A Finger in Every Pie

Our Dinner at Telepan

"Where would you like to go for your birthday?" asked my best beloved.  I wasn't sure it mattered too much; I just wanted to be with him.  We had some pretty fancy meals coming up anyway -- a soirée this weekend; a dinner invitation next month to a rather special venue.  But I gave his question some thought. 

A friend of a friend made a superhuman effort and got us a reservation at Babbo.  The best she could do was six days *before* my birthday. Apparently all the days around Valentine's Day (my birthday is three days after) were booked up at Babbo; consolation prizes for the sweeties who couldn't get in on the lovers' day itself, I suppose.  I decided that we'd put the Babbo plans on hold, and see if we couldn't call this marker in for another occasion.  We go out pretty rarely, and I thought I'd rather have a rest from kitchen duty on the actual birthday, as it were.  So I settled on having the celebratory meal at Telepan.

I've wanted to try this restaurant for a while, but a couple of factors were the deciding ones.  First, it wasn't so over the top that we were going to a) break the bank or b) have to dress up, which I don't mind but which G equates with various sorts of torture.   Secondly, it has a tasting menu -- but one you put together yourself from their various courses.  Now me, I'm an intrepid eater that loves a tasting menu -- lots of new treats to savor.  G, on the other hand, is the sort of eater who, when faced with various arty constructions on his plate, is wont to say things like, "Are there mushrooms in this?" It's hard to let the chef cook for you when you're with dining companions who have a lot of uh-ohs on their list of acceptable food substances.  So a four-course tasting menu where you choose all your courses satisfies us both. 

We went to an early showing of Persepolis (a bit disappointing, but I won't spoil it for you).  Then we walked up Columbus in a misty, romantic rain.  Telepan is a pretty space, with friendly service.  Despite a bit of crowding at the entrance, we were seated promptly for our reservation.  Shortly thereafter a server offered us a choice of warm breads (we both chose the semolina raisin fennel). Then another server showed up with a pretty wooden trencher of amuses bouches for each of us.  Lined up in a row was a little gougère, a porcelain spoon of salad, and the obligatory demitasse cup of soup (although I did bring my camera to this meal, we were in a very low-lit part of the room, and not a single one is unblurred -- which is sad, since the food was very pretty.  The composition of souvenirs above was, of course, taken after the fact). 

The cheese puff was a surprise -- it was filled with a sharp, molten hot cheese sauce.  The salad was finely shredded brussels sprouts in a citrus vinaigrette with ricotta salata cheese, which turned out to be a very fine combination.  The soup was parsnip with pineapple -- again, nothing I'd ever think of throwing together, necessarily, but quite lovely as it turned out.  These preliminary tastes boded well for the meal to come, I thought.   

I loved my first course -- tiny grilled quail on a salad of fresh greens, roast duck meat, oranges and chunks of toasted almond.  Tasting menu portions are smaller than ala carte, of course, but the little half quail was sufficient for me, since I always have to pace myself with a multi-course meal.  G was not as happy with his starter.  He had chosen a salad with a dry jack cheese dressing, which turned out to be composed of very tall reddish salad leaves.  I tasted it, and could see why he was unimpressed.  The salad dressing was not balanced -- it was very vinegar-forward, to the point of concealing the flavor of the cheese -- the very thing designed to tick off my cheese-loving husband.

Both of our mid-courses, however, were exceptional.  We both had pastas -- I the lobster bolognese, and he the veal ravioli.  The bolognese was a gorgeous big chunk of lobster tail in the shell, balanced atop a tangle of spaghetti in a very light, herbal tomato broth with more lobster chunkettes.  I wanted to lick my plate, but refrained.  G's was light, pillowy ravioli filled with shredded roast veal, and sauced with a pure veal jus reduction.  Very simple -- and very, very good.

Things fell down a little during entrée time.  G's hangar steak was tender and delicious, but he looked askance at the two little slices on his plate.  This is where the tasting menu concept doesn't work for him -- he waits through the meal for the thing he likes best, and then it's a little dollhouse portion.

The roast loin of veal, my choice, was only one slice, which was actually plenty for me.  Unfortunately, it was on the very rare side of medium rare, which is a nice thing when it's steak, but not so much when it's veal, in my opinion.  Veal is one of those meats which, when it's too rare, becomes (in the words of the immortal Laurie Colwin) a tough matting of wet red fibers.  I didn't send it back, however, because that always creates problems in a multi-course meal.  I soldiered through several bites of it, and very much enjoyed the accompanying geometrically perfect block of crunchy exteriored/creamy interiored potato slices, and the little clump of pungent black kale. 

A few tables down from us, a silver-haired dowager did indeed send back her veal, and then the not-so-much-fun started.  Of course her three other dining companions finished their tiny entrées in a trice.  By the time the server came by to assure her that her veal would be right out, she was in a full-blown snit.  "Never mind," she said haughtily. "Can I get you something else?"  "Can we have it packed for you?"  "NO," said she.  "I said, NEVER MIND."  By this time, the server had gotten the sous manager, and the sous manager had gotten the manager-manager...but it was no use.  The queen mother would not be mollified.

