Away to the Woods, or An Analog Spring

At NELP, we talk a lot about "interstitial writing." In a student's journal, it's the writing that happens off script, between things--after a class or a backpacking trip, before a solo, when an Emerson essay or Dickinson poem has had some time to filter through her mind and experience and come out on the page in her own voice. It could be personal reflection, or close observation, but it is often the time when the best writing emerges--where the tone is honest, the thought is piercing, and the student is writing like only she can.

I've been feeling like I'm in an interstitial period of my life--on both micro and macro levels. I just turned 30, am 2 years out of grad school, wondering if I should go back, and as a freelancer, in a constant state of flux with projects constantly beginning and ending. That process is something I enjoy--to have an intense project for a spell, then let it go and exist in the world. But I feel that I'm at a place where I'm gathering up and filtering ideas through, observing closely, and thinking hard.



Another aspect of this, on a more micro level, is that I am getting ready to go teach in the New Hampshire woods for 2 months, at the New England Literature Program (NELP-- see past posts from/about it here). It's something I've done before--this will be my 4th year as a teacher and I was a student there as an undergrad. While I'm there, I will essentially be off-the-grid, as we relinquish cell phones, computers, recorded music in this 2-month experiment of reading and writing, living communally, making food and playing music and climbing mountains and "living deliberately," as we say, in the Thoreauvian way.

But that means that this space will also be in an interstitial place. While I'll be writing for hours every day and baking regularly, I won't be on a computer or the internet. So in the experiment of that which is NELP, I'm also going to try an experiment here.

For the next 2 months, I'm going to be writing my posts long-hand, or typing them on a typewriter, taking film photos (and maybe even developing them--we have a darkroom here), then sending them to a penpal back home, who will post them here, as scanned pieces of paper and photo prints. My friend Morgan of Panda Head has graciously agreed to be that penpal, my analog-to-digital maven.

I'll also be soliciting some posts from friends and collaborating with pie almanac illustrator Elizabeth Graeber while I'm in the woods and galavanting around New England. I'll be sending her little snippets of my adventures, which we'll post here, if they're pie related, on her blog Hand Drawn Bazaar, and saving some for another project.

Thanks for indulging me in this little experiment. I'm not sure how it's going to work exactly, but I'm excited to see what it becomes. For now, jumping off...

Eating Our Words: A Progressive Dinner

As I previously mentioned, this spring at NELP I taught a Food Writing Society to a wonderful group of five talented women. The final project of the society was to create a culminating event that would allow us to share our work with the rest of the community. We wanted to convey the principles of our class-- that food is a language and that exploring the foods of our required authors (Thoreau and his beans and bread, Sarah Orne Jewett and the pies in The Country of the Pointed Firs, Wallace Steven's "Study of Two Pears," etc.), informs our reading of the text as well as our "reading" of the food. We also wanted to communicate our belief that food is an important foundation for intellectual thought and writing, and can be a symbol for relationships, identity, history, and culture. At NELP and in many of the communities that we inhabit, food is the nexus of social life.

With these goals in mind, we collaboratively developed a progressive dinner, "Eating Our Words," that would allow us to recreate and share the foods of our authors in different settings around Camp Kabeyun. We started with chowders, beans, and bread in the dining hall, and via a map, lead everyone on a self-guided eating tour. 

There were stops at the herb garden for a sampling Alymer's elixirs, from the Nathaniel Hawthorne story "The Birthmark," a recreation of Phoebe's kitchen from Carolyn Chute's novel Merry Men, a half-bushel of cornmeal-- weekly rations for four slaves, which Frederick Douglass writes of in his Narrative, and pickles on the dock as per the Lloyd S. Barrington poem, also from Merry Men. It all culminated in the Bowden/NELP family reunion, inspired by Country of the Pointed Firs, with pies and Emily Dickinson's coconut cake, and a reading of the student's work.

Though we had to change some plans due to windy and rainy weather--we had wanted to have our "doughnut island" on the floating dock (mostly to see who would swim for a doughnut) and our Family Reunion in the meadow-- the dinner was wonderful and left me inspired and full. I think we met our goals of prompting others to consider the importance of food in literature and our own lives.


