To Tart, or Not to Tart...That is the Question

I love the warm, casual hopefulness of a Saturday morning when you get up reasonably early, but certainly not as early as you would during the workweek.  Strolling down the stairs with cats or dogs (as the case may be) excitedly weaving in and out between your legs, threatening death and dismemberment should you not go immediately to their food bowl and fill it full of delicious, if not fishy tasting food. 

I look out the window and can already tell the day going to be beautiful.  It’s the last day of July and has decided to cool off ever so slightly overnight to a perfect 70 degrees. A light breeze blows through the butterfly bushes and red oak tree branches, and the possibilities for a day such as this are endless. 

So I flip on the coffee maker and start to think.  As the machine starts to chug and percolate producing the morning time fragrance I so desperately crave my brain begins to work.  With each gurgle the coffee machine makes, the little mouse in my head jumps on the wheel and starts a revolution.  Luckily, the only thoughts being produced are the one’s enticing me to take the coffee and go sit in the garden.

I’ve been threatening to sit in the garden almost every night this past week.  With the slightly cooler weather and the absence of jungle-like humidity, sitting in my sanctuary under the light of a full moon seems absolutely idyllic.  Unfortunately, other than a quick peek or two and an occasional floral scent wafting in the kitchen window my dream has gone unfulfilled.  Today it shall be rectified.

I like to come out with the morning sun still angled reasonably sharp and take stock of how the garden has done over the past week.  I’m not doing any major farming here, though I wouldn’t mind doing so (at least in the fantasy farm in my head all seems naturally beautiful and effortless).  The flowers are continuing to bloom with very little help from me aside from the occasional watering.  When I started this cottage garden three years ago my hope was that it would sustain itself eventually and it seems to be working with the help of an army of bees and butterflies.  It may look a little overgrown and schizophrenic from time to time, but so am I and it works.

I often use my camera to really examine what’s going on out back.  I have that insufferable instinct to capture everything that’s going on around me and fear if I don’t it will have gone unnoticed and be gone forever.  I understand that nature is ephemeral and not supposed to last…it’s part of the “charm” of living, but having a camera at the ready at all times has given me a tiny measure of control (or pretend control) which allows me to capture at least enough moments to file the day away for a nice memory somewhere down the road.

The best moments in the garden, or anywhere for that matter, are usually the ones you don’t capture.  The unexpected moments of joy are truly special.  If you are lucky, occasionally you might capture that moment on film, but it’s the times you are forced to hang onto an experience only in your mind and imagination that become the stuff of legend.  Questing for these moments is a deeply engrained human trait.  We are seekers of pleasure, I believe, at all times.  We are the proverbial mouse trying to get the cheese in one form or other.  Happily I’ll just take the cheese that is, well, cheese…it is one of my favorite things to eat.

Before I wander too far off topic, though I suppose I haven’t really gotten there quite yet, I need to come back to all the possibilities of Saturday morning.  The best are the weekends when maybe you have a few plans like a brunch with friends (as we are with Andrea, Nathan and Finn in Irvington) or maybe a visit with our new “niece” Mia over at Izabella and Jonathan’s, but the rest of the weekend is open to possibility and interpretation.

Saturday morning is when the baking fantasies begin.  What will I make this week?  How does it work with the season or things going on around me?  Is the dessert appropriate for an event, a get-together or something simple to offer as a casual treat to friends or co-workers?  Sometimes I find things a little more in advance of Saturday morning.  If I’m really on the ball and it’s a pastry with multiple steps I might even get going on a Friday night if Brian is in rehearsal and I can pull myself away from my Playstation 3, but most times I just wait fro the coffee to start working it’s magic, getting those brain cells pumping and see what might “tickle my fancy”. 