The server came back.  "The manager wants you to know that he would like to treat the table to dessert."  "I thought the dessert came with the meal anyway," replied the woman, razoring right through the waiter's gesture.  The poor fellow had just about reached wits' end, but made a superhuman effort to respond without throttling her.  "Yes, of course, but the bill will be adjusted to reflect complimentary desserts," he said, just the tiniest hint of exasperation filtering through, perhaps only noticeable to me. 

Ah, the theatre of dining out.  I tend to forget about other people, since we mostly dine á deux.  We were busy with our own not-complimentary but still very nice (full-size!) desserts when I began to pick up conversation from the other side.  At the four-top to our right was a pregnant couple and an engaged couple.  There was talk of bachelor parties and baby showers.  G appeared not to notice, engrossed as he was in forking up warm ginger cake, pear fritter, crème fraîche ice cream, poached pear and cranberries.  The daddy-to-be at our neighbors' table excused himself and left for a bit.  The engaged couple honed in on the mommy-to-be.  "How are you feeling?"  they asked.  "Mmmm, I'm not ready," she said.  "Not ready for this at all."  "Ummm," said the engaged guy.  "Then, ummm, why are you doing it?"  Soon-to-be-mommy smiled and shrugged.  "Well, you know," she said.  "It's what people do."  I took my spoon from my crumbly, fudgy, chocolate pecan tart, and dipped it, first into the quenelle of caramel crumble ice-cream on the side of the plate, then into the long stripe of dark fudge, then into the little pool of rich warm caramel.  The daddy-to-be came back to the table, and their conversation shifted.

I looked up from my luscious plate of sweets, and caught G's eye.  He had indeed been listening.  "I'm so glad I married you, and only you," I said, as the waiter brought the check with some tiny citrus-scented coconut macaroons in little wrappers.   "And I you, my love," said G.  "And I you." 

Elemental Apple Pie

 

"Good apple pies are a considerable part of our domestic happiness." -  Jane Austen

Miss Austen's words are certainly a truism in our household.  Long gone are the days when I suffered pie anxiety, thanks to good dessert gurus like David Lebovitz and Rose Levy Beranbaum.  But it was this recipe that put my tough-crust terrors to bed once and for all.  Like others, I'm not always a die-hard fan of the philosophies espoused in Cook's Illustrated (like any good rebel, I actually continue to eat green beans despite Chris Kimball's hatred of them).  However, sometimes the folks at CI really do hit the mark, like the time some clever cook thought of using vodka in the pie-crust.

Plenty has been written about this already.  People have experienced varying degrees of success.  All I can tell you is that I have yet to come out with an imperfect crust using this recipe, especially when combined with Rose Levy Beranbaum's baking techniques for two-crust pies filled with juicy fruit -- like apples. It's a stand-up crust -- flaky, buttery, flavorful as a dream, but refusing to become sodden under the weight of pounds of juicy fruit.

If you read this blog with any regularity, you probably know of G's penchant for apple desserts.  So it is our tradition that on Valentine's Day, instead of the chocolate fondue or chocolate soufflé or molten chocolate cake that everyone else is whipping up for their sweetie, I make apple desserts.  And G makes sure that my chocolate jones is met with a lovely big box of dark, delicious sweeties from this place.  Usually I bake a killer crumble, or apple toffee bars, or maybe a heart-shaped apple upside-down cake.  But not this year.

Several months ago, at Thanksgiving to be precise, I eschewed my usual dolled-up apple-toffee caramelized crunchy crumble-topped pie that I've made for the past few years.  My father, whose advanced age means that he must be obeyed, had asked for a traditional two-crust apple pie.  With a little help from the vodka bottle and another secret weapon, the cider jelly jar (and this must be a jelly made from absolutely nothing except pure apple cider), I made what my husband immediately dubbed the "Best.  Apple.  Pie.  Ever."  It was so good that I made another one, since we were expecting company for a belated Thanksgiving just a few days later.  Company didn't come, and we had the second pie all to ourselves.

Most of the time he doesn't ask for much, that G, and tends to be pretty content with wolfing down whatever I come up with for dinner, most days -- as well as cleaning up the disaster-area of a kitchen I often leave in my wake.  But every so often, he slyly mentions the possibility of my making another apple pie.  So this year, I knew what I would bake for my sweetheart, Hallmark holiday or no.

It's going to be a while before those of us in the Northeast see fresh, seasonal, local fruit.  But even apples that have been in storage for a few months respond well to this treatment.  Give this lovely treat a whirl, and your longing for other fruit a rest for the moment.  And you needn't even wait for a holiday.

