I’ve never met a person who didn’t like s’mores.  Even my non-sweet eating husband has been known to sneak a bite or two behind the barbecue grill when no one was looking.  I’m not surprised.  What’s not to love about oozey melted chocolate and ooey, gooey toasted marshmallows sandwiched between crunchy graham crackers?   Nothing, that’s what.  Never mind that they’re sticky and messy and a pain to eat.  That’s part of their charm.  They’re “s’mores”, and the name speaks for itself.

Although I found no concrete proof of this, s’mores are said to have been invented by a group of Girl Scouts on a camping trip, in the early part of the 20th century.  In fact, the first published recipe for s’mores appeared in the 1927 Girl Scout Handbook.  You’ve got to hand it to those Girl Scouts.  They’re an industrious bunch!  I wish I had been a Girl Scout when I was a kid.  My mother told me that that that they didn’t have Girl Scouts where we lived.  I think she made that up.  She said the same thing when I asked if I could take ballet lessons.  My mother was never much of a joiner.

Mini SGCC was a Girl Scout though.  She made it all the way through from Brownies to Cadettes.   Then she discovered boys, and that was the end of scouting – and s’mores. 

This S’more Pie is a slightly more sophisticated take on the original, though it has all of the same elements:  crunchy graham crackers, smooth, creamy chocolate and toasted marshmallows.  The graham crackers make up the crust and the chocolate comes in the form of a rich, velvety dark chocolate pudding.  And the toasted marshmallows…  Well, they’re still just toasted marshmallows.  I had other plans for them too, but I’ll get to that later.

The recipe for this chocolate pudding came from Gourmet Magazine.  It’s made with milk, cocoa powder, bittersweet chocolate, and thickened with cornstarch.  What I liked about this recipe was that it didn’t have a custard base, so there were no eggs to worry about tempering.  This made it all about the chocolate.  Sometimes, eggs can get in the way and muddle things up.  Feel free to use your own favorite chocolate pudding recipe, if you have one.

The graham cracker crust is just a mixture of crushed crackers, sugar and melted butter.  It’s one of the simplest things in the world to make.  Maybe that’s why I love it so much.  No rolling, and it always turns out right.

The chocolate pudding is really a cinch to make too.  You just heat all of the ingredients together in a saucepan, and whisk until they thicken.   Gotta love that!

Before the marshmallows go on, the pie needs to be chilled for a few hours.  If you skip this step, you might end up with chocolate pudding soup when you toast them.  Chocolate pudding soup would probably still taste good, but it would be a little  difficult to eat with a fork.

I had originally planned to be all fancy and pipe Marshmallow Fluff rosettes all over the top of this pie.  This was a great idea in theory, but not in application.    While you would think that Fluff has enough substance to stand up when piped, it does not.  At least, mine didn’t.    My rosettes kept flopping and falling, and I’d have to keep pulling them off and start over.    I went through an industrial sized vat of the stuff before I finally gave up.  Burnished little peaks would have definitely been prettier, but sometimes you have to cut your losses and move on.  Besides, the pie looks more “s’more-like” with mini marshmallows on top.  I think it has a certain “rustic charm”, don’t you?

I will also tell you that this pie is not easy to cut.  The marshmallows are way too sticky and gooey to get a neat slice.  Of course, if you aren’t planning to photograph it, it doesn’t matter.  If you are, like I was, then use a really sharp knife moistened with a light coating of flavorless cooking oil.  I didn’t figure this out until after I had already massacred half of the pie – which is why I don’t have a shot of any of the slices.  I make these mistakes so you don’t have to.  You can thank me later.

All glitches aside, this S’more Pie is really some kind of wonderful!  And, you don’t even have to fire up the grill to make it.   But, don’t take my word for it.  Make one for yourself and you’ll see what I mean.

Seriously!  Are these little jars filled with creamy peanut butter and banana lusciousness not the cutest things ever?  I could just eat them up with a spoon.  As a matter of fact, I did just that.  And they were wonderful. I call them Peanut Butter Banana Cream Pies in a Jar, because…well…because that’s pretty much what they are.  They include all of the components of a classic pie, except they’re layered in small, self-contained, single serving jars.  Pretty clever, huh?  Yeah.  I think so too.

I was cleaning out a few things in my prop room, when I came across some Bormioli canning jars that I didn’t even remember I had.  I couldn’t find the rubber rims, so actually canning something in them was pretty much out of the question.  I thought it would be fun to fill them with some kind of scoopable dessert, like a custard or panna cotta.  Then, a bunch of bananas sitting on the counter caught my eye.  “Hmmm,” I thought, “What about banana pudding with vanilla wafers, just like my mother used to make?” That sounded like a plan.  Then, I noticed the jar of peanut butter next to the box of vanilla wafers, and remembered the most amazing peanut butter cream pie that one of our local restaurants is famous for.  I die over that pie!   Honestly, I just couldn’t choose between the two, so I decided to make them both – in the same dessert.  Peanut butter and bananas are already BFFs, so it made perfect sense to pair them up.  It was one of the best decisions I ever made! 

