Classic Old-Fashioned Apple Pie

NO GALETTE DES ROIS

Good apple pies are a considerable part of our domestic happiness. 

- Jane Austen 

I have made Galette des Rois for the 6th day of January, for Epiphany, for the last few years. This year I did not. I had been craving a good, old-fashioned, all-American apple pie since we began visiting the apple stand at the market early autumn. Crude wooden crates hold tumbles, piles and heaps of apples and pears in shades of red, green, yellow and brown straight from the orchards, straight from the trees. Local apples from Pays de la Loire. The vendors scoop up the apple of one’s choice…. Actually, the vendors, scruffily dressed, wrapped in coarse cotton aprons, yellow plastic glove snug over the scooping hand, lean in towards us over the row of crates in which apples and pears lie snuggly, fragrantly together in the cool winter weather, and ask for our selection. And they expertly translate our answer “apples to eat, crunchy, flavorful, sweet and tart” or “the perfect apple for baking into a pie, one that stays flavorful and sweet while meltingly smooth when cooked” or “apples for sautéing and serving with boudin blanc” into Fuji, Cox Orange, Jonagold, Reine des Reinettes or Grise du Canada.


They scoop up – as they do – six, eight, ten, a kilo or two – into the worn, scratched, battered plastic tubs sitting atop one of the scales then, in one eloquent movement, pour the tubful of apples into a plastic bag and, with a sharp flick or two of the wrist, tie the top of the sack in a knot as they ask for our next desire.

Pie and Coffee is approximately the third best social interaction 

a man can hope to have with a woman. 

- Anonymous 

So when husband began feeling ill, coming down with whatever is going around, I offered to make him that apple pie, one of his favorite treats, comfort food at its best. And he smiled and hugged me and said yes.

Making and enjoying a galette des rois has nothing religious about it in our home. It is a French tradition. From just a day or two after Christmas, the Bûches de Noël are replaced by galettes in pastry shop and bakery cases, the tiny Santas and fir trees and mushrooms perched atop waves of chocolate and praline buttercream, atop tiny pastry Yule logs are replaced by flashy gold paper crowns perched atop rounds of puff pastry filled with almond cream, pastry cream or apple purée, a tiny fève or lucky charm hidden within. Making our own galette des rois from scratch was simply a baking exercise for me in much the same way as attempting and perfecting macarons or yeast bread. But for my husband, who suggested my baking a galette the very first time, it might have been a craving, a game or a way to turn my baking energy towards something that we would have purchased and eaten anyway, so why not homemade? We have always loved sitting together around the table as a family on the 6th of January and cutting into the galette, doling out slice after slice and digging in amid laughter and goodhearted chatter, impatient to find out who will discover the good luck charm in his or her slice, the lucky one that will then be designated king or queen for the day, the golden crown placed on their head.

It’s apple pies that make the menfolks’ mouths water. 

Pies made from apples like these. 

- the Queen in Snow White 

But apple pie is so much homier, so much sweeter in both flavor and temperament. A sign not of tradition as much as of love. And surely apple pie – along with laughter - is the best medicine.

If you do want to make a classic Galette des Rois:

Classic Galette des Rois with Frangipane Filling

Galette des Rois with Maple Cinnamon Applesauce Filling

Galette des Rois with Vanilla Bean Apple Pastry Cream Filling

Individual Galettes des Rois with Caramelized Apples 








CLASSIC, COMFORTING OLD-FASHIONED APPLE PIE

If you have never made or rolled out a pie crust by hand before, you can find step-by-step photos here.

Sweet Pastry Pie Crust (recipe below)
8 apples, your favorite for pie
½ cup (100 g) sugar
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp nutmeg
1 Tbs (15 g) unsalted butter, more or less
Cinnamon-Sugar or granulated brown sugar for dusting top of pie
Milk for brushing top of pie

Sweet Pastry Pie Crust for double-crust pie:
2 ½ cups (315 g) flour and more for work surface
½ cup (100 g) sugar
14 Tbs (200 g) unsalted butter, cubed *
2 eggs, lightly beaten

* most pie crust recipes call for the butter to be chilled. I have found that butter at room temperature is easier and quicker to work into the flour and the dough seems to be fluffier and the resulting crust flakier. If using room temperature butter, wrap the finished dough in plastic wrap and allow to chill in the refrigerator until firm enough to roll out without sticking to the rolling pin or ripping when lifted, about 30 minutes or more.

Prepare double pie crust:

Butter a 10” wide x 1 1/2” deep pie dish and dust lightly with flour. 

Combine flour and sugar in a mixing bowl or on a work surface and toss the cubes of butter into the flour-sugar until coated with the flour. Using only your thumbs and fingertips, rub the butter into the flour until the consistency of damp sand and there are no more large chunks of butter. With a fork, vigorously stir in the lightly beaten egg until all the dry ingredients are moistened and a dough starts to pull together. Gather the dough together into a ball and place on a lightly floured surface. Using the heel of one hand, smear the dough little by little away from you in quick, hard strokes in order to make sure that all of the butter is blended in well. Flour the surface of the dough or your hand to keep the dough sticking to your skin.