Apple Pie
adapted from Cook's Illustrated, Rose Levy Beranbaum's Best American Apple Pie, and probably other inspirational sources as well

1 recipe vodka pie crust for a double-crust pie (completed to the point of chilling the dough before rolling out)

3 to 3 1/2 pounds of apples (I used Empire yesterday, but I've used many other kinds, all with success, as long as they're tangy-sweet and flavorful), peeled, cored and sliced 1/4-inch thick
1/4 cup brown or muscovado sugar
1/4 cup maple syrup (Grade B organic, always)
1 tsp. Vietnamese cinnamon
1/2 tsp. freshly grated nutmeg
juice and zest of one organic lemon
1/2 tsp. kosher salt
2 Tbsp. butter
2 Tbsp. pure apple cider jelly
1 Tbsp. plus 1 tsp. cornstarch 

Cream; bakers' large crystal/sparkle sugar

Remove the dough for the bottom crust from the refrigerator. If necessary, allow it to sit for about 10 minutes or until it is soft enough to roll.

On a floured pastry cloth or between two sheets of lightly floured plastic wrap, roll the bottom crust 1/8-inch thick or less and 12 inches in diameter. Transfer it to a 9 or 10-inch pie pan (I use a 10-inch; this is plenty of crust, but you will need at least 3 lbs of apples). Trim the edge almost even with the edge of the pan. Cover it with plastic wrap and refrigerate it for a minimum of 30 minutes and a maximum of 3 hours.

In a large bowl, combine the apples, lemon juice and zest, sugar, maple syrup, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt and toss to mix. Allow the apples to macerate at room temperature for a minimum of 30 minutes and a maximum of 3 hours.

Transfer the apples and their juices to a colander suspended over a bowl to capture the liquid. The mixture will release at least 1/2 cup of liquid.

In a small saucepan, over medium-high heat, boil down this liquid, with the butter and the cider jelly, to about 1/3 cup (a little more if you started with more than 1/2 cup of liquid), or until syrupy and lightly caramelized. Swirl the liquid but do not stir it.  Meanwhile, transfer the apples to a bowl and toss them with the cornstarch until all traces of it have disappeared.

Pour the syrup over the apples, tossing gently. (Do not be concerned if the liquid hardens on contact with the apples; it will dissolve during baking.)

Roll out the top crust large enough to cut a 12-inch circle. Transfer the apple mixture to the pie shell. Moisten the border of the bottom crust by brushing it lightly with water and place the top crust over the fruit. Tuck the overhang under the bottom crust border and press down all around the top to seal it. Crimp the border using a fork or your fingers and make about 5 evenly spaced 2-inch slashes starting about 1 inch from the center and radiating toward the edge (yesterday I cut a heart-shaped steam vent instead). Cover the pie loosely with plastic wrap and refrigerate it for 1 hour before baking to chill and relax the pastry. This will maintain flakiness and help to keep the crust from shrinking.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees at least 20 minutes before baking. Set an oven rack at the lowest level and place a baking stone or baking sheet on it before preheating. Place a large piece of greased foil on top to catch any juices.

Brush the top of the chilled pie lightly with cream, and sprinkle with crystal sugar.  Set the pie directly on the foil-topped baking stone and bake for 45 to 55 minutes or until the juices bubble through the slashes and the apples feel tender but not mushy when a cake tester or small sharp knife is inserted through a slash. After 30 minutes, protect the edges from overbrowning by covering them with a foil ring (I generally need to keep most of the top of the pie covered for a good portion of the baking time, but that may just be the vagaries of my extremely poor oven).

Cool the pie on a rack for at least 4 hours (ha!) before cutting. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Store at room temperature, uncovered.  Reheat any leftovers gently before serving to crisp the crust.

Let Them Eat Citrus

This all started with a shipment of grapefruit.  I'd ordered some of those super-sweet, low-acid  Texas Ruby Reds for various family members, so of course we needed a few for our mean selfish selves.  I figured a little mid-winter extravagance never hurt anyone -- except maybe people who are as sabbatical-poor as we are at the moment.  Ah well -- gone is gone, wisely says the old story my mother used to read to us. 

Then I took a fateful trip to Fairway, where I saw that my favorite Temple oranges had come into season.  I love their zipper skins and the bright, tangy pop of their juice exploding in the mouth.  And they don't cost much -- 3 for a dollar, a veritable bargain.  So into the cart they went.  Then, once inside, I saw the loveliest thing -- a whole box, an entire 2-pound plastic clamshell of Meyer lemons for only $5!  Why, I remember only a few years ago, when I had to dig around for a few lonely specimens that cost the earth, more than three dollars apiece.  Now I can ponder lovely things to do with my huge stash of Meyer lemons.  Dangling on a display post nearby was a net bag of Sicilian Tarocco blood oranges.  You see, I've never had the Sicilian kind, only the California clones.  And I am therefore deprived, a situation which now could be so easily remedied for a mere $3.49, a pittance.  And then, next to them, I saw a pile of Cara-Caras.  Never mind that these still really and truly cost the earth.  I wasn't leaving without at least six of them. 

So, many dollars lighter, few pennies left for other groceries, we find ourselves in the midst of a veritable citrus glut.  Never mind that we're not going to get the Locavore of the Year award any time soon.  At least no-one around here is coming down with scurvy, not on my watch. 

Death By Chocolate: Late in the Game

Better late than never, as they say.  Just for fun, and because I'm really not in the mood to read the textbook for my Public Policy Analysis class tonight, I'm procrastinating by entering Culinate's Death By Chocolate contest.  Here's the post I submitted.  There are lots of wonderful entries, but should you feel moved to do so, please register and vote for me here.  A birthdayish trip to the Napa Valley would be pretty wonderful, methinks. 