I was so impressed and thankful by the work of the society members-- Abby, Ariella, Brooke, Emily, and Madalyn. They put in a lot of time and hard work in the kitchen and the typewriter to pull it all off. In the words of Sarah Orne Jewett, "The feast was a noble feast," with "an elegant ingenuity displayed in the form of pies, which delighted my heart."

 

A Newer Wilderness: Another Analog Spring

It's time once again for my annual reverse migration to the woods of New Hampshire, where I teach at the University of Michigan's New England Literature Program, affectionately known as NELP (see past posts from/about it here). There 40 students and 13 staff members (along with a couple of dogs) take to the northern wilds to read Thoreau and Emerson, Dickinson and Frost, and modern New England authors, write in journals, and climb mountains in an immersive experimental study of literature and creative writing and New England culture, history, and regionalism. 

As part of this process, we also relinquish our cell phones, computers, recorded music, internet and as a new experiment this year, digital cameras, so as to be more present in our work and the creative community at camp. 

Last year's analog blogging (anablogging?) during this time went so well, thanks largely to my friends Morgan and Elizabeth, that I'm going to do it again, this year hopefully with more frequency. For the next two months, I'll compose Nothing in the House posts long-hand or typed on a typewriter, taking film photos (hopefully developed at camp, as we have a darkroom!), and send them to Morgan who will scan and post them on the blog. I may also solicit contributions from a few guest bloggers. 

This year marks my 5th year as a teacher at NELP, and 6th including my time as a student, which means that when June 22nd rolls around, I'll have spent a year of my life in these woods. Along with analog postings involving baking of bread and pies in our industrial bakery, I'm excited about leading a Transcendental Diner Society with my friend Becky (more on that soon), working on my tree and spring ephemeral identification, writing some songs with my friend Chris, re-learning how to develop film, and forever working on finding that important pedagogical balance between nurture and rigor--they really go hand in hand, yes? 

Thanks for indulging this analog-to-digital experiment once again. Wishing you a lovely, inspiring spring. For now, a favorite Emily Dickinson poem, and until soon in pen and ink.

1233

Had I not seen the Sun

I could have borne the shade

But Light a newer Wilderness

My Wilderness has made --

A Rustic Cottage and a Rustic Tart (with Wine-Soaked Figs)

Zenobia!

A few weekends ago, I ventured north, up to the Catskills, where I met my friends Diane, Becky, and Ryan in this rustic cottage, aka Zenobia, for an artists' retreat/non-NELP NELP (we have all taught there together, but not this year). The other three were staying for the week, but having just started a new job in D.C., I could only be there for le weekend.

Me, spreading pyllo for spanakopita, Becky at the stove

On Saturday night, Becky and I took on dinner-- a pie night, of sorts-- with spanakopita and roasted asparagus and butternut squash with pecans on the savory side of things, and a rustic tart-- to go with our rustic cabin-- for dessert.

Alice Bradley was the principal of Fannie Farmer's School of Cookery

Initially I just set out to make a strawberry-rhubarb rustic tart, but as Becky and I were chopping vegetables, Ryan read to us from this book-- The Alice Bradley Menu Cookbook, from 1937. Alice organized her cookbook into menus for 3-meals a day for an entire year!

As Ryan read over a menu that included a fig tart, we got to thinking...we had some dried figs in the house, and thought they'd make a nice addition to the strawberry and rhubarb. Since we were in the woods, sans internet, I had to approximate a recipe, but here is basically what I did...

Strawberry-Rhubarb and Wine-Soaked Fig Rustic Tart

Ingredients
Nothing-in-the-House pie crust, halved
2 c. strawberries, hulled and sliced
2 c. rhubarb, chopped
2 c. (or approximately 6-8) dried figs
1/2-1c. red wine
1 c. sugar
3 Tblsp. cornstarch (can use arrowroot)
1 egg, beaten
1-2 Tblsp. Turbinado sugar (for dusting)

Directions
1. Soak figs in 1/2- 1c. red wine for at least one hour. Meanwhile, prepare half of the Nothing-in-the-House pie crust as per the directions. Chill in the fridge for at least 1 hour.

2. Preheat oven to 425 degrees F. When figs are adequately soaked, chop them, and combine with chopped rhubarb and sliced strawberries in a medium bowl. Stir in 1 c. sugar and 3 Tblsp. cornstarch. 

