and turbinado sugar over the tart. Bake until the crust is deep golden brown and puffed, and fruit is juicy, about 35 minutes. Let cool.

5. Meanwhile, place jam and water in a small saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring, about 2 minutes. Pass through a fine sieve into a bowl and brush the glaze over the nectarines. Serve tart warm or at room temperature.

Related recipes:
Apple Galette at MAV's
Peach Pie with a Sweet Basil Glaze
Whole Wheat Plum Crumble Tart