 

Tales of the Midwest

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, ché la diritta via era smarrita.
In the middle of the pathway of life, I found myself in a dark wood, on a lost road. 

-Dante Alighieri, Il Inferno

Welcome to Steak 'n' Shake.  May I take your order? 

-Steak 'n' Shake website

Good readers, once again, it has not been my intention to abandon you.  But recent events (which, quite honestly, don't bear explanation) have been so completely overwhelming that I have had neither time, energy nor inclination for blogging -- and this in the sabbatical year when I was hoping to blog a great deal and do some other kinds of writing as well.  It should have been my year to just write my little heart out (and go to the gym, and help G with his business, and do a million other things that I don't seem to get to).  I think it suffices to say no more than that I've been having some personal problems which have required pretty much all my attention.

On top of this all-consuming difficulty, we have had a string of deaths.  There were three, so if life does operate by the venerable rule of threes, we should be all right for a while -- at least as far as that kind of loss (I have discovered, to my sorrow, that there are losses that cause you to feel as grief-stricken as an actual death, even if or perhaps particularly if the one you've lost is still walking the planet.  But at least in the latter case, the possibility of recovering from such a loss, and perhaps recovering the person you feel you've lost still exists...).   

A friend of a very close friend, whom we knew quite well, passed away suddenly at the New Year.  The cousin of an in-law, whom we didn't know at all, passed away, requiring the postponement of important business.  And G's gramma, who had been for some years in a nursing home, unable to recognize her near ones and dear ones, also passed away.  This too meant that much had to be postponed, as we had to fly out to Indiana for the funeral.

And rather than any of my other recent stories, that is the tale I will tell you here.

While searching for the cheapest possible plane tickets (yes, dear friends, we flew to Indianapolis via Atlanta, if that makes any sense), I realized that I was about to meet an entire, unknown branch of my new family.  G's dad's relatives, once from Indiana, now live in Tennessee and Kentucky and Minnesota, and were not able to make it to our family wedding party last May.  So I scurried around my closet searching for appropriate funeral clothes.

"Everything's hopelessly out of style," I moaned.

"Sweetheart."  G spoke firmly.  "We're going to Lebanon, Indiana.  There is nothing you could wear that wouldn't shout 'New Yorker' at everyone.  They will think everything you have is wonderful, and try to find out where they can get one." 

G had spoken to the heart of the issue.  We were going to the midwest.  He knows that I have a tendency to romanticize the heartland.  It's true, I do like to think of it as a place where rosy-cheeked farm wives bake fresh hot huckleberry pies while their husbands are out working the combine (not that I actually know what a combine is).  Every now and then, G gently tries to help me understand that the farms have been sold to big bizzness and the farm wives have ditched their hand-stitched aprons for the pastel poly pantsuits they wear on their shopping trips to WalMart. 

After a couple of grueling flights, a long wait for baggage, and confusion at the car rental counter, we arrived at the (dis)Comfort Inn at about 1:00 a.m.  Our travel odyssey was mitigated only slightly by the immediate presence of a Steak 'n' Shake right outside the airport.  G has long sworn that we would make our fortunes if only we could get hold of a franchise to open a Steak 'n' Shake in Times Square.  Sort of a cross between fast food and a diner, Steak 'n' Shake's steakburgers and milkshakes are actually made of real food, rather than polyvinyl chloride, and taste accordingly.  They also operate 24/7, which is all to explain why we were having milkshakes and fries (and in G's case, a steakburger) at midnight.  Because it was there.

Since there's no longer a family homestead in Indiana, our options for breakfast before a long morning of viewing, funeral service and unmet relatives were limited.  Sadly there were no farmwives anywhere offering to make us a hot homemade breakfast, so we were relegated to the tender mercies of Denny's, the threshold of which I've never  crossed before -- partly because I simply don't eat fast food and partly for political/historical reasons.  However, it was the closest option, and we were on a tight schedule.  I will never eat at Denny's again, that much I can tell you.  They may have come a long way toward eradicating the discriminatory policies that have plagued them for more than a decade, but there is simply no justification for a restaurant that encourages you to waste as much food as possible  -- whether the waste means leaving it on your plate or simply eating far, far more than you need. 

When G tried to order just eggs, the waitress told him that not only were the hash browns free with the full breakfast, but that if he ordered just the eggs as a side, it would cost him 20 cents MORE than if he ordered the full breakfast.  When I tried to figure out how to order some eggs with just bacon OR sausage, rather than both, I discovered that it would cost $2.00 MORE than ordering one of their obscenely large breakfasts with several breakfast meats.  This bothered me so much that I haven't been able to let go of it.  This corporation is basically insisting, through economic persuasion, that people either overeat grossly or throw away food.  No, I will never eat there again, unless those policies change radically as well.

G was right about my fashion statement, of course.  I bonded with a cousin-in-law since we are both of the tribe of public educators.  I was very much in keeping with the clothing of the day, since all the women seemed to be wearing long black wool skirts.  My brocaded pashmina and my geode ring, however, came in for a great deal of admiration.