Scrape the dough together, re-flour the work surface and work very briefly and quickly until you have a smooth, homogenous dough. If the dough is too soft or sticky, refrigerate it for 15 to 30 minutes until it can be easily rolled out without sticking to your rolling pin.

Divide the dough into two pieces, one slightly larger than the other.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the smaller piece of dough and line the buttered and lightly floured 10” wide, 1 1/2” deep pie dish, carefully lifting and placing the dough into place (just pressing the dough in will cause the dough to rip). Press closed any gaps or rips and prick the dough all over with a fork. Return the other half of the dough to the refrigerator to keep chilled and firm while preparing the apples.

Prepare the fruit and pie:

Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).

Peel and core the apples and slice thinly. Place the apple slices in a very large mixing bowl. Stir the cinnamon and the nutmeg into the sugar until blended; add to the apples and toss until the sugar-spice mixture is evenly coating the apple slices.

Fill the bottom crust (the pastry-lined pie plate) with the apple slices so that they are evenly distributed, moving them around to fill in any gaps. Dot the apples with the butter.

Roll out the top crust so it is a bit larger than the pie plate and carefully place it on top of the apples, hanging over the edges. Cut off excess of top and bottom crusts leaving about an inch of dough. Tuck and press the top and bottom dough together to seal and then crimp. Trim excess dough.

Brush the top of the crust all over with the milk. Slice 5 or 6 vents in the crust. Sprinkle the top crust with cinnamon-sugar or granulated Brown sugar.

Place the pie in the preheated hot oven for 15 minutes, then lower the heat to 350°F (180°C) and continue baking for 30 minutes or until both top and bottom crusts are browned.

The apple filling and juices are very hot when first out of the oven, so let the apple pie cool somewhat on a cooling rack before slicing and serving. If you want to replace your traditional galette des rois with an apple pie, feel free to slip in a lucky charm…

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Apple Galette

MELTDOWN

Monday Monday, can't trust that day,

Monday Monday, sometimes it just turns out that way 

Oh Monday morning, you gave me no warning of what was to be 

– The Mamas and The Papas 

Collapse. Breakdown. A harrowing experience one wishes not to live twice, but alas, in these modern times of technological necessity and dependence, one must always be prepared, expect the unexpected, embrace the unwelcome. Computer meltdown. One day we are insouciant, nonchalantly logging on, casually logging off, pulling up documents at will, loading photos without restraint and baring our soul, exposing every intimate detail of our private life on a plethora of social media platforms morning, noon and night. Connected. The next day…nothing. Blackness greets us when we sit down at our desk in the early hours of the morning, steaming mug of café au lait within easy reach, dishwasher humming smoothly in the background. Complete and horrid meltdown. And it happened to me.

Monday Monday, you gave me no warning. Smooth, white plastic lid lifted, tiny button pressed, a flash of light, a hint of that funny image of pink flamingos stalking across the bottom of my desktop and then utter blackness. And sheer, blessed panic. I feared his reaction, although I must approach him. I braced myself for his accusations of how I misuse my machine, how I do not think of the necessary upkeep, maintenance and care of my little box. How I treat it with the disdain of one who takes too much for granted. Yet, yet…at the same time I knew this would be a challenge for him, a distraction. He calmly suggested I call the Mac Shop and I did. Once they opened (this is, after all, France, and one can never make the assumption that a shop is ever open), he accompanied me down there and, after explaining the problem, we were led to believe that all hope was lost. Or at the very least cost us an arm and a leg (or, as the French so elegantly put it: “Les yeux de la tête, the eyes from our head.”)

Husband has never been one to accept anything at face value or to give in and give up. And with the cost of a new laptop hovering menacingly over our heads, he was determined to solve the mystery and figure out what the true problem was. I, on the other hand, had a mounting feeling of impending disaster. Disappearing from social media, not able to blog, my projects left hanging in midair and being reduced to the miniscule keyboard on my iphone for answering emails. He pushed me out of the way, plugged in my laptop onto what looked like life support and I wandered off and slumped into the armchair, fingers desperately clutching my iphone, in front of the tv.

And don’t the darnedest things just happen at the darnedest times? I felt the vibration of a text coming through, glanced at the tiny screen and saw it was from son. His friend had just contacted him letting him know that she was selling her Macbook. Coincidence? Providence? Divine intervention? Laptop was soon in our hands and hooked up to my own. Enough cords to look like Frankenstein’s experiment flooded the tabletop and the surrounding floor and all we were praying for was a lightening storm. The mystical operation of transferring life – all of my files – from one machine to the other commenced! I know when I should simply walk away, leave well enough alone and let him at it. From the kitchen I heard the banging start. Banging and pounding on my laptop with the shrieks of Yes! Yes! I see it! Yes! There it is! I got it! He had magically made my screen reappear long enough to connect and begin the transfer of data and files by simply pounding on the keyboard with all of his might. Humph to technology. The cavemen had it right all along. A good solid pounding solves so many problems.