This week I admit to a tiny bit of predetermination, though I was still waffling before the coffee kicked in to confirm the final decision.  I’d been eyeing both a lovely Nectarine Tart from Martha and a decadent looking mixed berry galette made by the Barefoot Contessa.  Both would be very appropriate for summer, but the nectarine tart seems to be winning out for a couple of reasons:  1) I have already done a couple of berry desserts recently.  2) I haven’t done anything with nectarines on the blog.  3) The nectarines are thinly sliced and formed into the delicate shapes of “roses” which are currently in between bloom in my garden.  I do love roses and miss them when they aren’t around, so why not make some out of juicy, luscious fruit?  This is another recipe I took out of Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook…and is slightly rewritten here in my “relaxed” way.

In this case you start by making the tart shell.  It isn’t a traditional pate brisee that is used in many tarts, but more of a sucree or sweeter dough.  This is also a dough put together in a mixer, which is a little less traditional when it comes to pie and tart shells.  Combine 6 tablespoons of room temperature butter and 1/2 cup of confectioner’s sugar in the bowl of an electric mixer.  Mix on low for a couple of minutes then add 2 large egg yolks and mix for another minute more.  Next, add in 3/4 cup flour and mix until it’s incorporated.  Finally add in 1/4 teaspoon of salt, another 3/4 cup of flour and 2 teaspoons of cream.  The dough will be a lovely golden yellow color.  Form it into a flat disk, cover in plastic wrap and place in the fridge for at least a couple of hours.

When you are ready to bake pull the dough out of the fridge, lightly flour your counter or board and roll it out into a 12 inch round that is about 1/4 inch thick.  Carefully lay and shape the dough in a 9 inch fluted tart/pie pan with a removable bottom.  Trim the excess dough for a nice clean edge then put it in your freezer for about half an hour to let it rest once more.  Sometimes doughs are a little temperamental and need relaxing moments in between rolling and baking.

Pull the dough out of the freezer and dock (pierce the bottom of the crust all over with a fork) and line with parchment paper.  Fill the paper with pie weights or beans and bake at 375 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes…until the edges start to turn golden, then remove the pie weights and bake another 10 minutes or so to finish setting the crust.  Let it cool completely.  Now you are ready for the floral looking filling.

I’m not going to lie about this part, it was slightly difficult and you need to be patient with yourself.  The filling is easy, but it’s the rose shaped nectarines, which are a little challenging at the start.  For the filling melt 3 tablespoons of butter in a small saucepan over medium heat…whisk occasionally for 3-5 minutes, effectively “browning” the butter.  Set aside.

In another small bowl, whisk together one egg, a 1/4 cup of sugar, 2 teaspoons of lemon juice, 1/4 teaspoon of salt and the recipe calls for a tablespoon of Chambord or brandy.  We don’t happen to have those ingredients lying around the house like on many cooking shows, but I did have grenadine…so I used that instead.  Whisk this mixture together for a couple of minutes trying to achieve a doubling of its volume.  Mix in 1 1/2 tablespoons of flour and the browned butter.  Set the filling aside and tackle the nectarines.

The recipe calls for 2 1/2 pounds of nectarines.  I’m not sure if I used all of that because I bought 8 and used only 5 to make the dessert.  The key is to have a sharp knife so you can make the slices thin enough to curl into rosettes.  I found it easiest to divide the nectarine into quarters and then slice to about an 1/8 of an inch thick.  Start by curling a thin sliver into the “round” center of the rose, then wrap other slices around the center, layering outwards.  It’s going to take some practice to get…just except this fact from the beginning and it will keep you from throwing your hands up in dispair.  You can do smaller or larger roses depending on the desired result you are looking for.  I made 8 larger roses and placed them using a knife or offset spatula into the cooled crust.  Fill in any gaps with additional nectarine slivers.  Lastly, whisk your filling one more time to smooth it out, then pour into the center of the rosettes distributing evenly. 

Bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes and then rotate and bake for another 20 minutes.  I found my crust got a little dark for my taste too quickly, so I covered it with foil while the filling baked.   The end result is spectacular…there is no other word for it.  This is one of those cases where you put in some effort and the reward is beautiful.