God was very much in attendance at Gramma's funeral service.  For an ethnically Jewish/pagan/agnostic/I'll- find-my-own-spirituality-somewhere-or-other-urbanite, I've attended a fair amount of church, including my own niece and nephew's recent baptism at Park Avenue's posh R.C. outpost, St. Ignatius Loyola.  But the services are always so ecumenical.  There's lots of stuff about love and all, but only infrequent, tasteful mentions of God.  Not so with the Presbyterian service in Lebanon.  There were plenty of direct Bible quotations, psalms, prayer, and exhortations to reflect upon your own relationship with God the Father.  It was kind of refreshing, actually. And it was truly an example of community in action.  Gramma had not lived in this town for more than four years, but she had a very nice turn-out.  People from the church and from other parts of the community remembered her and came to the service. 

Afterward, the good ladies of the church served lunch to the family and friends of the bereaved.  Again, something that someone like me only really knows from reading about it in books.  As I somehow or other knew and predicted to G, we were served that midwestern favorite, hotdish.  This particular exemplar included chicken, celery, rice, cheese, water chestnuts, and large quantities of canned cream soup.  The water chestnuts came in for much favorable commentary at the lunch table.  Later, in the car, G and I tried to deconstruct the dish a little more.  "I think it was mostly cream-of-something soup," I said.  "I think it was cream-of-cream soup," said G.  "It might have been cream-of-soup soup," I replied.  Finally we agreed that it had probably been cream-of-can soup.

But we were still in for the trip's culinary highlight -- something really and truly good.  For years, G had told me that one of the only things he really liked to eat in Indiana was the fried catfish at a place called Stookey's, in a town called Thorntown.  Since we had another night at the Comfort(less) Inn, with its excruciating excuse for beds, we needed a dinner option.  So, together with G's parents (all other family had left town already), we drove out to Thorntown, to see if the myth (for me) and the memory (for them) of the fried catfish held true.

Stookey's bills itself as "family dining", and this is very much the case.  A place of old-timey etched-logo windows and old-fashioned steakhouse seating, the waitresses check in with you every few minutes, and will not rest until they can refill your iced tea.

Salads and sides are pretty standard, although their vinegar-based coleslaw, which I did not try, is apparently famous.  So too their onion rings, of which we had an appetizer order.  Hot and crisp and homemade, they were some of the best I've had in recent memory. 

But what you come to Stookey's for is the catfish.  I was slightly taken aback to have a couple of entire fried fish, bones and tails and all, set down in front of me (above you can see G's plate of three fishies; mine was a two-plate).  I suppose I'm used to getting filets when I order fried fish.  G's mom coached me.  "You have to kind of scrape it from the backbone, and then turn it over."  This technique yielded mouthfuls of the sweetest meat and the crunchiest cornmeal breading I've ever tasted, and left neat skeletons on my plate.  Worth a trip to Indiana, hopefully for happier reasons than ours.

So -- home again, home again, more awful, turbulent, storm-tossed flights (I've told you before how much I hate Delta, haven't I?  And in addition to all their other sins, the only food they give you on the plane is the world's most miniscule, dollhouse-sized packet of approximately seven tiny, substandardly small peanuts.  It made me long for Jet Blue, and a packet of blue chips or Dorito mix).

But someday soon, there will be better news to report, lifewise as well as foodwise.  I have a birthday coming up in a few weeks, one of those numbers which is either the new twenty or the new thirty, can't decide which.  And G and I are going to throw me a splendid party, with the help of a most darling and beloved cousin who's loaning out her spacious and lovely home.  Maybe you'll help me figure out some of the delicious things I'm going to cook (hint -- I'm putting together a menu of lots of platters of tapas-style food, enough to constitute dinner, no need for main courses.  We've figured out wines, but I want a nice fun fruity cocktail to serve.  Any ideas for food or drink welcome).  I've got sweet friends who are also accomplished bakers/cooks offering to make cakes and other goodies.  And we've got a great music mix, so maybe we'll even have dancing.  Despite being at the midpoint of life, lost in a dark wood, we're going to have fun, dammit. 

 

 

 

Menu For Hope: We Have a Winner!

The winners for Menu For Hope are in at Chez Pim and (for the East Coast prizes) at Serious Eats! 

Here at A Finger In Every Pie, we're happy to announce that Leila Violano is the winner of dinner for four at NYC's justifiably famous Union Square Cafe.

Congratulations, Leila!  Please email me and I will ship off your gift card to you posthaste. 

And for everyone else, thanks so very much for participating in this totally enjoyable fundraising effort.  Menu For Hope raised $91,188 for the UN World Food Programme, earmarked for school lunches in Lesotho, to be provided by local farmers.  So don't feel bad if you didn't get a prize.  I didn't, either, although I took chances on about 10 different swell things that were offered.  But this effort enabled us all to make substantial contributions to a great cause.  The people of Lesotho are the true winners, thanks to you. 