To make the “crust” for my “pies”, I pulverized some vanilla wafers into crumbs and mixed them with a little sugar and melted butter.  Then, I pressed a thin layer of the mixture down into the bottom of each jar.  After that, I added layers of homemade vanilla bean pastry cream, sliced bananas and peanut butter crumblies that I made by blending crunchy peanut butter and powdered sugar together.   After they were assembled, I snapped on the lids and stored them in the fridge until I was ready to serve them.   It was as easy as pie (pun intended)!  And OMG people, they were unbelievably good!   I could have slurped down that whole bowl of pastry cream all by itself.   Mixed with the other ingredients, it was completely off the charts!

I’ve made other desserts like this before.  I love the idea that everybody gets their own individual portion.  It’s a lot easier than slicing up a pie, it’s neater to eat and it’s a lot more fun.  I think I might really be on to something here.  I’m already toying with the idea of pumpkin streusel pie in a jar for Thanksgiving and apple crumb pie in a jar for Christmas.  Think about it.  You could literally do this with any kind of pie ingredients.  The possibilities are endless.  Deliciously and gloriously endless!

My father had the most magnificent fig tree in his yard.  It was about twenty-five feet tall and the breadth of its branches was almost as wide.  Though he would never actually confirm it, the rumor is that he bred the tree using cuttings smuggled here from a bigger and even more magnificent fig tree that sits on the grounds of his ancestral home in Italy.  I have seen that original tree with my own eyes, and eaten its fruit.  It is amazing!

Dad’s fig tree was the jewel in his garden.  He babied and fussed over it.  He nurtured it through winters that were too cold and summers that were too hot.  That tree was the Goldilocks of fig trees.  Everything about it was just right, including the lush, moist fruit that grew from it.  Dad’s figs were almost the size of small fists!  Ripened by the sun, their flesh was so sweet that droplets of dew-like nectar oozed freely from them.   There was nothing – and, I mean nothing, people – that could rival the taste of my father’s figs.

Almost five years ago, on a grey November day, cancer stole my father away.  Within two weeks, the fig tree dropped all of its leaves, shriveled up and died.  I kid you not.  It was like the tree was in mourning and died of a broken heart. The only sign of life that has come from that tree since is the occasional appearance of a gorgeous, crimson cardinal, who swoops in from time to time and perches itself on a bare, brittle branch.   The bird just sits there, calmly looks around for a minute or two, and then flies off again.

None of us has the heart to chop down the fig tree.  Dad loved that tree, and to do so would almost be like losing him all over again.  So it still stands in its place beside the house as a bittersweet reminder of what once was.

Perhaps it is because of all of those wonderful, homegrown fresh figs I’ve devoured in my life, that I’m in so love with them.    Even now, I have a hard time passing them up when I find them at the market.  Sadly, they’re not quite the same when they come out of a plastic container.   I still buy them however, even though I’m often disappointed.

Another thing I can’t pass up is a good deal.  A few days ago, my market was having a BOGO sale on fresh figs.  They looked really lovely, so I slipped two quarts in my shopping cart, hoping that they would be good.  As I suspected, they were all style and no substance.  Out of the two dozen or so that I had, only about six were worth eating.  The rest were a little hard and dry, and the only thing I could think of that might save them was heat.  I find it intriguing how stewing, baking or roasting lackluster fruits can bring them back to life.  I’ve tried it with  berries, peaches, tomatoes and now, figs.  It works every time.

I thought about making some kind of tart with my figs, but honestly, I wasn’t in the mood to make a crust.  So, I decided that they would be just as delicious in a clafoutis.  For those who don’t know, a clafoutis is a French dessert where fruit is baked in a custard base.  Think of it as a crustless pie.   Traditionally, a clafoutis is made with cherries, but almost any kind of firm fruit will work well.   I love the combination of figs and honey, so I also decided to use that instead of sugar.

Despite its fancy, French name, making a clafoutis is very easy.  The first thing you need to do is cut up your fruit and artfully arrange them in a pie plate or glass baking dish.

Then, whizz up the rest of the ingredients in a blender and pour it over the fruit.

Bake the clafoutis until the custard sets and the top is nicely browned.

Look at how pretty it is!  And it tastes as good as it looks, too.  The custard was rich and creamy, with soft floral notes from the honey and the splash of orange flour water I also added.    Once baked, the figs took on a soft, jammy quality, and their sweetness intensified.   It was a lovely and elegant dessert that took hardly any effort at all.

I wish I had known about things like clafoutis when my father was around.  As delightful as this one was, I can’t help but wonder how spectacular it could have been with his figs.

*Photo of cardinal from iStockphoto.com

Not too long ago, I had a discussion with some friends about whether or not Florida is part of “The Deep South”.  A few of us said yes, of course.  After all, it is the southernmost state in the country, so it must be.  But, one enlightened soul disagreed.  She said that while perhaps at one time Florida may have been considered part of the deep South, it wasn’t anymore, because a majority of the people living here are from somewhere else.  She had a point.  The heavy migration of Florida residents from the northern states, Cuba, Latin America and Europe have significantly transformed the state’s population landscape.   Not only do retirees move here in droves, but in the past twenty years we have also seen a huge influx of younger families from all over the world settling here.   South Florida is an urban cultural melting pot,  and most of the state’s other coastal areas have become cosmopolitan mini-meccas.  I’ve seen this happen in my own town.

