Mid Pie Music Festival

Maybe you noticed, but it's been a minute since I posted about pie. After sailing through number fourteen, I realized that maybe all the butter and sugar was getting to me, and took a break. A ten day break. And by break, I mean cleanse. By cleanse, I mean I did the Advocare 10-Day Challenge with my gym (the best ladies gym in the Cincinnati area. Go check out Bella Forza Fitness! No, I'm not getting paid to tell you about this!)

These meal was super healthy, easy, and cleanse-friendly!

The Advocare system is a series of various weight loss supplements and workout enhancers. I figured I could use the challenge, and so for 10 days I had no sugar, no processed food, no alcohol (!), no mushrooms, fried food, or dairy. I ate five small meals consisting of complex carbs, fruit, veggies, lean meats, and nuts and beans. I kicked up the workouts - using the Spark supplement helped a lot, especially because I don't ingest much caffeine. Deprivation kinda sucked... but the feeling of accomplishment after was worth it.

 For me, it wasn't about losing weight, but about trying something new. I'm looking forward to continuing to tone up and push myself during workouts - ESPECIALLY because there are four pies left to my personal baking challenge!


Coincidentally, the last day of the cleanse was the first night of MidPoint Music Festival. It was fantastic timing. How did I celebrate? Pie is definitely the right answer. Surprisingly, the Pear Ginger Crumble was relatively healthy - very little sugar and (relatively) small amounts of butter - AND it's gluten free!

Larry and His Flask was the best performance I saw all weekend.

The crumble topping is made with quinoa. It was just sweet enough, and the candied ginger gave the pears a balanced kick. My sister came down for Friday and Saturday of the festival, and we enjoyed pie in between sets, alongside some fantastic Bakersfield tacos and pre-concert drinks.

The festival this year didn't have as many headliners, but we managed to find some really fun bands to jam out to. Great weather, fun friends, and the freedom to roam made for an incredible weekend experience.


Pear Ginger Crumble - adapted from this recipe

Takes about an hour to make
Serves eight

it tasted better than it looked. Promise.

Here's what you need:

• 2 1/2 to 3 pounds pears (about 5 large ones), peeled, cored and sliced
• 2 tablespoons raw brown (demera) sugar, preferably organic
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• 2 tablespoons chopped candied ginger (or 1/3 cup, if you like a kick)
• 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract, or the seeds from 1/2 vanilla bean
• 2 teaspoons cornstarch or arrowroot

1 batch quinoa-oat crumble topping

Here's what you do with it:

• Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Butter a 2- or 2 1/2-quart baking dish. In a large bowl, mix together the pears, sugar, lemon juice, candied ginger, vanilla extract or seeds, and cornstarch or arrowroot.
• Scrape the fruit and all of the juice in the bowl into the baking dish. Set the baking dish on a baking sheet for easier handling, and place in the oven. Bake 20 to 25 minutes until the fruit is bubbling and the liquid syrupy. Remove from the oven, and allow to cool if desired.
• About 30 minutes before serving, spread the crumble topping over the pear mixture in an even layer. Bake 20 minutes, or until the fruit is bubbling and the topping is nicely browned. Remove from the heat, and allow to cool for at least 10 minutes before serving.

Here's how to make the topping:

Put this in the food processor and pulse until ground - 

• 1 1/4 cups gluten-free rolled oats
• 1/2 cup quinoa flour (grind quinoa in a spice mill to make the flour)
• 1/3 cup unrefined turbinado sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• 1/8 to 1/4 teaspoon salt (to taste)

Add 6 TBS cold butter, cut into pieces and pulse until crumbly. Spread it on a baking sheet and put in the oven at 350 for 15 minutes. Store in the freezer-  is great warmed up over raspberries.

Lazy Sonker is the worst name for a pie. Ever.

Everything about this pie recipe is a lie. First off, New York Times, what the freakin' heck is a sonker? It sounds vaguely onomatopoeic, like a noise a sad, stuffed up goose might make. Definitely not a pie (as we discussed last week.) A Way With Words defines it as such:

Is this a sonker? Only because I said so.

 sonker n. a type of berry pie or cobbler. Editorial Note: This appears to be specific to the area near Mount Airy, N.C. Etymological Note: Perh. fr. Sc./Brit. Eng. songle, singill, single, ‘a handful of grain or gleanings,’ or from Sc. sonker ‘to simmer, to boil slightly.’

A quick search reveals that the NYT is pretty into sonkers, but no one else is, really. Because I had no basis for comparison, I can't be sure I did this recipe correctly. I will tell you one thing - ain't nothing lazy about this sonker. I ended up using 4 different pans to whip this up, one of which got scorched and is STILL soaking in my kitchen sink days later. There's a lot of butter in the dish, and the final result looks nothing like Serious Eat's version of a Peach Sonker. It also took MUCH longer than the prescribed 35 minutes- I finally took it out of the oven after an hour and it was still a little wobbly in the middle.

the tiniest pie eater weighs in.