The Cookie Chronicles: Pecan Sand Tarts

Let's face it, I should probably just re-name this blog "mea culpa."  It simply happens far too often that I drop the ball.  I promise you posts and recipes, and then life intervenes, sometimes in startling and good ways, sometimes in horrifying ones.  I know this happens to everyone.  Quite a number of my most favorite bloggers take a little hiatus here and there.  But I do feel neglectful; I promised you the story of my lovely Lisette baking afternoon with friends Peter and Karen, which happened fully three weeks ago.  As far as excuses go, I did have a family crisis, which has fortunately been resolved. Then of course there was Menu For Hope (thank you all so much for supporting this great cause), which took up my blogging time and energy for the past couple of weeks. 

Sadly, my pictures from Lisette-baking Sunday did not appear.  It's not just that they didn't turn out; they somehow or other vanished from my camera altogether.  But you've had a fair number of Lisette pictures, and you know what these dome-shaped, glazed little lebkuchen nut tortes look like, even if you can't lick the screen and find out what they taste like.  I have to see the vanishing of the pictures as something of an omen.  I'm simply not meant to share too much information about these cakes.  Suffice it to say that I had a lovely time with Peter, being his sous-chef for the Lisette-making process, and learning not to sprinkle too many nonpareils on top -- as well as sharing tales of childhood.  Peter told me several delightful stories about his family's erstwhile Lisette-making business -- how his father, an engineer, created a machine that could automatically grind large amounts of nuts by jerry-rigging their little old-fashioned nut-grinder; how his mother was invited to sell her luscious little cakes at some of Manhattan's poshest department stores.  It was indeed a glorious afternoon, and at the end, I went home with a large container of beautiful glazed Lisettes.  That batch is, unfortunately, long gone; I've bought the ingredients for more, but haven't yet had the time to put them together. 

In the meantime, I've been cobbling together time for my annual cookie-baking ritual.  I had thought, of course, that this year I'd get lots and lots of baking done, as I'm on sabbatical.  Somehow or other, just the opposite happened.  Here it is Christmas Eve, and instead of a dozen kinds of goodies for the cookie platter, I have a mere eight.  But they are eight very good ones.  I've also made some modifications to old favorite recipes that have worked out very well, and I'll share those with you anon. 

So far, I've managed a large batch of the good old-fashioned  oatmeal cookies with-everything-in-them.  In addition, I've made wallflower loaves, extreme gingers, double-chocolate mint cookies, linzer biscotti, espresso-toffee shortbread, World Peace Cookies, and oh, I don't even know what else.  And I've made the cookies I'm about to share with you.  You see, I'm thinking you might need another cookie at the eleventh hour, or perhaps you have plans for baking during holiday week or for New Years'.  So I'm going to give you one of the all-time, most-requested favorites of my repertoire, Pecan Sand Tarts. 

Oh, you say.  Yet another recipe for the Mexican Wedding Cookie/Russian Tea Cake clone.  ZZZZZ.  But I'm going to have to exhort you to give this version a try, because there are several things that set it off from the standard recipe for this treat. 

One is the ratio of pecans to flour/butter/sugar/etc.  This recipe has about twice the number of pecans as the standard formula, and the added crunch factor is quite noticeable.  And that brings me to the second point.  Instead of grinding the nuts to a powder, this recipe leave them chopped so that some of them are finely ground and some are quite chunky, which gives great texture to the cookie.  Next is the fact that cake flour is used, which makes the whole thing quite light, and increases the whole melt-in-your-mouth factor. 

Then there's the low amount of sugar in the dough, which means that you don't go on sugar overload when you coat them with powdered sugar.  Instead, there's a nice contrast of the only faintly sweet and nutty buttery cookie to the sugary coating.  And finally, there's the baking time.  These cookies are baked slowly, for a long time at a lower temperature than normal.  This gives everything a chance to develop fantastic flavor instead of leaving a generic nutty buttery pastiness in your mouth.  You can pre-toast the pecans if you wish, but I think the slow baking gives them the extra toasted crunch anyway. 

I've been making these cookies since I was about 10 years old, ever since the Christmas a neighboring family gave them to us as part of a cookie assortment and I begged the recipe from them.  They called them pecan puffs, but my father said they tasted like cookies he remembered from long ago, and he always called them sand tarts.  They're his favorite, and beloved of many other family members and friends as well.  So instead of apologizing any more for my bad blogger tendencies, I leave you with this, another recipe which has become a family heirloom for us, and will perhaps become one for you as well.

Pecan Sand Tarts (aka Pecan Puffs)

Approximate yield:  30 - 50 cookies, depending on how large you roll them.  I usually make this recipe times six during this season -- the demand for them is such that a large number of people would be unhappy with me if I showed up without them at holiday time. 

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
2 tablespoons white sugar
fat pinch of salt
1 teaspoon good vanilla extract
1 cup sifted cake flour
1 cup pecan halves
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar for rolling

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F (150 degrees C). Line cookie sheets with parchment.  In a medium bowl or a stand mixer, cream together butter, sugar and salt until smooth. Beat in the vanilla. Roughly chop pecans in a food processor or blender so that you have a mix of textures; toss with cake flour. Stir the pecan mixture into the creamed mixture until well blended (at this point, the dough can be refrigerated and kept for several days, to bake at a later point. Or it can be frozen, probably for a couple of months). Roll the dough into balls "the size of a walnut," then place them 1 inch apart onto the prepared cookie sheets.