(Downtown Main Street, circa 1950’s)

When my family first came to Sarasota in 1969, it was very, very different than it is today.  In fact, it is almost unrecognizable now.   Back then, people moved here because they wanted to live in a charming, artsy, small southern town with miles of pure white sandy beaches and an endless expanse of glassy, turquoise waters.  We came here to live a kinder, gentler life.  We assimilated into the existing community.  Somewhere along the way, things got reversed.  People with lots of money began to move here with grand ideas of taking over and turning the town into what they left behind.  Our city commissioners got stars in their eyes and let things slide by.   Some of the changes have been positive.  Many have not.

I’ve seen gorgeous old buildings literally vanish in the middle of the night.  Cherished pieces of our community’s history were reduced to rubble, and ultimately replaced with office buildings or condos -  all in the name of progress.    I know that nothing lasts forever, but it’s sad that our local officials haven’t done more to preserve the past for future generations.     Don’t get me wrong.  This is still a beautiful place, and the quality of life is great.  It just isn’t the same place anymore.

(The beautiful, art deco Lido Casino demolished in 1969 for no good reason at all, and replaced with an ugly, nondescript looking pavilion)

When I was a kid, you could drive along the beach roads and actually see the beach.  These days, the condos and beach houses are three and four deep.  Those million dollar views actually do cost millions now, unless you’re lucky enough to find a parking space at one of the public beaches, which is no small feat!

Several months ago, someone started a Facebook group for people who grew up in Sarasota.  It started out as a place for those of us that grew up here in the seventies and eighties to reconnect and reminisce.  It has since evolved into an historic treasure trove of old photos, stories and other recollections by many that were here long before I was.  I’ve had the best time learning about the “old days”, and wishing that I’d been around then, because so many of the old landmarks and plain old cool places have been demolished.  They’ve paved paradise and put up a parking lot!

So, you might be wondering what does all this rambling have to do with Raspberry Buttermilk Pie.  Absolutely nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Except that thinking about that conversation kind of got me on a roll.  And also, that my wise friend happens to be from the Deep South, and this is her family recipe.    Except for the raspberries.  I came up with that all by myself.

Buttermilk pie is a traditional southern favorite. It is a custard based pie made with eggs, butter, sugar and of course, buttermilk. It’s really quite simple to make, and the payoff is big. This is one silky smooth, creamy and incredibly delicious dessert. I can see why it’s so popular!

To prepare the pie, all you do is mix up all of the filling ingredients and pour them into an unbaked pie shell.  You can make your own crust from scratch, like Lily always does, or use a store bought crust, like I sometimes do.  Honestly, it is better with a homemade crust, but it’s also plenty wonderful without – so don’t let that deter you from trying this recipe.

I was betting that the pie’s rich custard filling would make a perfect backdrop for some fresh summer fruits, so I also added some raspberries to it.  I’m guessing that just about any kind of berry or other firm fruit, like peaches or apples would work  just as well.  Oooh!  A peaches and cream pie!  How great does that sound?

Whether you’re from the Deep South, the “Faux” South or no South at all, I guarantee that you will love this pie.  It’s rich, cool and sweet, without being cloyingly so.  The raspberries add a nice pop of fruity freshness and texture as well.

Those cool, retro photos of my hometown came from Sarasota History Alive, a great web site I found maintained by Larry Kelleher, a native Sarasotan and fellow Facebooker.  There is a ton of interesting information about the “old days” there, as well as scads of vintage photos and videos.  It’s obvious that a lot of pride and love went into the site, so if you have a little time to kill, I hope you’ll check it out.

Last week, I made a batch of the most luscious homemade ricotta cheese.   I do this often.  Ricotta is super easy to make, and the homemade stuff is so, so delicious.   Unfortunately, I got a distracted and left it draining in cheesecloth longer than I’d planned.  The result was an incredibly smooth, thick and creamy product that reminded me a little of mascarpone.  For the next few days we spread it on bagels and muffins.  We made a crazy good crostini with it and heirloom tomatoes from our garden one night too.  And, when no one else was looking, I just scooped it up with a spoon.   It was heavenly!

As I was scraping the last bit of my lovely ricotta out of its container, it dawned on me that it would make the perfect filling for a tart.  One with fresh fruit – like berries.  Strawberries, raspberries and blueberries.  A Red, White & Blue Ricotta Tart for the Fourth of July.  Hah!  Sometimes, I dazzle myself so much with my own brilliance, that I need to wear sunglasses inside.

So, I made another batch of ricotta, grabbed a whole bunch of berries and whipped up this fabulous tart for our Fourth of July celebration.  And, you can too!   