But you know nothing is ever that simple, don’t you? He worked at it all day, all afternoon and well into the evening. Once or twice he toyed with the idea of throwing in the towel and just giving up – which, if you know him as well as I do then you can understand and appreciate the intensity and near-impossibility, the desperation of the situation if he of all people was on the edge of giving up. These robotic little beasties have a life of their own, teasing, mocking, threatening, sending messages like “Access forbidden” or “You have no authorization to open this screen” or “Stay away from this damn computer it ain’t yours”. Lots more screaming ensued. Yelling, cursing, jumping around à la Rumpelstiltskin…

All’s well that ends well. One solid day, fierce determination, relentless doggedness and an intense stick-to-it-ness and he finally succeeded. Arms raised, fists punching the air to the glorious sounds of “Yessssss!” and there was distinct cause for celebration. The laptop is not yet officially mine, my own laptop has not yet gone to the shop, but – heaving a heavy sigh of relief - I am now functional once again. And I may have even scored Photoshop.

I haven’t baked for several days but JP certainly deserved a reward. As I was recounting the tale to my friend Renee, she suggested that maybe JP needed an apple pie or….galette. And I knew she was right. Nothing is homier, more calming and comforting after such a trying, stressful day, nothing says I love you more than a fruit pie warm from the oven, redolent of cinnamon. And a galette is even better. Not to forget that apple is his favorite filling in any baked good. I mentioned to JP, now stretched out on the sofa, wallowing in self-satisfaction, that I wanted to make an apple galette for him and he responded: “Only if you don’t say it is for me. Make an apple galette for all of us!”

I made some alterations to my favorite Sweet Pastry Pie Crust by adding a handful of finely ground almonds (a wonderful companion to apple) and replaced the egg with water for a firmer texture. I piled on the apples, as I know they have a tendency to shrink a bit – and who doesn’t want a mouthful of sweet apples in every bite? - tossed them in a bit of flour to thicken the juices, added just enough cinnamon and nutmeg and Bob’s your uncle. It flew together effortlessly, baked up a dream. The crust held the apples and juices in while remaining so tender. And the filling is perfection in every way. A perfect reward, a perfect treat. 

 With a little Salted Butter Caramel Sauce

APPLE GALETTE

For the Sweet Almond Pastry Crust:
1 ¼ cups flour
¼ cup sugar
½ cup finely ground almonds
7 Tbs unsalted butter, cool
3 – 5 Tbs cold water

For the Apple Galette Filling:
3 apples, peeled, cored and cubed (I actually used 3 ½ a mix of Royal Gala & Golden)
1 ½ Tbs flour
2 - 3 Tbs sugar
Scant ½ tsp ground cinnamon
Dash ground nutmeg

Cream for brushing the pastry; sugar (I used granulated brown) for dusting crust

Prepare the Pastry Crust:

Place the flour, sugar and ground almonds in a mixing bowl and stir to combine. Add the butter in cubes; toss to coat the cubes. Using only your thumbs and fingertips, rub the butter into the dry ingredients until the consistency of damp sand and all of the butter has been incorporated. Using a fork, vigorously stir in 3 tablespoons of the cold water; adding the remaining water a tablespoon at a time until all of the dry ingredients are damp and pull together into a ball. Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface and knead briefly and gently, adding a bit of flour if necessary, until the dough is smooth and no longer sticky. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate to chill while preparing the filling.

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Line a baking sheet with a sheet of parchment paper.

Prepare the Apple Filling:

Peel and core the apples and cut into cubes. Place the apple cubes in a bowl and toss with the flour, sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg. 

Prepare the Galette:

Remove the Sweet Pastry Crust from the refrigerator and discard the plastic wrap. Place the ball of dough on a floured work surface and gently roll out into a 12-inch diameter circle. Carefully roll the dough around the rolling pin and transfer to the parchment-lined baking sheet. Pile the prepared apple cubes in the center of the pastry circle and spread out to distribute evenly, leaving about 2 - 3 inches of dough free all around the outside edge of the circle, enough to lift up as a border to hold the apples in place.

Begin lifting the edge of the circle of dough up and place against the apples. Lifting the dough up about 3 inches at a time and moving around the galette, the dough “flaps” will overlap. Brush the folds of dough where they overlap with a little of the cream and “glue” down, pressing in place gently. Continue all around the galette. Brush the crust all over with cream and dust with sugar. 

Bake the galette in the preheated oven for about an hour or until the crust is a nice golden brown and the filling is bubbly. Remove from the oven to a cooling rack and allow to cool before slicing and serving.

This is a fabulous treat as is for breakfast, brunch or snack. Add ice cream, a good Salted Butter Caramel Sauce or whipped cream for a wonderful dessert.

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GALETTE DES ROIS AUX POMMES – APPLE MAPLE CINNAMON GALETTE

A LOVE AFFAIR

Happiness is the longing for repetition.
- Milan Kundera

Get me going and I can’t stop. Offer me a challenge or tell me you love something. Or worse (according to critics): all I need is a roaring success after having put off attempting something for fear of failure or daunted by difficulty for far too long and off I go! Just the tiniest encouragement, the most minor of successes or just one person I love to look at me and say “Oh, this is good!” with passion oozing in their voice and I only want to do one thing: make it again. And again.

Until they cry Uncle! But that’s another story.

Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished with passion.
- Hebbel

Puff pastry had eluded me for years, from the very first moment I saw a chef pounding a square of butter with a rolling pin and enclosing it in the perfect envelope of pastry to one January to the next when each and every pâtisserie parades a glorious lineup of stunning Galette des Rois, shimmering gold surface hiding a perfect frangipane filling encased in ethereal flakey layers in which nestles a tiny fêve, the prize which renders he or she who finds this porcelain treasure king or queen for the day. But all that butter, all that effort and all that precision had me shaking in my boots. I didn’t put rolling pin to butter for years. I had overcome my macaron fears and my yeast bread anxiety so what, I asked myself, could be so terrifying, so complicated about puff pastry?


Pâte feuilletée – say it in French and somehow it sounds so sophisticated, so unattainable. No quick toss of ingredients in a bowl, whisk together in a flash, pour into a tin and pop in the oven. No, siree! No quick in, quick out and settle back to enjoy the fruits of your labor in less time than it takes to learn how to pronounce…or spell… pâte feuilletée. The wonder and charm of American baking is the rapidity and simplicity of its preparation, its ease in eating. Think muffins and brownies packed in a lunch box, stacks of cookies carried around in small hands, one-bowl cakes and quick breads. French baking, on the other hand, is known for its fiddly, complicated, time-consuming preparation making each pastry a gem, a special treat to be wrapped up in white paper, tied with a bow and carried home like a treasure, to be eaten off of delicate bone china and with grandmama’s best sterling dessert forks. American sweets are comfort food, reminders of our childhood, simple and homey. French pastry is, well, pastry. Puffs and elegant layers, ethereal mousses and delicate creams, whirls of spun sugar and perfect piping. This may all be a wild generalization, but when faced with the daunting task before me, when a huge block of sweet butter sits and gazes up at me from my tabletop, eying me up and down, daring me to proceed, well, that tin of muffins starts to look pretty darn good!

So, deep breath, one, two, and three and I pounded and I rolled, all smooth going, and folded and rolled and I sweated just a bit as butter began to ooze. So quick as a lick, in the fridge it went. Roll, fold, turn, it was easier than I had imagined. And it was such a pleasure! Sensual, smooth even slightly sexy in its soft, silky texture when caressed, its pleasant, voluptuous give when pressed, its heavenly feminine scent of fresh butter and flour. My very first homemade puff pastry, my very first home-baked Galette des Rois was applauded by all, my harshest critics, my toughest judges, my row of Frenchmen! And I was spurred on to create more! And a first batch followed a second led onto a third until I was in my rhythm and could churn out pâte feuilletée on a whim! Quiche followed Jalousie followed Galette and I was in my element! A quick back and forth with Cookie Queen Gail who shared her own recipe, slightly different than mine, and enjoyment turned into rapture! Beauty into wondrous splendor.


And out came the first much-demanded, much-expected Galette of this year to loud cheers! Kudos! Adulation! They were putty in my hands…so when I began yet another batch of puff pastry and mentioned apples – with visions of Chaussons de Pommes, French Apple Turnovers, dancing before our eyes, they bowed down to my wishes and let me have my way.

A tale of a Galette aux Pommes…. Slow and lazy, I had been promising this new Galette des Rois for days yet kept putting it off. Until he started asking. And making comments, his patience wearing thin. So I finally began. Détrempe, envelope, rolling and two folds. The following day…nothing. Well, a girl is busy! Then the third day he began hanging around the kitchen door, fork clenched between fingers. “Where is this Galette you’re supposed to be making?” he urged, a mixture of reproach and anticipation in his voice. So apples peeled, sliced, sautéed in butter, sugar, maple syrup, cinnamon… heavenly odors filled the house. Pâte Feuilletée rolled, cut, shaped, filled, baked. And a superb Galette des Rois filled with smooth, luxurious apple compote redolent of maple and cinnamon was theirs and they did enjoy it with much pleasure and glee.


Until the next batch…


GALETTE DES ROIS AUX POMMES
Puff Pastry Galette filled with Maple Cinnamon Applesauce

½ batch puff pastry (about 600 g)
egg wash (1 egg yolk mixed with 1 tsp cold water)
powdered/confectioner’s sugar

APPLE COMPOTE FILLING
You can always make more and keep the extra on hand for tasty applesauce!

4 apples, preferably Belle de Boskoop or a similar type, sweet and flavorful for applesauce
1 ½ Tbs (22 g) unsalted butter
1/8 to ¼ cup (25 to 50 grams) granulated sugar
2 to 3 Tbs maple syrup
Ground cinnamon

Peel, core and slice the apples. Melt the butter in a large skillet. Add the granulated sugar and stir until the mixture is smooth, grainy and bubbling. Add the apple slices and toss to coat; cook the apples until soft, about 5 minutes, then stir in 1 to 1 ½ tablespoons maple syrup and a dash of cinnamon, stir until well blended and continue cooking for up to about 5 minutes more, stirring often, until the apples are very soft and beginning to fall apart into a purée. Remove from the heat and purée, either with a fork or an emulsion mixer; taste and add more maple syrup and/or cinnamon as desired. Allow to cool to room temperature.