Bake for 30 to 40 minutes in the preheated oven, or until nicely golden brown (keep an eye on them; ovens differ, so I'd begin checking at 20 minutes). Roll warm cookies in confectioners' sugar (I often skip this step, not liking too much sugar -- I just roll them when they're cool). When cool, roll again.

Last Chance to Put Hope on Your Menu

Just one more quick plea -- if you forgot about Menu For Hope, you still have time!  Giving has been extended through the weekend, so you've got all day today to place some bids for glorious prizes, and at the same time support school lunches and sustainable farming in Lesotho.  Read all about it here. 

If you're the type that likes to hedge your bets, you can take a look at Pim's tip sheet, and see which prizes give you the best odds.  Or if, like me, you want to be daring and plunk all your money on long shots, take a flyer on that dinner at Manresa (UW10) or that fabulous tea from Becks 'n' Posh (UW32) or that dinner at Blue Hill (UE10) -- or of course, the wonderful chance to win a dinner for four at Union Square Cafe (UE23). 

Take a shot at this now.  Happy bidding! 

**And yes, I do know I've been neglecting other blogging duties.  I'll be back later, I promise, with at least one stellar cookie recipe for you frantic bakers like me who just can't seem to stop...**

Just Two More Days!

Time is running out to place bids on the more than 200 wonderful prizes being offered by Menu For Hope!  Just today and tomorrow offer us the chance to see a skyrocketing of  fundraising efforts for Lesotho's schoolchildren and local farmers.  Helping kids have a good lunch, grown by farmers in their own country, will benefit the local economy and ecosystems as well as simply providing food where it's needed and helping young people to stay in school. 

And, of course, there are all those mouth-watering prizes.  I am naturally just a tiny bit partial to the prize I'm offering -- dinner for four at NYC's famed Union Square Cafe (prize code UE23).  There's something sort of wonderful about a dinner for four.  It's the opportunity to play host, to take loved ones out for a delightful meal.  I can't wait to see who wins this -- and to ship them their special gift card! 

But there are so many other delectable prize options.  True confession -- I haven't placed my tickets yet, either.  I've been waffling, so to speak, because there are so many delicious possibilities.  Right now I'm feeling sort of pulled by some prizes that could lure us out to the Bay Area -- a dinner party cooked by Brett of In Praise of Sardines, whose new restaurant is called Contigo, meaning "with you."  Brett's prize (UW10) is called Contigo Conmigo (with you, with me), since he's offering to cook dinner for you and SEVEN of your friends in his home.  Mmmmm.  Or the tea that Sam of Becks & Posh is offering (UW32) which comes with jam from the true empress of conserves and marmalades, June Taylor.  A proper tea is one of my favorite meals, and whether Sam sends you a box filled with tea-time delights, or the prize earns $2,500 in bids -- at which point Sam and June will actually make a full-scale tea-party for the winner and guests -- it's all going to be sumptuous, I'm sure.

One of the things that's so special about Menu For Hope is that it's a bit more of an  equal-opportunity offering than your normal charity silent-auction, for example.  I find that I need to keep explaining to people that it's a raffle rather than an auction.  An auction automatically means that the person with the most money to spend on their chosen prize will win.  With a raffle, we've all got a chance, at least.  True, if you can buy more tickets, you're certainly upping your chances -- but who knows, perhaps the person who buys just one ticket for their chosen prize will be the winner.  Even better, the raffle means that each prize stands to earn quite a lot.  With an auction, the prize only earns as much as the highest bid, whereas with a raffle, it earns all the bids of all the tickets, which means lots more aid for the schoolchildren and farmers of Lesotho.

Even if you only put one ticket, you might still win -- and it's that quality of possibility that I love.  Many, many good things are available -- books and culinary tools and goodie baskets and chocolates and chances to meet swell food-obssessed folks and go on restaurant tours or stages.  So go to Chez Pim and browse some prizes, then go to FirstGiving, donate to an excellent cause while placing your tickets, and dream...

Menu for Hope 4: Dinner for Four at Union Square Cafe

I interrupt my scheduled programming (I know I promised a post about those Lisettes, plus I have other holiday cookies to chronicle for you), but it's that time of year again -- Menu for Hope time.  You say you don't know about Menu for Hope, the yearly donation program initiated by Pim Techamuanvivit, doyenne of the blog Chez Pim?  Well, the food blogging community has a treat for you.  Or actually, a series of treats for you.  Or, at the very least, many chances to win all kinds of treats -- for you.  And the best part of it, even better than the treats themselves, is that while you take a chance on winning any of a number of sumptuous prizes, you are donating to the UN World Food Programme -- more specifically, this year, to the school lunch program in Lesotho, Africa -- a cause particularly dear to my heart, since as a public educator, one of my dearest wishes is to see all children get a good lunch in school.  Here is where you can find answers to all the questions you suddenly have about Menu For Hope  -- information about its history; about this year's giving program; and links to all the regions around the world where food bloggers are offering chances on Menu For Hope prizes. 