It was very well received at Bluegrass in the Park, and we made some new friends - specifically a super cute little girl who was determined to scale the picnic basket, Rob's knees, and anything else more than a foot off the ground, anchored or not. We shared the sonker with her folks and had a nice time listening to Hickory Robot. If you haven't had a chance to check out Washington Park's Bluegrass Thursdays, do it before the season is over!

Lazy Sonker- adapted from this recipe
Takes an hour - this is a lie. It takes the better part of an hour and a half.
Serves 8-10

Here's what you need:

• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) butter
• 4 heaping cups (about 1 1/2 pounds) hulled strawberries (halved if large) or pitted cherries
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons self-rising flour
• 1 cup milk
• 1/2 teaspoon salt

Here's what you do with it:

• Heat oven to 350 degrees. Put 5 tablespoons butter in a 9-by-12-inch baking pan, and place in oven; remove when melted.
• In a large saucepan, combine fruit, vanilla, 1/4 cup sugar, 1 tablespoon butter and 1 cup water. Place over low heat and simmer until fruit is slightly tender, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat. Drain fruit, reserving liquid and fruit separately; there should be about 1 cup liquid.
• In a small saucepan, combine remaining 2 tablespoons butter, 2 tablespoons of the sugar and 2 tablespoons of the flour. Place over medium heat and stir until butter melts and mixture is well blended and thickened, about 2 minutes. Add 1/2 cup of the liquid from the fruit, and whisk until smooth. Add another 1/2 cup liquid and whisk again. Add mixture to fruit, combining well. - do this quick or risk scorching the bottom of your pan. 
• In a medium bowl, combine milk, remaining 1 cup flour, the salt and remaining 3/4 cup sugar. Whisk to consistency of pancake batter. So I don't know about ya'all, but my pancake batter is generally a little runny. Maybe this was a problem? It drizzled funny and sunk under the fruit. Not sure if this was the intended result, but it was a little weird. 
• Pour fruit mixture into the pan with the melted butter. Carefully pour batter over fruit, taking care to spread it so it touches the edge of the pan. There will be some bare spots. Bake until crust is golden, about 35 minutes.             

Takes One Hour, Largely Unattended.

Rhubarb Crisp

Not only is that the story of my life, it's also the best byline in a recipe EVER- and happened to be in this week's dessert.

I have a hard time with recipes. My mind moves quickly, and sometimes (most of the time), it's more interesting to use the strict set of guidelines and measurements - well intentioned though they may be-  as a structural skeleton, or sorts. Guidelines, even.

For this project I've been trying hard to follow the recipes as written- within reason (didn't buy a loose-bottomed tart pan.) There's a fine line between a good modification and an overzealous idea gone horribly wrong. This week, for instance, I pan fried some zucchini and threw together a breading for it without tasting the mixture. One of the spice mixes I put in was mostly salt. The finished zucchini was so salty it was nearly bitter; I could feel my veins crusting over in the first bite. It was an utterly over-seasoned failure.

My most recent pie, I'm proud to say, was not quite so terrible. I made a few additions to the original recipe - and they turned out quite nicely. After buying oranges and lemons specifically for the pie, I was disappointed reading it only called for a few tablespoons of zest and juice... so I increased them. I also had some fresh rosemary left over from the Lumenocity picnic, so I sprinkled it on top of the rhubarb mixture, and like the plum crostata, the herbs brought out new flavors in the fruit. Recipe additions will be italicized below.

Just as recipe following and improv is a delicate balance, so also is the definition of "pie," apparently. I have a beef with the New York Times. When deciding to do this 20 Pies in 20 Weeks thing, I was under the impression that the desserts I'd be making would all have at least one crust, if not two, and be an exercise in creating pastry. Imagine my surprise when nearly half of the recipes listed in "20 Pies You Should Make This Summer" were not pastry crusted pies at all but instead crumbles, crisps, sonkers, and grunts? (Yeah, those last two are actually words for dessert.) When I tell people about the project and start listing the ones already made, they immediately object and rightly point out that a crostada is not a pie. You're really ruining my crediblity, NYT. Come on!

Anyway.

Last week I brought this Rhubarb Crisp along to a cookout with some new friends out in the burbs. The crickets chirped, the burgers sizzled right off the grill, and everyone was excited to try rhubarb. My mom's neighbor has an incredible garden, and each year harvests more rhubarb than she can handle. Mom blanched and froze three quarts for me, which really sped up the process. The crisp is an easy, delicious recipe. The topping comes together really quickly (and tastes a lot like oatmeal cookie dough), and my additions help distinguish this from your run-of-the-mill fruit crisp.