Follow the directions for rolling, cutting and chilling the puff pastry on my Galette des Rois with Pistachio-Rum Frangipane Filling post, filling with the apple compote. Seal with egg wash, crimp or scallop the edges, prepare a chimney, gently carve a design in the top, brush with egg wash and bake following the directions. The last 5 minutes of baking, dust the top of the Galette generously with powdered sugar and return to the oven, watching carefully for several minutes, turning the Galette as needed to favor even browning, until the top is a beautiful, caramelized, shiny golden brown.


Allow the Galette to cool on a cooling rack before slicing and eating.

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CROSTATA DI MARMELLATA (JAM TART)

MAKE A WISH


The occasional tapping of wrench against iron, footsteps across the creaking, ancient parquet and the hum of distant voices are the only things to break the silence of a silent apartment. The sun – finally, the long-awaited sun – sneaks in, wary to make too much of a show or to commit beyond today, as I sit and begin my week. Good moods have returned in spades, lighting up my days in a way that no bright ray of sunshine can. Whistling, singing, smiles bursting across rosy-cheeked male faces have a way of cheering me up and pushing me joyously through the day. My own sluggish, lackadaisical mood is reinvigorated and I find myself inspired once again. Things seem to be looking up in Crazy Town, our tiny private island lost in a sea of mankind has burst into summery bloom even as autumn sets in outside my windows. We are, once again, on the right track.

Bad dreams disintegrate into dust, evaporating into the pale, watery light of dawn, fading into a steady, calm peace. Hope fills our days after weeks of worry and woe and we laugh out loud. Autumn, my favorite season, has settled in wrapped in a golden glow and smelling oddly, beautifully of Christmas. As the blogosphere is all abuzz with Thanksgiving, sweet potato casserole, pumpkin pies and roast goose, bright, rich, exotic, warming tagines, ossobuco, curries and stews clutter my brain and I dream of far-off lands and Italy. Although no Thanksgiving finds a place in our humble home and Christmas is one of those remnants of JP’s former life which sneaks across the threshold, inviting itself for a star appearance once only every several years, the holiday season excites me, stirring up childlike images of fairy dust, twinkling lights and snow gently falling out of inky black skies, lighting up a romantically icy world. And we begin counting the days to Hanukkah.


Autumn has me thinking of crostate. Chilly autumn mornings gathered around the old wooden table in Ettore’s kitchen in that large, rambling house nestled in the fields outside Villastanza, the frost gathering on the stalks of corn just beyond the window. Bundled up against the crispness of an early November day, the stimulating aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the room while the boys spill a tumble of cakes and cookies across the wooden surface, each grabbing up one, two, three of their favorites. A rustic crostata is uncovered * ta da * and takes its pride of place in the center, elbowing aside plates and mugs, turning up its nose at all the packaged goodies who pale in comparison, amid the oohs and ahhhs of the men. A homey, comforting crostata, a buttery, crispy, delicate piecrust filled simply with our favorite marmellata, jam or jelly, hidden snugly under a lattice of more delicate crust. Slices greedily eaten and washed down with milk or caffé latte, nothing rich or heavy to weigh one down, just enough to fill tummies, a soothing, unpretentious treat to wake up to, a sweet kiss to start the day. Then dress the boys, wrap them up tightly in coats, mittens and wooly bonnets and scoot them off to school.


Yes, the humble crostata. Such an Italian treat! Simple, homey and rustic, ready in a flash, sweet and light. How many did I make, blending, rolling out dough, selecting a favorite jam, baking and serving to eager husband and children? Autumn may mean pumpkin and apple pies, cranberry muffins and sweet potato pancakes to others, but this season is inextricably intertwined with, bound to the beautiful crostata. My trip to Italy and a weekend with From Plate to Page brought the crostata back to me! It had been years since I baked one, too many years, yet a gift of marvelous, luscious homemade jams in an amazing, wild, creative combination of flavors was offered to us by Wendy of Sunchowder’s Emporia located in my home state of Florida, one of our generous, incredible sponsors. I ended up with a jar of Black Forest Jam, a stunning confection of blackberries, Callebaut chocolate and Chambord as well as a jar of Pumpkin Spice Butter. Ilva threw together some fabulous individual crostate during the weekend, which had me scratching my head in wonder at how I could have forgotten to bake this favorite goodie for so long. And as soon as we returned home, well, I did.


How many wishes have I wished in my life? Birthday candles blown out in one giant breath? Starlight, star bright, the first star I see tonight? Or standing atop that mountain in Italy outside of Bergamo on San Lorenzo, the night of the falling stars, le stelle candenti, quick quick grab at the first shooting star and make a wish! How many wishes come true? I have my Prince Charming… friendships deep and true have been granted…. two sons grown tall, healthy, handsome, smart and kind. But all of those wishes made over glowing lights and falling stars, coins picked up from sidewalks and eyelashes or fluffy dandelion blooms blown into the wind…well, not many. Yet, I was recently visited by The Fairy Hobmother, a surprise visit generously bestowing joy and granting wishes. He offered me an Amazon gift card and this holiday season will be that much sweeter, that much more brilliant because of his visit!

So I offer you a slice of crostata and a chance to make a wish in turn. Simply leave a comment here on this post, wishing a wish, and you too may receive a visit from The Fairy Hobmother!