For the past three years, I've been a player at Menu for Hope.  I usually give myself a donation number to play with -- say, $50 dollars, knowing that I'm making a good contribution to a worthy cause.  Then I have 5 lovely raffle tickets to play with, to bid on the prizes of my longing.  I even won a fabulous Persian Pantry from Fatemeh at Gastronomie one year.

This year, however, I'm offering a prize for the very first time.

And not just any prize.  Brought to you through the generosity of Union Square Hospitality Group, A Finger In Every Pie is offering dinner for four at the famed Union Square Cafe (prize code UE23; directions for entering the raffle at the bottom of this post).  The first of celebrated restaurateur Danny Meyer's restaurants, Union Square Cafe still remains his flagship, a place where you're always assured a delicious, attentive, comfortable and happy evening in an absolutely lovely setting. Twenty-two years ago, Union Square Cafe started the revolution in East Coast dining, combining innovative and wonderful food with a remarkable degree of friendly, attentive service.  One of the first restaurants in New York to have a market-based menu, much of its provender comes from its near neighbor, the Union Square Greenmarket.  USC is the restaurant that, more than two decades ago, truly set a new standard for marvelous dining, perfect service and great value.  Is it any wonder that it was listed in the Zagat guide as NYC's most popular restaurant for an unprecedented seven years?

So win this prize, and you can go with your honey, and invite your favorite BFF couple to join you.  Or maybe Aunt Jean and Uncle Louie are coming for a visit, and you want to give them a night out on the town at a renowned NY restaurant.  Then again, it might be that you'd like to live out your long-dormant Sex In The City fantasy and have cocktails and dinner with the girls at a chic NY boîte.  Perhaps you don't live here, and need an excuse to plan a trip to the Big Apple.  What better reason than having won this fabulous dinner?


In any case, whoever you've invited to join you, imagine that you're now sitting here, at this beautiful bar, having a cocktail while you wait for the rest of your party.  The real question is, will you start with the delicate gnocchi, and then go on to an entrée of the crispy lemon-pepper duck?  Or do you want the signature grilled filet mignon of tuna with wasabi mashed potatoes? (I really do believe that this was the first restaurant in NYC -- and maybe the world -- to serve wasabi mashed potatoes.  I might be wrong, but they're still better here than anywhere else.)  And don't forget to check out the specials.  I sort of like to go on Wednesday night, when they have porchetta arrosta, USC's own delectable take on roast suckling pig.  Or if you go on a Monday, you may run into me.  I just realized while re-reading the menu that I've never had their lobster shepherd's pie, which is a Monday special.  I'm going to have to remedy THAT problem toute de suite.  (Oh, and if you're particular about your vegetable loves, they also have excellent vegetarian options as well as extremely tempting side dishes.  But check out the menu for yourself.)

Menu For Hope is offering all kinds of tasty prizes here in the Northeastern U.S. Region and in other parts of the world as well. I urge you to check all of them out, and find the ones that you'd love to win.  Adam Kuban of Slice and Serious Eats is our regional coordinator -- and a big job it is, as you'll see.  Here's the place where you can check out local prizes, and get thorough directions, complete with visuals, on how to bid for the prize(s) of your dreams.  Especially dinner for four at Union Square Cafe.  Did I mention that the prize code is UE23?

In the meantime, here's the simple version of how to bid:

1.  Choose a prize or prizes of your choice at Menu for Hope:  http://www.chezpim.com/blogs/2007/12/menu-for-hope-4.html

2.  Go to the donation site at Firstgiving: http://www.firstgiving.com/menuforhope4 and make your donation.

3.  Please specify which prize you'd like in the 'Personal Message' section in the donation form when confirming your donation. You must write-in how many tickets per prize, and please use the prize code.  Each $10 you donate will give you one raffle ticket toward a prize of your choice.  For example, 2xUE23 would mean that you're putting 2 chances, or $20, on dinner for four at Union Square Cafe. 

A donation of $50 could be 1 ticket for  UE05 (an ounce of saffron from Jaden's Steamy Kitchen!), 2 tickets for UE04 (an autographed copy of Dorie Greenspan's Baking: From My Kitchen to Yours!), and 2 tickets for UE23 (dinner for four at Union Square Cafe! Surprise!).  In that case, you'd write 1xUE05, 2xUE04, 2xUE23, just like that, separated by commas, in the 'Personal Message' section of the donation form.

Remember that you can buy tickets for as many different prizes as you like -- and you can buy as many chances as you wish for a prize that appeals particularly to you.  Like tickets drawn from a hat, the more chances you  buy, the greater the probability that you'll win that prize -- but even if you only have $10 on a prize, you still have a chance to win. 

4.  If you work for a company that will match your charitable donation, please check the box and fill in the information so we can claim the corporate match.

5.  Please check the box to allow us to see your email address, so that we can contact you in case you win.  Your email address will not be shared with anyone.

Check back on Chez Pim on Wednesday, January 9th for the results of the raffle.  Good luck!