Rhubarb Crisp - modified from this recipe
Serves 8
Takes about one hour, largely unattended.

Here's what you need:

• 6 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces, plus more for greasing pan
• 2 1/2 to 3 pounds rhubarb, trimmed, tough strings removed, and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces (about 5 to 6 cups)
• 1/4 cup white sugar
• Juice and zest from one lemon and one orange - can be lest if you don't want it to be as citrusy
• Leaves from 2 sprigs of fresh rosemary
• 3/4 cup brown sugar
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon, or to taste
• Pinch salt
• 1/2 cup rolled oats
• 1/2 cup pecans.

Here's what you do with it:

• Heat oven to 375 degrees. Grease an 8- or 9-inch square baking or gratin dish with a little butter. Toss rhubarb with white sugar, orange or lemon juice and zest, and spread in baking dish. Top with rosemary leaves.
• Put the 6 tablespoons butter in a food processor along with brown sugar, flour, cinnamon and salt, and pulse for about 20 or 30 seconds, until it looks like small peas and just begins to clump together. Add oats and pecans and pulse just a few times to combine.
• Crumble the topping over rhubarb and bake until golden and beginning to brown, 45 to 50 minutes.  

Battle Scars

 This pie project is a marathon. 20 is a large number. There's going to be a lot of butter in my future. And each recipe is its own tiny battle. This week was pretty much Waterloo.

As I was contemplating which recipe to knock out this week, two things stuck out to me:

1. It is too damn hot.
2. Peaches are currently at their peak.

I was afraid if I waited too long I would have a peach pie recipe to make with peaches no longer in season. So I headed to Madison's at Findlay Market, whose peach selection is practically taking up half of their tiny store. I didn't want to turn on the oven, so the obvious solution: DEEP FRY!


This recipe yields delicious results. Flaky pastry, a boozy, delectable filling; but it's not for the faint of heart. If you're a pro at handling high stress situations, juggling multiple deadlines, not collapsing under pressure, and rolling with the punches (and working with hot oil) - by all means, be my guest.You've been warned.

I got my first kitchen injury of the challenge this week - a small welt on my hand from some bouncing oil as I was transferring a cooked pie from the pot to the paper towels. As my friends and colleagues with Cincinnatians For Progress will agree - it was totally worth it.


#PROTIPS:
 * Don't be a hero with the filling. The picture to the left has too much filling, and consequently got drippy and broke the seal of the pie.
* Flour and the fridge are your friends. Adequately chill both the filling and the pastry so the pies won't leak before you fry them. Use a ton of flour on the rolling surface - both sides, and use more flour after sealing the pastry to help solidify drips.
* The NYT picture makes these guys look like empanadas, but by the end I was treating them more like dumplings. This made them easier to construct.
* Don't freak out! They're going to break, you will make a giant mess all over your kitchen. It's worth it. Keep going!

Fried Peach Pies with Bourbon and Cinnamon - adapted from this recipe

takes about 1.5 hours with proper chill time
best served hot and fresh
technically serves 10 but I made 12

Here's what you need:

(For Crust)

• 2 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
• 1 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1 cup unsalted butter (2 sticks), chilled and cubed
• 1 large egg, whisked with enough ice-cold water to make 1/2 cup

 (For Filling)

• 1 1/4 pounds ripe peaches
• 2 1/2 tablespoons light brown sugar
• 1 tablespoon tapioca starch (find it at Asian markets)
• 2 tablespoons bourbon
• 3/4 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• Vegetable oil, for frying
• Cinnamon sugar (see note), for sprinkling. 

5chw4r7z tested, mother approved

Here's what you do with it:

• In a food processor, pulse together flour, sugar and salt. Add butter and pulse until mixture forms pea-size crumbs. Pulse in egg mixture a tablespoon at a time, until dough just comes together (you may not need all the egg mixture). Divide dough into 10 (or 12) equal pieces. Flatten into disks with your palm, wrap in plastic and chill for at least 45 minutes.- I used a plastic produce bag and layered the disks on top of each other. Use this time to clean your kitchen, play Candy Crush, and feel really good about your kitchen skills so far.
  
• Meanwhile, make filling: Using a paring knife, peel and pit peaches (I didn't peel); slice into quarters or eighths, if they're giant peaches. Transfer peaches to a large skillet. Stir in sugar, tapioca starch, bourbon (and bourbon vanilla, if you've got it), lemon juice and cinnamon. Let sit for 10 minutes, then bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Cook until sugar dissolves, 2 to 3 minutes. - I think I wandered off at some point, and when I came back the mixture had REALLY cooked down, so I deglazed my pan with a 1/2 cup of water, which ended up making more of a sauce. So do that. Transfer mixture to a bowl, preferably metal, and freeze for at least 20 minutes to cool, stirring once or twice. Stirring is important. You want both the pastry and the filling to be cold. It's cool to still feel good about your skills at this point. You awesome cook, you.
  