As I mentioned above, making your own ricotta is quite easy to do.  I’ve used a few different recipes, and this one is my current favorite.  But, you can certainly save some time and make this tart with store bought ricotta.  The trick to turning it into a wonderful mascarpone-like filling is in the draining.   Commercial ricotta is very “wet”.  By letting it sit in a strainer lined with cheesecloth, all of the excess moisture drains out and you’re left with a nice, thick cheese.  It’s the same as making strained yogurt – only you do it with ricotta. (Whoa!  I’m good!)

While your ricotta is draining, the first thing you need to do is make the crust.  I chose a simple graham cracker crust, but you can make any kind you want.  By the time your crust is completely cooled, the ricotta should be ready for your filling.

Fill the tart shell with the ricotta filling and smooth it out.  I like to chill it for a while at this point so that the berries don’t “sink” when I put them on top.  You can use this time to make the glaze for the berries.  Or, for taking a nap.  I recommend making the glaze.  You can take a nap later.

Once the filling is chilled and the berries are all dressed in their shiny glaze, it’s time to decorate your tart.

I like to keep it simple so there’s less chance of me screwing things up.  For this tart, I halved the strawberries and lined them up around the perimeter of the tart, like a border.   Then, I just piled the blueberries and raspberries right in the middle.  I could have arranged them in a fancy design or even made “stars” and “stripes” to look like a flag, but honestly, who has that kind of time!  Besides, I like that casual and kind of tossed together look they have.  I think it’s pretty.  So there!

Here’s a gratuitous shot of the blueberries and raspberries in the center of the tart.  I just liked the bokeh.

Before you serve your tart, you should let it chill out in the fridge for a few more hours – especially if you plan to photograph it.  Trust me, this will make it easier and a lot neater to cut.

Here’s what it looks like on the inside.  Since I’m planning to serve my tart this weekend, I just chopped off a slice from one end. After I took a few pictures, I stuck it back on, and put a few more berries on top to camouflage the cut. I don’t think anyone will notice, but if they do – tough!   Ah!  The things I do for you, my dear readers!

While I didn’t actually eat any of this tart, (remember, I’m saving it for this weekend), I did make myself a teeny, tiny one to taste.  After all, how could I tell you how scrumptious it is if I didn’t try it myself?  And, it definitely is scrumptious!  The filling is light and fluffy, but not too sweet.  It makes a perfect backdrop for those gorgeous, fresh, juicy berries.  The graham cracker crust is appropriately crunchy, yet not hard enough to chip a tooth on.  (Yes.  That has happened before.)  And, that berry topping is…well…that berry topping just sends the whole thing right over the top!

When I spied the first Bing cherries of the season at the market the other day,  I delightedly stashed a few pounds in my cart.    Yes, I know that it’s still a little early for them to be at their peak, but after being cherry deprived for nearly a year, I  couldn’t resist stocking up.  When I plucked a  few out of the bag to snack on later that day, I sadly realized that, as pretty as they were, they were not the sweet, juicy, intensely flavored Bings I’d been pining for.  Bummer!  Still, at $7.99 a pound, I wasn’t about to waste them.  Roasting or baking mediocre fruits always seems to improve their flavor, so I decided to bake my cherries up in a pie.

I’d always heard that Bing cherries weren’t the best kind to use in pies – something about them being too sweet.  Well, that wasn’t going to be a problem here.  My  cherries were definitely on the right side of tart.  Besides, if I waited for fresh sour cherries to make an appearance in these parts, I’d be baking pie in the old folks home.  I’ve never, ever seen them here and probably never will.  So I adapt, and turn my lemons into lemonade – or in this case – my under ripe Bing cherries into a scrumptious cherry pie.

In retrospect, I should have known just by looking at those cherries.  Most of them were still too red.

I used my handy, dandy cherry pitter to relieve my cherries of their pits.  If you don’t have one of these nifty little gadgets, you should get one – especially if you love cherries as much as I do.  The cherries take a fraction of the time to pit, and they look a lot prettier too.

By the way, that is Mr. SGCC’s hand in the picture.  I do not -  I repeat -  DO NOT have hairy knuckles!

To make the pie filling, the cherries are mixed with sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice and just a dash of almond extract.  For some reason almond really enhances the flavor of cherries.  I also added some cherry preserves to the filling.  I did this partly to add more “cherryness” to it, but also to add a little more thickness.  It doesn’t matter how much cornstarch or flour I add to fruit pie fillings, they always give off too much liquid.  It’s maddening!   I’d like to say this trick worked like a charm, but it didn’t.  The pie was still a little too watery for my taste, but it not as much as usual.  And, it did taste amazingly good.

To make the crust, I used my current favorite all butter pie crust recipe.  No shortening-based pie crusts for me, thankyouverymuch!  I’m on team butter all the way.

Cherry pies traditionally have a lattice crust on top.  I eschew lattice crusts, mostly because I don’t have one of those crinkly-edged cutter thingies.  And also, because I can never get them right.  No matter how careful I am, the strips always stretch and tear when I try to weave them together.   Instead, I decided to make a nice, summery flower crust.  I just used a flower shaped cookie cutter to cut out a bunch of dough flowers, and placed them around the top of the pie.  I’m a regular prodigy when it comes to using cookie cutters.   Plus, it’s a whole lot easier and I think it looks even prettier.