A special thanks to our generous From Plate to Page sponsors:


Sunchowder’s Emporia whose stunningly delicious jams went into my crostata (order online or find a list of shops who sell the jams);
Taste of Home whose apron is worn proudly as I bake;
Zwilling J.A. Henckels (JP LOVES the knife)!

And The Fairy Hobmother from Appliances Online for the wish come true!

JAMIE’S CROSTATA

Pasta Frolla (Sweet Pastry Dough):

1 ¼ cups (175 g) flour
¼ tsp baking powder
Large pinch of salt
¼ cup + 1 Tbs (65 g) sugar
8 ½ Tbs (4 ½ oz/ 125 g) butter
1 large egg yolk + 3 – 5 tsp ice water

Place the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl and whisk to combine.

Cube the butter and toss the cubes in the dry ingredients to coat. Using the tips of your fingers and thumb, rub the butter and flour together quickly until all of the butter is blended in and there are no more lumps. Add the egg yolk and 3 teaspoons cold water and, using a fork, blend vigorously until all of the flour/sugar/butter mixture is moistened and starts to pull together into a dough. Add another teaspoon or two of ice water if needed.

Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface and, using the heel of one hand, smear the dough inch by inch away from you in short, hard, quick movements; this will completely blend the butter in. Scrape up the smeared dough and, working very quickly, gently knead into a smooth, homogeneous ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 15 to 20 minutes if the dough is too sticky to easily roll.

Prepare the Crostata:

You will need 10 or 12 (more or less, depending on how thick you would like the jam layer) tablespoons jam, jelly or fruit butter total (can be divided into 2 or 4 flavors).

On a lightly floured surface (kept floured), roll out ¾ of the dough to fit a 9-inch (23 cm) pie plate. Gently press into place and trim off excess dough, adding this to the remaining dough. Spoon the jam or jelly into the crust and spread evenly over the bottom.


Roll out the remaining dough and slice (using a knife, pizza or pastry cutter) into ½ to 1-inch strips. Lay over the top of the jam layer as you like, evenly spacing the strips. Press the edges of the lattice strips to the edges of the dough to seal around the sides. Trim. Place the prepared crostata in the refrigerator to chill for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C).

Bake the crostata for 20 to 25 minutes until puffy and the lattice crust as well as the bottom of the tart are a deep golden color.


Cool. Serve. Eat.

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APPLE DUMPLINGS & ORANGE MASCARPONE TARTLETS

STARTING OVER - BAD DREAMS AND GHOSTS


A fleeting premonition. It spun before her eyes, a flash of knowledge. Should she say something, try to get him to slow down, warn him of impending…what? Danger? She hesitates. He never liked it when she in her constant state of nervous anxiety tried to warn him, control him. And it usually all ended in nothing anyway. Or was there simply not enough time? Then there came those hang gliders, so close she could practically touch them if she rolled down her window and reached out her hand, brush her fingers across their skin; so close she could see their faces, see their smiles, weaving in and out, in and then away from the car. And then it was upon them. She turned her head and noticed that he was no longer watching the road, did not notice the curve of the highway as they sped forward, as the sharp turn in the road rushed towards them. He, too, had noticed the hang gliders so curiously close to the car, to the craggy, rugged mountainside and was observing them in wonder and slight amusement.

No barrier. She didn’t notice the lack of any wall, shield or fence at all to protect them, nothing to defend them from the fall at all, not so much as a warning, until it was too late. And the car spun off the road and took flight. Miles of emptiness hung below them as the car continued to move forward, projected into space; nothingness, miles of nothingness between the wheels of the car and the ground visible so far below them.

And the car spun forward, gently dipping in its trajectory, but mostly flying forward, less a free fall than flight, yet the threat of falling was there hanging silent and heavy between them. This has always been her greatest fear, a precipitous, dizzying drop, that fall to death. Yet her fear at this moment was overcome by a concern for him. She flung her arms around his neck, hung on tight and pressed her forehead into his warm cheek. His eyes wide open in horror, saying nothing, she calming him, letting him know with her words of tenderness and love that he was not to blame, that she loved him.

My eyes pop open. A dream, what a curious, odd dream. I have many of them, these dreams of falling, falling, more often than I would like. Sometimes I even fear the coming slumber because of those dreams. So cool and collected, so carefree and optimistic in daylight I am, taking all the bumps and knocks with a shrug and a smile, able to laugh it all off and support and soothe even his anxiety and pessimism. But close my eyes and the worries that I am able to elude during my waking hours crowd around me when I sleep, the stress and doubts I push to some far away corner of my brain bubble up to the surface and flood my imagination and gentle dreams turn black, nightmares of foreboding and terror. Yet this curious dream – was it a nightmare? I awoke with a jump, yet no lingering panic, no bad feelings clung to my body. Absence of the usual sweating and heart pounding, the usual feeling of dread…. I was strangely, unusually calm.