• Fill a medium pot with 4 inches of oil and heat to 375 degrees. On an extremely floured surface, roll out dough into 6-inch rounds - or so. Don't make the pastry so thin you can see your counter top through it. Use lots of flour. Put the pastry in your hand, and place a spoonful of filling in center of each round. Don't overdo it. Using a pastry brush, lightly moisten edges of each circle with water. Wrap the pastry around and seal. Flip the pastry over in your hand to ensure the seal, also because having a bunch of pastry on the bottom will hold the seal better. Don't make too many at once. How ya feeling now, hot shot?
  
• Okay, now it's go time. Make a pie, put it (gently) in the oil. While it's frying, make another. Flip the first one over, put the second one in. While that one's frying, make a third. When you're done with the third, take out the first, put it on a paper-towel plate, put cinnamon sugar on it, flip the second, put in the third. Check your oil temperature. Curse at the pies that are exploding in your hands. Try not to freak out. It will be over soon. Here's the point where your formerly clean kitchen is a flour-covered disaster zone, your hand is burnt, your pies have oozed and exploded a hundred times, and you have to be somewhere in a half an hour. This is what humility feels like. Savor it.

Note: If you don't know how to make cinnamon sugar, you should maybe re-think making this recipe.

Korma Points

Despite the temperatures outside, I've decided spring is here, and am acting accordingly. Lots of changes made my world topsy-turvy lately, and yesterday I spent the better part of six hours cleaning and reorganizing my apartment in an effort to restore some concrete order to my world.

Declutter. Throw away the trash and debris accumulated from too much junkmail and time spent rushing place to place. Get as much furniture as possible off the wood floors. Shake out the rugs. Sweep the floors. Mop the floors. Old English out the scratches. Dust the surfaces. Vacuum the carpets. Roller brush the upholstery in a vain attempt to remove cat hair. Put everything back. Wipe down the counters. Do the dishes. Now what?

pretty, right?

I was on a domestic streak and didn't want to break it. The only next step was to cook dinner. A delicious, comforting, quasi-healthy dish whose scent would linger and remind me that I am, indeed, capable of great things. This dish hits the spot. Creamy, a little sweet, definitely spicy, and chock full of delicious goodies - I used chicken, sweet potatoes, peas, red pepper, and a liberal amount of golden raisins and cashews. A treasure trove in every bite. 

This recipe marks one of the first times I've ever used the cooking technique of mise-en-place - you know, chopping all my stuff up into cute little bowls BEFORE throwing it in the pan, preventing the usual scramble of chopping and tossing and general mayhem that generally happens in my kitchen experiments. I used a bowl to hold my veggie scraps too, which worked wonders in keeping my counters less cluttered. 

Organization, cleanliness, following a recipe (okay, I smashed two together, but still!)... am I growing up?

 

Curried Coconut Massaman Chicken Korma Thing

(adapted from this recipe and this recipe)

M-i-P bowl 1:

Mince:

4 cloves garlic

1 large shallot

3 TBSP minced ginger

Melt 2-3 TBSP ghee in a large saucepan with tall edges. 

Add the ingredients from bowl 1 and saute over med-high heat for 3 minutes or so. 

M-i-P bowl 2:

Approx 1 tsp each:

Cayenne pepper

Curry powder (I added a little more)

Tumeric

Cardamom (1/8 tsp)

Garam Masala

Cumin

3 bay leaves

Add your bowl of spices to the pan. Saute 1-2 minutes to release the flavors. 

Stir in 1/2 cup chicken or veggie stock, squeeze of lime juice, 2 TBSP fish sauce and 1 TBSP brown sugar, and let it come to a boil in the pan. 

M-i-P bowl 3:

Dice into uniform cubes:

1 red pepper

1 medium sweet potato (the smaller the cubes, the faster it will cook)

2 ripe roma tomatoes

1/2 cup frozen peas (more if you like more peas, I guess)

Add bowl 3 and turn heat to med-low. Let mixture come to a simmer, then add 1 can tomato paste (the tiny one) and 1 can coconut milk (14 oz). Cook, stirring occasionally, until chicken and vegetables are cooked through and sauce is thickened. Add as many cashews and golden raisins as you want. 

Serve over rice or couscous. 

Makes enough probably for 4-6 at one go, or if you're me and my roommate, at least three meals.