I always love making a tart.  The “tart” is the quintessential pastry item in the arsenal of my fantasy bakery. When you combine sweets with history and anything French, my blood starts to race and my heart starts to pound.  I’ve only been to France a couple of times but the feeling that these people know what they are doing, and have techniques handed down for generations assuring you that it is the most perfect bite of tart you will ever take in your life is humbling.  It’s the quest for the perfect tart that originally led me to the French Culinary School.

Fantasies of Julia child aside, we covered apple and pear tarts “101” but it always left me wanting more.  The wonder of a freshly baked, golden crust with colorful fruit filling sitting in the shelf lined glass front window of an old stone walled bakery hidden away up some random cobblestone street is enough to get anybody motivated to walk as far up the hill as necessary to acquire this “grail” of desserts.  It’s certainly the star of the show in my “one day” New England small town bakery and can also be the star of your next party or Saturday morning fantasies. 

I suggest you go sit out in your garden, or on your city fire escape loaded with potted heirloom tomatoes and herbs and get your thinking cap on.  Get the coffee brewing, smell that fresh or slightly carbon monoxide laced air and wait for inspiration.  I guarantee it will be worth it.  It’s just who I am.

Berry Bliss

What does old-fashioned mean to you?  Is it someone stuck in their conservative ways, a cocktail or maybe a romance where the car door gets opened and flowers are presented at the door?  Maybe old-fashioned is a root-beer float or a handcrafted piece of furniture, time worn with the battle scars of life?  There is charm in the old-fashioned.  There is a pride and preciousness that tends to get lost in our increasingly industrialized, cheaper, faster society.  Sadly, this isn’t a concept limited strictly to show room floors and cattle feed organizations.  No, this concept can also apply to the dessert.

How many times have you bought something at the store that has been processed to within an inch of its life?  The synthetic and almost plastic taste causes a film to wash over your tongue, coating it in such a way as to dull the tastebuds.  Your brain becomes confused into thinking, “Hey, this is dessert” and it’s serviceable.  I know I’ve done it…especially in college when on a Ding Dong or Ho-Ho binge. 

There is of course a time and a place for everything, and that time was sitting in the college dorms sipping beer, beer snuck into the dorm by way of the depths an artist’s portfolio case or a “tackle-box” full of art supplies.  Processed desserts are perfect for when you are doing something wrong…and that is exactly the point, but today I’m trying to do right.  I won’t say I didn’t enjoy those days and nights of already prepared treats (at least the evenings and mornings I remember anyways) but I have been fortunate enough to discover my tongue’s preference for other items in the past decade or so.  

I like the old-fashioned and the tried and true.  Maybe it’s because I grew up in a small town and I like the small town ways of homemade bake sales and car washes to raise funds for your senior class trip, or maybe I just like the act of making things with my hands that taste good and will go into my mouth filling my body with sugary bliss.  A freshly baked dessert is better than a smuggled Natural Light or Twinkie any day of the week.

I was feeling nostalgic and obviously a bit old-fashioned this week when it cake time to choose the pastry offering.  The nostalgia coming from age mostly, I think, due in large part to the “final” baby’s arrival on July 15th.  I’m speaking of course of our good friend’s Izabella and Jonathan.  Over the course of the past four months Brian and I have had close friends delivering babies like clockwork, starting families and becoming the blissfully exhausted and only mildly strung-out parents we ourselves hope to be in the near future.  It was almost as emotionally important and involving as if it were our own child because we spend so much time with them having dinners, running errands and living the “small-town” life we have all created together in Ossining.  And, as honorary uncles we need to make sure that our newest family member has nothing but the best of the best of everything…like fresh flowers from the summer garden and freshly baked cakes.