See how nice those flowers look?  I’m calling them cherry blossoms.

Don’t forget to brush a little egg wash on top.

And, sprinkle on some turbinado or coarse sugar to give the crust some crunch.

Then bake the pie, and wait for the most heavenly smells to waft through your house.  You should probably close the windows, though, or else the whole neighborhood will be knocking on your door.

Ah!  Ba da Bing Cherry Pie.  Fuhgeddaboudit!

Everyone has their own Achilles’ heel – the thing that sends dread seeping through their pores.  That one thing that takes hold of their breath, brings them to their knees and gets their hearts racing like a runaway freight train.  There often  isn’t any rhyme or reason to it.  It just is.   And, it’s terrible.

My Achilles’ heel – the one I spent most of my life, including years of therapy, trying to conquer – is my fear of elevators.  There is no scientific name for it.  However, that doesn’t make it any less real.  Many describe it as a combination of acrophobia (fear of heights) and claustrophobia (fear of closed spaces).    I don’t care how science defines it.  I call it terror. 

For years, whenever I have had to ride an elevator,  I have manipulated the situation so that I wouldn’t have to ride alone.  I’ve loitered in more building lobbies than I care to admit, waiting around for someone – anyone -  else to come along and push that “up” button.  I’ve even grabbed people off the street and begged them to ride the elevator up with me!  Oh, the shame…

These past few years, I’ve gotten a lot better about dealing with elevators.  I told myself that if I wanted to start traveling on my own to various blogger conferences, I would have to suck it up and “get over it”.  So, I found a relatively tall building here at home, and practiced going up and down its elevator by myself until I could do it without breaking out in a cold sweat.  After attending several conferences, I began to get pretty good at it.  Sure, each time those big steel doors snapped shut on me, my heart skipped a little beat.  But, I was okay.  Dare I say that I even became a little blasé about it.  Score one for me!

Why am I telling you this?  Good question.  I had intended this to be a lighthearted post about my experience in Atlanta last weekend for BlogHer Food.  I reconnected with several old friends there and made some great new ones too.  I gleaned lots of valuable information from the lineup of talented and generous speakers.  And, though it wasn’t everything I hoped it would be, I had a pretty good time – until I was ready to go home.

On Sunday morning, after the conference, I went out for a late breakfast with Andrea Meyers from Andrea’s Recipes and Sean Timberlake from Hedonia and Punk Domestics.  We went to Café Intermezzo and had some delicious food and great conversation.  I was feeling pretty content and relaxed about my flight home.  My bags were packed and ready to go and all I had to do once I returned to the hotel was grab a cab to the airport.  Easy peasy, huh?  Hah!

Once back at the Westin, Andrea, Sean and I hopped into the elevator to go to our respective rooms.  There were also several other people with us – two cute, young Chinese girls who didn’t speak any English, and Greg and Annette, a nice couple from Jacksonville visiting with their teenaged daughter.  Their significance will soon be revealed.

Andrea got off on the 18th floor.  Sean and I were riding up to the 29th and 30th floors.  We were chatting with our elevator-mates, when all of a sudden the damn thing stopped.  That’s right.  STOPPED! It took a few seconds for me to grasp what was happening and then…

OMG!!!  WE’RE STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR!!!

My Achilles’ heel had just been stabbed.  And, it took me down.

OMG. OMG. OMG.  I kept repeating it over and over in my head like a mantra.  I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that what I didn’t want to do was have a full blown panic attack in front of my fellow prisoners.

Everyone else seemed pretty calm, especially the Chinese girls, who didn’t seem to even realize what had happened.  They stood huddled in a corner, chatting and texting nonstop.   “Were they crazy?” I thought. “Don’t these people realize that we’re trapped in a giant tin can?”

As it turns out, Annette works for Starwood Hotels, the company that owns the Westin.   She immediately took charge, sounded the alarm and pressed the call button for help.  Annette was the epitome of cool, calm and collected professionalism.  The voice of the Westin’s head of security was soon piped in to us, telling us that help was coming.  She unsuccessfully tried to reset the elevator several times.   I had no idea that they could be controlled remotely!   Finally, she was able to get the elevator moving upward.  We went up, up, up to the 45th floor, and then we stopped.    But, the door wouldn’t open.  We couldn’t get it to open, and the Westin’s head of security couldn’t get it to open.  So, there we were, dangling like bait on the 45th floor in a nonfunctioning elevator cab.

My head was swimming and everyone around me started to look like Dali’s Melting Clocks.

By the way, did you know that hotel security speak for guests stuck in an elevator is “elevator entrapment”?  Neither did I, but I sure do now!

Anyway, I was completely freaking out inside and doing my best not to let it show.  Unfortunately, I don’t think I was all that successful.   My heart was pounding, my palms were sweating and my feet were having a tough time holding me up.  I kept looking over at Sean, who seemed to be doing a lot better than me.  I tried to speak, but the small, weak voice that poured out of my mouth sounded more like that of a three year-old toddler than the polished, self-composed businesswoman I pretend to be.