3. Roll out pie crust into a 10-11-inch circle on a cookie sheet. Scoop filling onto the center of the pie crust. Spread, leaving a 2-in. border. Fold edges of pie crust over filling. Brush and seal with an egg wash. Sprinkle Turbinado sugar over the entire tart. 

4. Place in oven for 10 minutes at 425, then lower heat to 375 and let bake for approximately 30 minutes longer, or until crust is golden brown and filling starts to bubble. Serve with vanilla ice cream or homemade whipped cream.

Play Bananagrams while you wait for the tart to bake!

The finished tart was incredibly delicious, particularly with the addition of the seeded figs. I'd call it a new favorite. More importantly, it was so nice to be back in the kitchen, reading books, and making jokes again with these three smarty pants.

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

The America Eats Project's Vermont Spiced Pie

writing by Emily sent from New England, illustrations by Elizabeth Graeber

Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread Galette

A few years ago while both teaching at the New England Literature Program (NELP) and fresh off of reading Sandor Katz' Wild Fermentation, my friend Ryan and I started a club. A pickle club, dubbed "Fermental Health." Late at night we'd enlist students to abandon their Walden and join us in the industrial kitchen to help finely chop and tamp huge buckets full of cabbage for sauerkraut and kimchi. We employed the meat slicer to make petal-thin pickled beets and cukes, and tried our hand at a carrot-ginger slaw. 

Ryan and I still fantasize about opening a fermented foods grocery store someday under the Fermental Health moniker (don't steal it or we'll send a plague of live and active cultures upon you), and I remain a brine devotee through occasional home pickling, happily eating leftover deli pickles my luncheon companions leave behind, and in my stance that a good night is always topped off with a pickleback (or two).



All of that's to say-- I love pickles! And I've long wondered how to incorporate them into a pie. Enter Gordy's Pickle Jar-- a D.C.-based, woman-owned, handcrafted pickle company that's been garnering acclaim and winning all sorts of awards for their briney delights. When my friend Morgan, who runs their social media, asked if I wanted to collaborate on some recipes, I knew this was my chance.

Armed with this Sesame Street animation as our theme song and a super secret Pinterest board (SSPB), we developed a pair of recipes for Thanksgiving side dishes featuring Gordy's products. This Cherry Pepper Spread, Goat Cheese & Caramelized Onion Galette highlights the bold spice of Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread, tempered by creamy goat cheese and sweet caramelized onions. It would be fantastic as an appetizer with a relish or charcuterie plate, or as a side dish. It also makes for a fantastic brunch or lunch, paired with a leafy green salad.



Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread, Goat Cheese & Caramelized Onion Galette
Serves 6-8

Ingredients
Nothing in the House pie crust, halved
1 medium onion, sliced
4 oz. goat cheese
1 tsp. fresh rosemary
1/2 c. Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread
2 Tblsp. olive oil
Salt & pepper to taste

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions (save other half in the fridge or freezer for a future pie). Chill dough at least 1 hour before rolling out into a 10-11-inch circle on a sheet of parchment paper. Return rolled crust to the fridge while you prepare the filling.

2. Prepare the oven to 375 degrees F. Add 1 Tblsp. olive oil and sliced onions to a cast iron skillet and place over medium heat. Stir to coat onions with olive oil. Cook the onions, stirring occasionally, until translucent. Sprinkle onions with salt and pepper and reduce heat to medium-low. Cook 25-30 more minuted until onions are caramelized.

3. Remove crust from the fridge and brush with 1/2 Tblsp. olive oil. Scatter the caramelized onions over the crust, leaving a 1-inch edge. Crumble the goat cheese and spoon Gordy's Cherry Pepper Spread evenly over the onions. Sprinkle with rosemary. Fold the edge of the crust over the top of the filling and seal. Drizzle remaining 1/2 Tblsp. of olive oil over the entire tart and sprinkle a dash of salt and pepper over top.

4. Bake tart for 35-40 minutes until crust is golden brown. Enjoy as an appetizer or side dish to your Thanksgiving feast.