Yes, I am well aware that a newborn can’t jump right into eating cake, but you are only one week old once and I would have felt remiss if I hadn’t made a cake to honor such a special occasion.  Our darling Mia was born on July 15th, weighing 6lbs. 5oz, 18” long, with blonde hair and is already very fond of smiling at her favorite uncles (when you brush her cheek with your finger).  I’m also aware that babies don’t truly smile, but I can certainly pretend better than anyone I know.  All babies are adorable, but to us she is very special and we can’t wait to see her grow, learn what her interests might be and be there for the first time she “sasses” her mom and dad...with a little encouragement of course.

As I said, I know that babies can’t eat cake, but they drink milk and mom’s can eat cake, so you do the math and get back to me.  I really wanted to make something special, something beautiful and something rustic and country-like to celebrate and honor the arrival of someone so special.  The recipe is from Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook and I couldn’t find the specific recipe anywhere online so I’ll break it down for you because I really want you to make this cake!  At first glance it may look a little difficult and somewhat intimidating, but I promise it’s not. 

The cake only requires 4 important steps:  1) Buy the freshest and most delectable berries you can find at the farmer’s market or organic section of your grocery store.  2) Make and bake the cakes.  Two 9-inch cake pans are all you need.  3) Make the vanilla whipped cream.  4) Put it all together and watch people get excited over its glory.

Old-Fashioned Berry Layer Cake (re-printed from Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook)

Ingredients:

Unsalted butter, for pans

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/4 cup cornstarch

6 large whole eggs, plus 4 large egg yolks, room temperature

1 cup granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

Zest of one lime (my addition)

2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

3/4 cup vegetable oil

1 quart (4 cups) heavy cream

1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise (optional)

3 pints mixed berries (strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, blackberries, etc…)

Fresh mint leaves, for garnish (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Butter two 9-by-2 inch round cake pans; set aside.  Into a large bowl, sift together flour and cornstarch (and lime zest); set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, combine the whole eggs, egg yolks, granulated sugar, salt, and 1 teaspoon vanilla extract.  Beat on high speed until thick and pale (it should hold a ribbon-like trail on the surface when the whisk is raised), about 5 minutes; scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed.

Add flour mixture to egg mixture.  With mixer on low speed, beat until just combined.  Add oil in a steady stream, mixing until just combined.  Remove bowl from mixer.  Using the whisk, fold mixture several times.

Divide batter between pans, and smooth with an offset spatula.  Bake, rotating pans halfway through, until the cakes are springy to the touch and a cake tester inserted in the centers comes out clean, about 30 minutes.

Immediately invert cakes onto a wire rack.  Then reinvert cakes, and let them cool completely, top sides up.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, combine cream, confectioner’s sugar, and remaining teaspoon vanilla extract.  Scrape in vanilla seeds, if using.  Starting on low speed and gradually increasing to medium-high, whip until stiff peaks form, about 2 minutes.

Using a serrated knife, trim the tops of the cakes to make level.  Slice each cake in half horizontally into two layers.  Place one of the bottom layers on a serving plate.  Spread a quarter of the whipped cream over the layer; arrange a quarter of the mixed berries on top.  Repeat with remaining cake layers, cream, and berries; garnish top with mint leaves, if using.  Serve immediately; slice with a serrated knife.

The addition of the lime zest really brings out the “cake-y-ness” of the cakes.  It’s like the Barefoot Contessa always says, “citrus enhances everything”, and I couldn’t agree more.  The oil keeps it moist and binds the ingredients together nicely delivering a cake that is firm enough to cut and stack, but is still delicate and airy on the palette.  Combined with the angelic layers of vanilla whipped cream and extremely ripe summer berries this cake becomes a surefire winner for any summer get together.  The recipe says to serve it immediately once you have put all the pieces together, but I found it held up quite nicely in the fridge and at a reasonable (70-75 degree) room temperature for several hours.  With all the fresh cream it won’t “keep” for too terribly long, so just make sure you are taking it to a large party or a hungry crowd of 6 plus 1 cute baby to avoid leftovers.