Flour fluttering through my fingers, soft and silent, dusting the tabletop like freshly fallen snow. Butter cool between thumb and index, smell the fragrance of fresh cream – try to describe the scent of butter! Cubes of pale yellow pressed between my fingers with that gentle resistance begging me to give them more of my attention, forcing me to be insistent. Slowly, rhythmically, these delicate mounds of butter fade into a mere trace, an illusion, creating perfect symbiosis with the flour like damp sand on the beach on a warm evening of summer. One single egg yolk plops into the center with a poof. A yellow so shocking, so deep, almost orange that thoughts of their pale, anemic cousins back home make me chuckle; no, these impose themselves, force their existence on you in their flashy dress, their plump, glistening, neon ostentation. A splash of milk splatters onto the dark golden orb and completes the scenario. I press my hands in and squeeze, satisfied; press and push until I have my perfect dough, sweet with a shower of white, white sugar glittering in the ray of neon. And I have in front of me a treasure trove of pleasures, a multitude of promises. After a night of dreams, turbulent, confusing, I long to spend the day in the kitchen pressing my hands lovingly, soothingly in the cool calm of fresh dough. And from this delicate, smooth ball I can create all that I desire.

Dreams are often so simple to interpret and it is a game I love to play. Analyzing the images that dance through those night visions in some macabre parallel world, so alive, so real yet so illusory, intangible, chimerical, becomes a way to admit our worst fears and discuss the worries that torment our subconscious minds. We laugh as we find a parallel, our worries seem to disintegrate into nothingness as we talk. Our little pastime of discussing and analyzing each nightmare becomes an amusement, a distraction that alleviates the anguish of these turbulent changes in life. “Do you think that I have driven you over some proverbial cliff?” he asks, worry searing deep into his eyes. No, of course not. We came to the decisions together, as one, and we know without a doubt it was the right choice, the only choice. And we are good. We are happy. And all will come out right in the end.


The scent of oranges bright and tangy fills the air. Quick spurts of oil and juice as my knife presses through the skin and into the flesh. Orange curd is on the agenda, thick, luxurious curd with the scent of my Florida childhood. Oranges nestled in the bottom of my basket in a joyful tumble and jumble with apples both red and green, the colors of the season. Apples sweet and tart dusted with cinnamon and paired with plump, golden raisins, enrobed in a wrap of sweet pastry dough will welcome autumn into my kitchen. I rustle through the jars and containers in the refrigerator encumbered with more than we would ever need, and come happily upon a jar of chocolate ganache and another of delectable salted butter caramel sauce and have one of those glorious eureka moments! Why make only one dessert when I can make an endless array, something for everyone?

Once again – is this the sixth or seventh time in the past two years? – we are awoken with a jolt as the bedroom door flings open with the force of a gale storm wind. It slams into the radiator with a crash as if someone angry bursts into the room, waking us purposely. We sit up with a start and then crash back down onto our pillows, our only doubts being whether or not the blast and the impact woke up the dog as well. But, no, silence. So we leave the door open and fade back into sleep.

“It’s him, you know, your brother, Michael.” He, normally so pragmatic, so practical and so scientific, states so matter of factly. “Haven’t you noticed that the closet doors creak and crack on a regular basis? It’s not just the bedroom door flung open in the night. He must be in the armoire and angry that you gave me his shirts. He’s inside the armoire trying to take his shirts back!” He chuckles and I laugh, but we know that since Michael passed away, there is really no other explanation for all the odd and ghostly occurrences. And maybe in a way it comforts us, knowing he is around, with us. Awakening in the night to the crash bang of the door doesn’t frighten us anymore. And then we laugh, the solemnity and pangs of discomfort brought on by my odd, curious dream, the worries of our future it stirred up once again fade away into daylight. And I pull out the box of flour, the sugar, the eggs and start my day.

Two recipes for Sweet Pastry Crust to use at will, as you like, as you desire. I have made mini tartlet shells, some of which I filled with Orange Curd Mascarpone Cream, others with Dark Chocolate Ganache and Salted Butter Caramel Sauce. And part of the Sweet Pastry Crust was wrapped snugly around two apples and baked, each apple cored and stuffed with sweet golden raisins, a smidge of butter, a dash of cinnamon and a shake of granulated brown sugar. To drizzle with more Salted Butter Caramel Sauce, of course.


Feel free to stir in ¼ cup of finely ground nuts (almond, hazelnut, pistachio) into the dry ingredients of either of the following Sweet Pastry Crust recipes.


Make the Orange Curd (recipe follows) or my favorite Lime Curd and make a wonderful tart filling by whisking or beating in mascarpone in 2 to 1 proportions (twice the amount curd to mascarpone) or to taste. Or, for a lighter filling, beat 1 cup (250 ml) chilled heavy whipping cream until thick and stiff peaks hold then beat in up to 1 ½ cups Lime or Orange Curd or to taste.

And this week has all been punctuated by two very exciting honors and wonderful news!

Life’s a Feast has been selected by Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution as one of November’s Food Blogs of the Month.


My Cranberry-Cherry Macarons were featured on Gourmet Live’s Autumnal Desserts round up!


SWEET PASTRY CRUST #1

This recipe can easily be doubled for a two-crust pie.

1 1⁄4 cups (175 g) flour
1⁄4 cup (50 g) sugar
7 Tbs (100 grams) unsalted butter*
1 large egg, lightly beaten

Stir flour and sugar together in a bowl. Add the butter cut into cubes and, using thumb and finger tips, rub the flour and butter into each other vigorously until it resembles damp sand on the beach and there are no more large chunks of butter.

