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

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

Cheap Tart Bakery's Dinah Grossman on Rhubarb

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

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

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

            

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

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

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

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

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

Rhubarb Tart
From Dinah Grossman of Cheap Tart Bakery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stacks Upon Stacks of Pie Plates

An Interview with Emily and Melissa Elsen of Four & Twenty Blackbirds

I've been longing to make it to Four & Twenty Blackbirds, the Brooklyn sister-owned pie shop credited with salty honey, salted caramel apple and chamomile buttermilk pies that have cast their spell on me from afar. In addition to these creative- classic pies, their slightly sinister nursery rhyme-based name and affinity for bikes, I thought they might be gals after my own heart--indeed, one of the sisters and I share both a first and middle name (Emily Elizabeth à la Dickinson, or the heroine of Clifford the Big Red Dog). Since I wasn't sure when I'd make it to New York next, I asked the pair for an interview and to share a pie recipe. Here's their words, along with instructions for a quintessential spring-summer pie--rhubarb, Four and Twenty Blackbirds style! (Emily (L) & Melissa (R) Elsen of Four and Twenty Blackbirds, pictured below)

The inspiration for your shop name comes from the nursery rhyme (I assume). Could you tell me why you chose it?

Sing a Song of Sixpence is the inspiration for the name. A close friend of our family had suggested we look to nursery rhymes for naming inspiration - it's all over the place in many of those rhymes. We wanted a name that had some familiarity and association with pie, but that wasn't too obvious or cute. We liked the light and dark aspects of the rhyme and macabre humor.

What is your most treasured/used pie baking tool?

Emily: I like a solid and well balanced tapered rolling pin for rolling dough.

What's your favorite kind of pie?

Emily: Any pie that is made with fresh, in-season fruit - particularly stone fruits and figs, and rhubarb of course.

What's your baking story--how long have you been doing it, who taught you and how did you learn? Any funny stories from those first (or later?) baking experiments?

We grew up in Hecla, South Dakota where our mother owned and operated a local family restaurant with her two sisters, our grandmother Liz baked all the pies and we worked there as soon as we were big enough to wash a dish! We both went in different directions for college - I came to Brooklyn to study art and Melissa studied finance and then traveled New Zealand and Australia for a couple years. We reunited in Brooklyn and started baking together and realized that we had the potential to make it a real business. At the time, it was hard to find good fresh pie in NYC on a regular basis and we wanted to make a place that was devoted to it because we loved making it and eating it of course!

Why pie?

We love the simplicity of it, and yet it has so many creative possibilities - we felt we could do something new with it. Also, I'm particularly attracted to it as a sculptural baked good - pie crust is fun to work with once you get to know its ins and outs.

It seems like you guys are really into bikes too. Is there any kind of bike-pie connection? Pie racks on your bikes for easy transportation?

We are both really into bikes for transportation and distance riding for exercise - we live close to Prospect Park which is great for cycling laps, and doing a distance ride up the West Side highway and into Jersey is one of my favorite ways to spend an afternoon. We have a lock and pump at the store that we let customers use and we sell tubes and patch kits as well. We are not bike racers, but we love the bike community in Brooklyn which is growing every day. No pie bike racks yet, but we'd love to do bike delivery one day!

What's it like working with your sister?

Emily: For me, my sister is the perfect business partner. We are very different personalities, so we balance each other - and we are close enough in age that we like doing the same things and our interests align well. It's not without difficulties, arguments and such, but she is the one person I truly trust to have my back, though I know I drive her crazy sometimes.  

What's your favorite music to listen to while you're in the kitchen?

I'll listen to (almost) anything and I'm always changing it up... lately I've been getting into older reggae, and some newer stuff, as well as a lot of hip hop. I like good rhythm when I work.  

Any words of advice for new or aspiring pie bakers?

Be prepared to work hard in this industry and be in love with what you are doing, keep a positive attitude and always be curious to learn more.

Four & Twenty Blackbirds Rhubarb Pie

By Melissa & Emily Elsen

For all-butter pie crust
2½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon sugar
2 sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into half-inch pieces
1 cup cold water and 1/8th cup cider vinegar on ice

What to do:  
1. Stir flour, salt and sugar together in a large bowl.

2. Add butter and coat it with flour using a spatula or bench scraper. Working quickly, cut butter into the flour with a pastry blender until mostly pea-sized pieces of butter remain (a few larger pieces are okay; do not over-blend).

3. Sprinkle four tablespoons ice water over the flour mixture and cut the water in with a spatula or bench scraper. When water is fully incorporated, add more water, one to two tablespoons at a time, and mix until the dough comes together in a ball, with some dry bits remaining.

4. Squeeze and pinch with your fingertips to bring all the dough together, sprinkling dry bits with drops of ice water if necessary to combine.

5. Shape into a flat disc, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least an hour, preferably overnight. Wrapped tightly, dough can be refrigerated for 3 days or frozen for one month.

6. Roll out to fit the bottom of the rectangle pan, just to the edges, not over. Use the scrap to create about 20-25 lattice pieces to fit the pan width and length. 

For rhubarb filling

Combine in a large bowl:

4 to 6 cups rhubarb that has been chopped, frozen overnight and then thawed and drained of excess liquid (freezing helps to release excess water in the Rhubarb)

3 tablespoons lemon juice

6 dashes of old fashioned or Angosturra bitters

3 whole eggs, beaten

In a separate bowl, sift together:

3 cups sugar

1 teaspoon ground allspice

1/2 teaspoon ground ginger

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon salt

5 Tablespoons arrowroot (or cornstarch if you can't find arrowroot)

Combine the wet ingredients with the dry. Scoop into pie shell, with most of the liquid - but do not make the pie too watery, the Rhubarb should be just slightly covered in the liquid. Arrange lattice on top, crimp edges in. 

For egg wash + baking

Beat together:

1 whole egg

2 Tablespoons heavy cream or milk

1. Brush the top of the lattice with the egg wash and sprinkle with raw (or demerara) sugar. Bake on a half sheet pan at 350F for 30 minutes, rotate and bake for another  30 - 40 minutes - depends on oven strength. Look for a golden brown color in the crust, and for the filind to be set and bubbling over, not watery looking. Be sure to let the pie cool for at least an hour before slicing and serving. 

Thanks so much to Emily & Melissa Elsen for their time and generosity with words, photos, and recipes. After this teaser I'd better get to Brooklyn to try a slice o' Four and Twenty Blackbirds pie soon.

Bebop-a-Rebop Rhubarb Pie

Alright, Garrison, sure, we hear him sing this every Sunday morning. But Meryl takes this to a whole. 'nother. sassy. level. More on the powers of rhubarb pie soon, though it will unfortunately not involve Meryl Streep.