All the different berries which go into this cake are so fresh and sweet right now and some of them you may have growing along your country road or out in your field, so there is absolutely no excuse for letting them expire on the branch or vine when there is a cake waiting to be made.  This dessert would also work really well for the Fourth of July with its strong red, white and blue palette.  Whether you are celebrating birth or independence, Martha and I have got you covered.

Sometimes people tell me they've seen a picture of a "fancy" dessert in a book and think, “oh, I could never make that”, but you can.  People sometimes think they will never have a wonderful child or experience the joys (and terrors) of parenthood, but they do.  The ability to put our minds and hearts (and sometimes the hand of science) into something, working toward a desired outcome may be an old-fashioned and heartily American way of thinking. We may have turned into a bit of a silver-spoon laced, reality television watching (I’m counting myself here too) society but all hope isn’t lost.  There are summer days full of bright sunshine, babies safely sleeping under their parent's watchful eyes and round disks of golden cake waiting to be baked after the sun goes down and the kitchen has had time to cool off.  Call me old-fashioned if you will.  It’s just who I am.

Nutter "Betters"

Finally!!! ... I made my escape out to sea to find sand colored inspiration for this week’s recipe!!!  

Last Friday came, and happily I had another random day off work to do with as I pleased.  The fact that it was sunny and hot as opposed to a grey day full of rain (like my previous vacation days) pleased me to no end.  I decided to take a journey out to the Jersey Shore to a park preserve known as Sandy Hook Beach.

When scouring the web for beaches near New York City, Sandy Hook came up as one of the most pristine and least likely to be overrun on a given weekday.  Several other beaches were listed as being closer in proximity to my house, but it’s been a long time since I got in the car and went for an extended drive all by myself.  It was just over two hours away to be exact…just far enough to feel like I really went somewhere for the day.

What I found to be great about Sandy Hook was the number of beaches all along the park’s coast.  It’s a giant preserve with protected land full of sand and grasses, a military and coast guard base and about 7 or 8 different beaches to go to.  I thought it would be fun to try out a couple of spots to get the vibe and see as much as I could.   Armed with my trusty beach towel, SPF 30 and some sunglasses I was ready to bake in the sun and let my cares float away on the saltwater breeze.

The ocean was cold.  I was surprised considering how hot it’s been, but the water was brisk and refreshing after a few minutes of exposure to the blazing afternoon sun.  What I normally find when I go to the beach is I’m interested in floating about in the water and letting the rhythm really get into my bloodstream, soothing and comforting waves carrying me away for the time being...pardon me if I sound like a Calgon commercial.  This time, though, I found myself mesmerized by the sandy beach and grasses protecting the dunes from windy obliteration.

Maybe it was the link back to the dunes we saw when we were on vacation in Ptown, but I’m fascinated by the contrast of vivid yellow-green grass against the bleached caramel colored sand.  The fact that anything like a grass grows in sand seems somehow miraculous, and watching the blades flow back and forth across the white-hot landscape was strangely touching. 

As I laid around attempting to read, constantly drifting off or staring into the blue sky full of fluffy clouds I kept listening to the waves beat against the shore.  There were other people around, but not too many and I was able to listen to the sounds of nature and my own thoughts instead of hearing the usual jabber I’m so accustom to on a daily basis.  I’ll take towel neighbors on the beach as opposed to noisy train people any day.  I’d like to say I lay there thinking very important thoughts or felt tiny like a grain of sand or some other precious nonsense, but I didn’t.  I was really there to think about nothing, to get away and be with myself for a little while.  The quiet desolation of a windy beach is somber and peaceful and perfect for clearing your head.

The trip out to the beach and back was a little harrowing because of the highways, freeways and rush hour traffic I had to contend with, but I would go back again, or to some other New York beach close at hand.  It’s good to test yourself every now and again (at least it is for me) and see if you have the gumption to hop in the car, pick a new place and go.  I think it’s a healthy endeavor.