The others seemed to get that I was teetering on the edge of hysteria.  Maybe you really can smell fear.  Sean kept patting me on my shoulder, and Greg and Annette just kept me talking – and reminded me to breathe.

“So, where are you from?”

“What did you think of Atlanta?”

“Blogging conference, huh.  How interesting!  What was it like?”

“You’re from Sarasota, you say.  Such a lovely town!  What do you do there?”

“Okay, honey.  We’ll be fine.  Just keep breathing.”

Despite myself, and to my great surprise, I was actually able to carry on a conversation with them.  And, for a few fleeting moments I even forgot that I was a victim of “elevator entrapment”.  Honestly, I don’t know how I would have coped with the situation if Greg and Annette hadn’t been there.  They talked me off the ledge.  I am so thankful that they – and Sean – were there with me.  I shudder to think what might have happened if I had been trapped in there alone!

After a while, the disembodied voice of the security lady told us that the Atlanta fire department had been called and to hang on because help was on the way.  Hang on?!?!  Was she kidding?!?! We were on the 45th floor.  What did she think we were going to do – make a jump for it?

We waited for what seemed like centuries before we heard some signs of life outside.  There were sounds of banging and clanging and scraping metal.  Finally, the elevator doors began to part, and I could see the face of a cute young fireman.  As soon as the opening became wide enough for me to fit through, I leapt, practically right into his arms.  I couldn’t get out of there fast enough!   Sean, Annette, Greg, their daughter and the two Chinese girls followed close on my heels.  Our ordeal on the 45th floor lasted for 45 minutes.

After much hugging, email exchanging and blood pressure checking, we all went our separate ways.  It was already past the time that I had planned to be at the airport.  Seeing how shaken up I was, (and probably worrying about possible legal ramifications), the hotel manager personally escorted me to get my luggage, put me in a taxi (at his expense) and sent me on my way.  I think I saw him breathe a little sigh of relief as the car pulled away.  I know I did.

The first thing I did when I got past airport security was head to the first bar I saw and order a stiff drink.  That, and sign in on Twitter.  Ah, the healing powers of Twitter!  My Twitter stream was already aflutter with tweets about the “elevator incident” and speculation about who the unfortunate victims were.  Sean and I were both sharing the gory details and sympathetic @mentions poured forth.

Fortified by enough vodka to drown a whale, I then boarded my flight home.  In the air, I reflected on the “elevator incident”, and thought of the irony of it all.  What were the odds that, of all the things in the world that could have happened to me, the one that I feared most was what did?   They say that God never gives us more than we can handle.  If that’s true, maybe he was trying to show me that I am stronger than I thought I was.  Or maybe the karmic forces of the universe were just f*%#ing with me. I don’t know.  What I do know is that I was incredibly lucky to have had such caring and compassionate people to help me through the ordeal.

I believe that one of the best cures for a wounded Achilles’ heel is ice cream.  And, pie.  So when I finally got home from Atlanta, I made this ice cream pie.    A great big and tall, decadent, coffee, fudge, ice cream pie.  You’ve heard of mile high pies?  Well, I’m calling mine “45 Stories High Java Fudge Ice Cream Pie”, and I’m dedicating it to Sean, Greg, Annette, their daughter and even the two chirpy, clueless Chinese girls (they were kind of cute, anyway).

Did you know that today is National Pie Day?  Seriously.  The National Pie Council has declared it so, and that’s good enough for me.  So, what exactly is National Pie Day?  Well, according to the NPC, its a day “dedicated to the celebration of pie”, and they hope that we all take this opportunity to “pass on the enjoyment of pie making and and pie eating to future generations”.

So, how can you celebrate National Pie Day?  Well for starters, you can eat some pie.  And, if you really want to celebrate, you can eat a whole lot of pie.  Who am I to quash your enthusiasm?  I mean, if you’re going to celebrate, you might as well go all out, right?  And, while you’re eating all of that pie, you might want to share some pie with someone else.  That’s right, people.  Share the pie love!

Of course, you can buy your pie at an area bakery or supermarket.  That would work.  Or, you could get totally crazy and make your own.  That would be even better.  And, before some of you throw up your hands and tell yourselves that you can’t do it, let me tell you that you can.  Making pie isn’t difficult at all.  In fact, it’s pretty easy and can be kind of fun.  I promise. 

Now, I know that the one thing about pie making that really tends to stress people out is the crust.  Relax!  Pie crust can sometimes be a little temperamental, but once you get the hang of it, it really isn’t that difficult.  Remember, I used to be a doughaphobe, myself.   Besides, you don’t actually have to make your own pie crust, if you don’t want to.  You can buy some pretty decent pre-made crusts in the refrigerator section of your grocery store.   No one has to know unless you tell them.   However, if you are a brave soul and would like to tackle your own pie crust, Deb at Smitten Kitchen has the best “How To” posts on the subject that I’ve found.  In fact, her All Butter Really Flaky Pie Dough recipe is probably the one I use most.

There’s nothing like a home-baked pie, hot and fresh out of the oven.  It can do wonders for your psyche.  It can soothe your soul. A really, really, really good pie might even be able to mend a broken heart.  Humans have been enjoying the splendor of pie in one form or another since the time of the ancient Egyptians. It’s a proven commodity.  And, no pie is more quintessentially American than good, old apple pie.  Fortunately, it’s also one of the easiest kinds to make.