Pour the lightly beaten egg over the flour-sugar-butter mixture and stir vigorously with a fork until all of the dry ingredients are moistened and it starts to clump. With fingers, press together into a ball and place on a floured surface. With the heel of one hand, smear the dough forward quickly in hard, sharp movements, a little at a time (a tablespoon maybe) until all the dough has been "smeared". This blends in the last of the butter. Scrape the dough together and work briefly, just enough to form into a smooth, homogeneous ball.

Wrap in plastic wrap and put in the refrigerator until needed or, if making your pie right away, just until it is firm enough to be easy to roll out without sticking to your rolling pin.

* Most pie crust recipes call for the butter to be chilled. I have found that butter at room temperature is easier and quicker to work into the flour and the dough seems to be fluffier. If it is too sticky to roll out right away, 10 to 15 minutes in the fridge should do the trick.

SWEET PASTRY CRUST #2

1 ¾ cups (250 g) flour
1/3 cup (40 g) powdered/icing sugar
8 Tbs (115 g) unsalted butter, slightly softened, cubed
1 large egg yolk
Scant ¼ cup (50 ml) milk, slightly more if needed

Sift or whisk together the flour and powdered sugar in a large mixing bowl. Drop in the cubes of butter and, using the tips of your fingers and thumb, rub the butter and flour together quickly until all of the butter is blended in and there are no more lumps. Add the egg yolk and the milk and, using a fork, blend vigorously until all of the flour/sugar/butter mixture is moistened and starts to pull together into a dough.

Scrape the dough out onto a floured work surface and, using the heel of one hand, smear the dough inch by inch away from you in short, hard, quick movements; this will completely blend the butter in. Scrape up the smeared dough and, working very quickly, gently knead into a smooth, homogeneous ball. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 20 to 30 minutes.
To make individual tartlet shells with either recipe:

Lightly grease with butter the sides and bottoms of 6 individual tartlet tins (4 to 4 ¼ inches/ 10 ½ to 11 cm wide) – or even tinier ones - and place the prepared tins on a baking sheet.

Remove the dough from the refrigerator and unwrap. Working on a floured surface and with the top of the dough kept lightly floured to keep it from sticking to the rolling pin, roll out the dough and line the tins by gently lifting in and pressing down the dough. Trim the edges. Cover the baking tray with the lined tins with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes. This can also be done ahead of time.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Remove the baking tray from the refrigerator and discard the plastic wrap. Cut or tear squares of parchment paper larger than each tin. Prick each tartlet shell with a fork (not too hard or deep as you don’t want holes going all the way through the dough) and place a square or parchment over each. Weigh down the parchment with pastry weights or dried beans, pushing the beans into the corners. Bake for 10 minutes. Remove from the oven, carefully lift out the parchment squares and beans, pressing the bottoms down with your fingertips if puffed up, and return to the oven to bake until golden. If the shells are too tiny to easily fill with parchment and beans, simply bake for 15 to 20 minutes until golden then, upon removing from the oven and while still hot, carefully press down the bottoms of each shell if puffed up. Allow to cool then carefully lift or turn shells out of tins and fill.

ORANGE CURD


¾ cup (150 g) granulated sugar
2 Tbs cornstarch
1 heaping Tbs finely grated orange zest
¾ cup (190 ml) freshly squeezed orange juice (about 3 juice oranges)
6 egg yolks, lightly beaten
½ cup (115 g) unsalted butter, cubed

Place the egg yolks in a medium to large heatproof mixing bowl. I block mine by placing on a kitchen towel which I have formed into a “nest”. Whisk the egg yolks lightly.

In a medium saucepan, whisk together the sugar and the cornstarch. Whisk in the orange zest and juice until the sugar and cornstarch are dissolved. Cook over medium or medium-low heat, whisking, until thickened and bubbling.

Slowly pour the hot orange-sugar mixture into the egg yolks while whisking in order to heat the yolks gradually and gently. Once the hot mixture has been whisked into the yolks, pour everything back into the saucepan. Cook over medium-low heat, whisking constantly, until it comes to a gentle boil. Continue to cook and whisk for 2 minutes.

Remove the curd from the heat and whisk in the butter, a cube or two at a time, until all the butter is incorporated and the curd is smooth and thick. Scrape into a bowl or large measuring cup, cover with plastic wrap, pressing the wrap directly onto the surface of the curd, allow to cool to room temperature then refrigerate.

BAKED APPLE DUMPLINGS


Simply core one apple per person and fill the cavity with golden raisins (optional). Press a knob of butter down into the hole, dust with a pinch of cinnamon and sprinkle about half a teaspoon brown sugar into the hole.

Use about 1/3 recipe Sweet Pastry Crust for 2 baked apples: roll out and wrap each apple in a piece of dough, gently pulling and pressing up the dough around the apple, cutting off excess. Slightly overlap the dough on top of the apple, press to seal. Decorate with cut out leaves, stems, etc, “gluing” the decorations/leaves onto the dough with milk. Place in a baking dish and refrigerate for about 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Remove the dish with the prepared, wrapped apples from the fridge, brush all over with milk and sprinkle with granulated brown sugar. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour until the pastry is a deep golden color.


Serve drizzled with Salted Butter Caramel Sauce.

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