With that said, onto the less than healthy endeavor…this week’s recipe.  I shouldn’t really say it’s unhealthy, I mean the main ingredient is peanut butter for goodness sake (good fats and protein…sure I tell myself that), but there is a certain naughty and rich quality to these cookies.  Once again stealing a page out of Everyday Food (one of Martha’s magazines) I made Peanut Butter Sandwich Cookies. 

I was looking back through the blog to see if I had made these cookies before.  They somehow seemed familiar to me, and I discovered in a January entry how I’d planned to make these very same peanut butter cookies.  Apparently I was derailed at the time by a delicious grapefruit sandwich cookie, but no more!  There were two things that really inspired them.  “One” was the sand from the beach (though that really just tied into my color story), and “two” (the main inspiration) was our friend Jack’s birthday.

Saturday afternoon, the day after I went to the beach, I started looking for something to bring to the birthday party on Sunday.  It’s always a bit difficult to bring just a “little something” to a party and not go overboard with a giant cake.  I knew that supporting food elements were the order of the day, so I started looking through several cookbooks.  Everything that stuck out to me was either something a little difficult to serve and transport to a casual party or something I couldn’t accomplish in the following morning’s time constraints.  Brian suggested that David, a fellow actor at the theatre and Jack’s partner, really liked Nutter Butters when they had them at rehearsal.  That’s when it clicked and I remembered the long lost peanut butter cookies.

Reviewing the recipe I found them extremely easy to make, all that was required (as with most things in life) was a little time.  These cookies are “freezer cookies” like many of my favorites.  The cookie dough is straightforward like most, but then you shape it into two 8-inch long logs and put in the freezer for an hour.  This allows you to make uniform cookie slices when it comes time to bake.  Many recipes call for “rolling a log”, but I wanted to give it a small, extra and somewhat more professional touch so I shaped the dough into rectangles.  After the hour was up they sliced beautifully (but you do have to work fast in the current heat and humidity we are experiencing) and baked in about 12 minutes at 350 degrees.

While the cookies cool, you make a filling out of flour, milk, sugar and more peanut butter.  The flour and milk cook together to make a roux, and once it cools is added to the peanut butter and sugar.  The filling quickly comes together and is easily spread onto the peanut butter cookies.  The sandwiches look quite a bit like Nutter Butters, but the taste is far, far superior.  The cookies are moist and crisp, while the filling is rich and luscious.  You won’t find any dry, choke-inducing cookies here!  Everyone at the party seemed to love them and kept guiltily confessing to me the number they had eaten.  I’d call that a success.

I’ve started another freelance gig this week, which takes me into the fall and my days of great summer escapes may have already come and gone.  The thing I’m most pleased with is I took the opportunity to get out and do fun activities while I could.  That’s the whole point of my borrowed Auntie Mame “live, live, live” philosophy.  Summer is here and now, it’s hotter than all get out and that is exactly what you should do if you have the time.  Get out there, take along some peanut butter sandwich cookies and enjoy the day…and might I suggest sharing some with friends to assuage any caloric guilt you might be feeling?  I mean, I don’t want to be the only full-figured gal at the beach.  It’s just who I am.

Peachy Keen

It’s 5:00pm on a lazy Tuesday afternoon in July.  My belly is full of fresh blueberry pie from a small-town bakeshop and the couch is waiting for me to lie down and take a nap.  I consider this a perfect moment.  I’m rarely off on a Tuesday, but it’s one of the perks that comes along from time to time when you are in business for yourself…a random day off, almost like a snow day except for the fact that’s it’s balmy and warm outside.

Balmy is probably an understatement when it comes to high summer, especially when it’s a day full of thunderstorms mixed with a languid heat.  Stepping outside the front door is tantamount to swimming in the liquid air.  For some reason I don’t mind, though.  I grew up in the mid-west where it’s fairly hot and humid all summer long and I don’t find New York to be that much different, and in fact it strangely reminds me of home from time to time.  The woods, mountains and streams that cover a large part of Westchester are reminiscent of the Ozark Mountains where I’m from and I find it comforting.