When I make an apple pie, I like to use a mixture of different kinds of apples.  Some are very sweet and others have a tart bite to them.  Using a variety gives the pie a nice sweet/tart balance of flavor. Just look for apples that are labeled as good for baking.   If I have it, I also mix a few spoonfuls of apple butter or applesauce in with my apples to give the filling a little more body.  This certainly isn’t necessary, but I just think it makes the pie more “apple-y”.  Another thing I’m fond of doing is adding a few splashes of brandy or rum to the apples.  Again, this isn’t necessary, but it does add a little “something” to the finished product.  The alcohol burns off while the pie is baking, so you don’t have to hide it from the kids.

As far as pie crusts go, there is, and probably always will be a debate on whether butter or shortening is the way to go.  I’m a butter girl, myself.  While shortening supposedly makes a flakier crust, butter is where the flavor is.  What good is the flakiest pie crust in the world, if it doesn’t taste good?  Besides, I’ve made many a delicious and flaky pie crust with butter.  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So, here is my gift to you for National Pie Day: a recipe for a classic homemade apple pie.  I’d like to say that it’s an old family recipe, handed down for generations, but I can’t.  My mother never baked pies.  And, I don’t ever remember a pie coming out of my grandma’s oven either.  Italian’s just aren’t big pie bakers.  I found this one all my own.  It’s simple and basic.  And basically, it’s simply delicious.

Happy Pie Day!

Ack!  I’ve done it again.  With all of the craziness of Thanksgiving and my life in general, I completely forgot that Saturday was the reveal date for the November Daring Bakers challenge.  It wasn’t until I opened my reader last night and saw all of the DB posts that I realized it.  The 2010 November Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Simona of briciole. She chose to challenge Daring Bakers’ to make pasta frolla for a crostata. She used her own experience as a source, as well as information from Pellegrino Artusi’s Science in the Kitchen and the Art of Eating Well. So, I frantically rooted around in my kitchen to see what I could find to throw my crostata together.  Better late than never, I guess.

A crostata is basically an Italian tart.  The base of a crostata is made with pasta frolla, a sweet short crust pastry or sweet tart dough.   The filling is traditionally made with either jam, fruit preserves, pastry cream or any combination of them, but you can use anything your little heart desires.   Since I was flying by the seat of my pants, I used what most might probably consider a very unorthodox filling – my leftover cranberry chutney from Thanksgiving.  Yes, you read that right.  I spread a thick layer of cranberry chutney over that short crust dough and tossed it right in my oven.  The chutney was full of fresh cranberries, dried cherries, raisins, jam and sugar.  It looked like thick fruit preserves and it tasted delicious, so why not use it!   Actually, I think the choice totally embodies the spirit of the Daring Bakers, don’t you?  Just call me Kitchen Ninja!

The recipe for this crostata is a bit different from what I’m used to.  My Aunt Giuseppina makes the best darn crostata I ever tasted.  It’s one of her signature dishes and everyone loves it.  The crust in the DB recipe is a lot like a shortbread.  My aunt’s crostata crust is much more cake-like.  While both are good, I’d have to say I like Aunt Giuseppina’s version better.

And, in case you were wondering how my crostata experiment turned out – it was fantastic!  Seriously, if I hadn’t told anyone that the filling was leftover cranberry chutney, no one would have ever guessed.  It just goes to show that a little imagination and ingenuity goes a long way.

Buon Appetito!

Crostata di Marmellata

Ingredients:

1 batch Pasta Frolla (recipe follows)
1 and 3/4 cups [415ml, 600 gm, 21 oz] of jam or fruit preserves of your choosing

Directions:

1. Heat the oven to 375ºF [190ºC/gas mark 5].

2. Take the pasta frolla out of the fridge, unwrap it and cut away ¼ of the dough. Reserve this dough to make the lattice top of the crostata. Refrigerate this dough while you work on the tart base.

3. To help roll the crostata dough, keep the dough on top of the plastic wrap that you had it wrapped in. This can help rolling the dough and can also help when transferring the dough to your pan. You can also use parchment paper for this. However, you can also roll the dough directly on a work surface if you prefer.

4. Lightly dust the top of the dough and your work surface (if you’re rolling directly on a work surface) with flour. Keep some flour handy to dust the dough as you go along.

5. If the dough is very firm, start by pressing the dough with the rolling pin from the middle to each end, moving the rolling pin by a pin’s width each time; turn the dough 180 degrees and repeat; when it softens, start rolling. Roll the dough into a circle about 1/8th inch (3 mm) thick. If you used the plastic wrap or parchment paper as rolling surface, flip dough over the pan, centering it, and delicately press it all around so the corners are well covered. Peel away the plastic wrap. Trim the excess dough hanging over the edges of the pan. Press the remaining dough around the border into the sides of the pan making sure the border is an even thickness all the way around.  Prick the bottom of the dough with a fork in several places.