For our accompanying recipe for Brine Roasted Potatoes and Spears, and additional pics, words, and more recipes featuring Gordy's products (think pickle juice cocktails!) head over to the Gordy's blog. Big thanks to Morgan Hungerford West of Panda Head for these beautiful photos and infectious creativity, positivity, and jokes.

Related recipes:
Ham, Gruyere & Caramelized Onion Galette with Fried Egg
Swiss Chard & Goat Cheese Galette
Tri-color Potato, Caramelized Onion, Goat Cheese & Rosemary Galette

Photos by Morgan Hungerford West

Allo?! Pie: More from the NELP Kitchen

allo?! pie

Mary stands guard

NELP's Giant Mixer & Other Industrial Utensils

Priscilla's Pies

Jamly?

There we were, a small group of New England Literary scholars, packed tight in a Dodge Caravan, with all the essential tools of transcendentalist tourist-explorateurs: Sarah Orne Jewett novels (at least one copy per person of Country of the Pointed Firs) favorite poetry collections, plenty of pens, journals full of pages (some full of words, some waiting to be filled), headlamps (for optimum reading time, and investigating) and 1 novelty item each: a cowboy hat for Iris, pulp fiction for Dana, a Maine mug for Torrey, striped lobster apron for Jessie, and 3 squirt guns...and a sand castle bucket...and a shovel...and...um... a badminton set... for me. These items had been recently acquired on a sidetrip to Maine's everything store, Renny's, in an attempt to experience some of the local flavor.

We had just hit a low point in the drive, after everyone had shared their respective tales of tragic romances, star-crossed lovers, or the (at least) equally tragic, lack-thereof. We turned to Mrs. Todd and Cap'n Jameson for solace, but were rather in need of something to lift our spirits.

When, there, on the side of Rte. 1, just out of Bucksport, we spotted an omen which indicated an easing of our woes... 'PIES,' the sign read, "Homemade, Strawberry, Raspberry, Blueberry, Blackberry, Pecan..." and the clincher... "OPEN". I made a sharp right turn into the driveway, simultaneously asking if the rest of our voyageurs were game..."YES! was of course the resounding answer."

The fortuitous omen

We emerged from the van, pens, journals, polaroid camera in hand, but it was unclear where said homemade pies could be acquired. There was a house with an 'hours' sign, though, so I marched up to the door and knocked.

No answer.

I opened the door and tried a timid "hello?"...no response...so in I walked, posse behind me, through a sunroom until we arrived at the threshold of what appeared to be a kitchen. There we spotted 3 pies on a rack....and a tall and solid older man (we were later to learn his name was Stanley) standing before them, eating fried clams.



Before any business dealings, he shoved his lunch plate in my face, making me try a fried clam, "Evah had clahms befah?" he asked. I then noticed that he was wearing an oversized sweatshirt with a large deer depicted in American flag print, reading "America's Favorite Pastime." I said I wasn't sure if I'd ever tried them or not, which certainly struck him as out of the ordinary.

"Ah you from away?" We said yes, that we were from Michigan. "Michigan! whatcha doin' aht here fah?" he responded.

"Well, we're reading New England Literature..."

"Lit-ra-cha? What is it, pohnography ah somethin'? Gotta come aht here and read it in the woods?" We told him that no, though Thoreau could perhaps benefit from some saucier passages, it was indeed not X-rated. We claimed that we wanted to immerse ourselves in the places we were reading about. "Whatcha gotta do that fah? I thought lit-ra-cha was supposed to transport ya to where ya s'pposed ta be." Uh...oh...yeah...with that, he had us cornered with a hit to NELP's jugular.

We suddenly realized our urgency to set off on our way toward the cliffs of Acadia, and got down to business. We opted for a raspberry pie, which we learned, was made by his wife Priscilla, who had been baking for at least 55 years. She was unfortunately not at home. We scampered out the door, thanking him for the pie and fried clam, grabbed a business card on the way out, took some polaroids by the pie sign and were off.

Team of pie-loving lit-ra-cha scholars: Jessie, Dana, Iris & Torrey

Pie-eating in a mini-van full of literary equipment and sans the proper-pie eating tools proved difficult, so we dug in, literally, by the handful. Singing and eating and sullying our faces all the way to Mt. Desert (Dessert?) Island.

Moving Pie Enjoyment Zone

Delicious pies, Priscilla.