As I was looking through my “peachy” photos (this morning) for this week’s posting, having some coffee and listening to the birds chirping outside, I decided to go on an excursion.  I often fantasize about having days off and what I would do if I actually got one.  It’s rare I have an unplanned day in my busy, run-around life, but I’ve started making a list of things to do just in case I find myself with some spare time and don’t want to do any work around the house.  One of these trips would be to the beach, but as I said it’s exceptionally stormy out today and I just don’t feel like taking a chance.  Instead I decided to drive up to Cold Spring.

Cold Spring is a town about 30 minutes north of where we live, further up into the aforementioned woods and mountains.  It is a charming old town founded in the 1600’s and I’ve been there on several occasions in the past.  What I love about it (aside from it’s old buildings and charm) are the numerous antiques shops lining Main Street. 

I love a good antiques store.  Antiquing is a game of sorts; hunting for the best deal on whatever treasure you might come across.  I know some people who love the haggling and get almost more excited by their bargaining practices than acquiring the object of desire.  I however am not one of those people.  I guess I wasn’t born with the haggling gene.  What I am concerned with is the hunt. 

Going into one of those shops gives me anxiety at the outset, more from the impending over-stimulation.  The anticipation that the “thing” I have always wanted might be lurking in some hidden corner, overlooked by every other shopper and missed by unfocussed eyes is slightly overwhelming, but then suddenly I’m lost in all the objects.  Every now and again I realize I have been focused on anything from a set of children’s books to furniture to old quilts and have lost track of time in the wanderlust.  Rarely do I find something I absolutely have to have, but sometimes, once in awhile I discover greatness.

Acquiring used property is a funny thing to me.  An antique is something old that was once owned and cared for by somebody else.  I think about all the cake-stands I’ve hunted for and own and realize someday, someone may be hunting for them in a store just like the one’s I was visiting today.  I’m not trying to be morbid, but it’s the fascination of owning history in some way, which really makes the experience of finding antiques so special.  I think of it like having a stopwatch, but in artful object form; history and time crafted into a shape that you could care for and enjoy during your stint as caretaker.  It’s somehow romantic.

Looking through my food photos every week is not dissimilar from antiquing.  It’s a process of careful consideration that brings me pleasure and leads me through a series of moments I enjoyed making (and eating).  This week’s object of desire is a classic find in its own right:  the peach. 

A peach is an essential, All-American summer ingredient.  It’s a fruit associated with memory-laced fragrance, wafting with the perfume of childhood.  When I went to the market Saturday morning there was a sign announcing that “early summer peaches” had arrived.  I quickly moved over to the fruit stand to check out the red-golden orbs of deliciousness. Peaches are velvety and luscious; the sun scatters across the surface and is not unlike our own skin in the way it handles the light.   A beautiful peach is a worthy purchase.  There were several varieties to try, so I bought some of each and took them home to test out.

I decided to try them out in different ways, the first being eaten straight out of my hand.  That first bite is ridiculously amazing.  The peach was saturated with juice and I immediately ran to the sink with dripping hands to keep from getting it all over the floor…and then I just stood there over the sink, consuming the peach in a callous and un-lady like manner, juice running down my forearms as bite after delicious bite disappeared down my throat.  That, my friend, is the only way to properly eat a peach, and it’s not pretty. 

Second, I decided to fire up the grill.  In an effort to keep the house cool, it made sense to do my weekend cooking outdoors.  I had already planned to grill some fresh market corn and other vegetables, so why not some peaches?  A friend of mine at work had confessed his love for grilled peaches earlier in the week, and gave me the quick low-down on a marinade he made to go with them.  I didn’t really have all the stuff for the marinade, but I did have the ingredients to make a sauce of sorts incorporating some of the key items:  Cream, brown sugar, cinnamon and honey.  I just made the recipe up on the fly, but I think it was about a cup of cream, 1/4 cup of brown sugar, 2 tablespoons of honey and 1/4 teaspoon of cinnamon all thrown together in a small saucepan.  Bring everything to a boil and whisk for 3-4 minutes.  Let the sauce cool and it’s almost like having cinnamon and brown sugar butterscotch.  It pairs perfectly with the grilled peaches.