6. Take out of the fridge the reserved pasta frolla you had cut away earlier. Roll it with your pin and cut into strips or use cookie cutters to make small shapes (this is not traditional, but it looks cute); or roll with your hands into ropes.

7. Spread the jam or fruit preserves evenly over the bottom of the crostata.

8. Use the prepared strips or rolls of dough to make a lattice over the surface, or decorate with the cut shapes.

9. Brush the border and strips of dough with the reserved beaten eggs. You can add a drop or two of water to the beaten eggs if you don’t have enough liquid.

10. Put the tart in the oven and bake for 25-35 minutes.   After 25 minutes, check the tart and continue baking until the tart is of a nice golden hue.

11. When done, remove the tart from the oven and let cool. If you have used a tart pan with a removable bottom, then release the tart base from the fluted tart ring. Make sure the tart is completely cool before slicing and serving.

Pasta Frolla

Ingredients:

1/2 cup minus 1 tablespoon [105 ml, 100 g, 3 ½ oz] superfine sugar (see Note 1) or a scant 3/4 cup [180ml, 90g, 3 oz] of powdered sugar
1 3/4 cup [420 ml, 235 g, 8 1/4 oz.] unbleached all-purpose flour
Pinch of salt
1 stick [8 tablespoons / 4 oz. / 115 g] cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
Grated zest of half a lemon (you could also use vanilla sugar as an option, see Note 2)
1 large egg and 1 large egg yolk, lightly beaten in a small bowl

Note 1: Superfine sugar is often also referred to as ultrafine, baker’s sugar or caster sugar. It’s available in most supermarkets. If you cannot find “superfine” sugar, you can make your own by putting some regular granulated sugar in a food processor or blender and letting it run until the sugar is finely ground.

Note 2: There are different ways of making vanilla sugar. I keep vanilla beans in a jar half-filled with sugar until I need to use them, for example, to make vanilla ice cream. After I remove the split bean from the custard that will go into the ice cream maker, I rinse it, dry it and put it back in the jar with sugar.

Making pasta frolla by hand:

1. Whisk together sugar, flour and salt in a bowl.

2. Rub or cut the butter into the flour until the mixture has the consistency of coarse crumbs. You can do this in the bowl or on your work surface, using your fingertips or an implement of choice.

3. Make a well in the center of the mounded flour and butter mixture and pour the beaten eggs into it (reserve about a teaspoon of the egg mixture for glazing purposes later on – place in the refrigerator, covered, until ready to use).

4. Add the lemon zest to your flour/butter/egg mixture.

5. Use a fork to incorporate the liquid into the solid ingredients, and then use your fingertips.

6. Knead lightly just until the dough comes together into a ball.

7. Shape the dough into a flat disk and wrap in plastic wrap. Place the dough in the refrigerator and chill for at least two hours. You can refrigerate the dough overnight.

Making pasta frolla with a food processor:

1. Put sugar, flour, salt, and lemon zest in the food processor and pulse a few times to mix.

2. Add butter and pulse a few times, until the mixture has the consistency of coarse meal.

3. Empty food processor’s bowl onto your work surface

4. See step 3 above and continue as explained in the following steps (minus the lemon zest, which you have already added).

Wowie, wow, wow, WOW!!!  Dorie’s Cranberry Lime Galette packs a huge wallop!  To be honest, I didn’t expect such a bold, “in your face” punch of flavor – but I got one.  This galette is the simplest thing in the world to make, but make no mistake, there’s nothing else simple about it.

The galette starts off benignly enough with a flaky, buttery pie crust.  But, what’s inside of that pie crust is the thing that makes this pastry so special.  The filling is a symphony of tart, sweet and a little heat.  Plump, fresh cranberries are blended with brown sugar, nuts, raspberry jam, apples, lime, dried cranberries and a firm kick of fresh ginger for a brighter than sunshine flavor experience.  Seriously, I almost had to put on my sunglasses to eat a slice!  The zing of that fresh ginger was just…well…zingy.

Once the crust was made, putting the galette together took no time at all.  First, you roll out your crust into a large circle and spread the center with a layer of ground nuts and plain bread crumbs.  You can use any kind of nuts you like, but I used walnuts.  Then, you throw the rest of the filling ingredients into a big bowl and smoosh them around a bit.  I used my hands to get everything mixed together really well.  After that, you pour the filling on top of the layer of nuts and fold up the edge of the pie crust towards the center.   Stick it in the oven until the crust is golden and the filling is nice and bubbly – and you’re done.

If you want to skip the whole making the pie crust part, you could just use a premade refrigerated crust instead.  I won’t tell.  Who am I to let a little pastry shell stand between you and the joy of eating this scrumptious dessert?

Doesn’t it look pretty in a rustic kind of way?  Those cranberries look like glistening red jewels.

Thanks to Elizabeth, Whitney and April from Celestial Confections for choosing such a great recipe for TWD this week.  If you’d like to make your own Cranberry Lime Galette (because I’m not sharing), you can find the recipe in the book or on the Celestial Confections site.  And of course, don’t forget to stop by the Tuesdays with Dorie site to check out what the rest of the group has done.

Enjoy!