What also pairs well with peaches?  Pizza.  As my outdoor cooking plan evolved and I had a little extra time on my hands, I decided to make some dough and grill pizzas for dinner.  To make the dough takes a little under two hours including the time it takes for the dough to rise twice, so it’s not a major plan ahead kind of affair.  Once the dough is ready, you just divide it into four rounds, roll them out and brush lovingly with a garlic and rosemary flavored oil.  The crusts cook in a matter of minutes on a hot grill, and then you top them with whatever your heart desires.  Ours were mushroom, sausage, rosemary and mozzarella cheese.  The crust is crisp and blackened just like it came out of an old wood-fired oven, very fragrant with rosemary and garlic and simple enough for a backyard bbq with friends.  People would enjoy helping you make these for sure.

Now, back to the peaches…the third way of preparing them was, what else…baked.  I found a cookie recipe calling for fresh peaches and preserves, both of which they had at the farmer’s market.  Fresh-Peach Drop Cookies are exactly what the name implies:  fresh peaches mixed into cookie dough and dropped from a spoon or ice cream scoop onto a baking pan.  These are super easy.  I was in and out of the kitchen in under an hour including baking time.  They are very moist and sponge-y…not unlike cake, but with a crisp crunch around the outside.  I think these cookies would have been moist to begin with, but having such high humidity in the air eliminates any worry of them ever drying out before you get to your friend’s backyard bbq with a batch.

Eating a peach or drifting through antiques stores can conjure up as strong a link to the past as I can think of.  Both house experiences worth preserving, re-examining and reliving from time to time.  A hunt for the perfect fruit and the perfect treasure are healthy ways of preserving a tie to something passionately true and right in your life (or the life you fondly remember).  We may not always find it, or be able to afford it, but the possibility of having a dream come true is what makes life worth living.  Go to the market, look for a peach, stand over the sink with your head held high and devour it.  I promise, no one is looking and if they are tell them to get their own peach.  I know I would.  It’s just who I am.

The New Americana

Picture if you will an old fashioned drugstore.  Inside is a long counter flanked with colorful barstools waiting for kids to plop down and have a Coke or a milkshake.  The street outside is lined with flags blowing in the breeze, a barber pole is whirring its red and blue stripes suggestively as families are filling up the gas tank in their 57 Chevrolet before heading out to the countryside or beach for a picnic.  Once the sun goes down it’s time for a refreshing ice cream cone quickly devoured in the melting summer heat while waiting for the fireworks to begin…and then BANG!!! BOOM!!! …and a few WHISTLES to boot...the 4th of July has come once more.

We have been celebrating Independence Day in our country since 1776 when the Declaration of the same name was signed, declaring our colonies free from the sovereign rein of the king of England.  Though it wasn’t adopted as a formal government holiday until the 20th century, people have gathered for hundreds of years to celebrate their ability to live free or die trying.  Fireworks have always been part of this celebration.  In 1776, the lighting of bonfires, shooting of weapons and other explosive detonations were used as a way to create a mock funeral for the king.  Too bad the king didn’t laugh it off and let us go easily, for not too long after a bloody revolution ensued.

Luckily, much of that struggle and strife is behind us, and over the years being an American has come to stand for freedom.  We have certainly taken our own sweet time as a country coming around to the idea of freedom and liberties for everyone, but I think we’re slowly getting there.  I know for me the 4th of July always represented a high point in the summer season. 

Every year we used to gather at my aunt and uncle’s house to shoot off fireworks.  They lived just far enough outside of town to be able to legally put on a proper display.  Their front yard is a long slope heading down to the road, and on the other side of the road is a wood.  My uncles and cousins (and I) used to set up tables with old Coke bottles out on the front lawn.  The bottles were angled just right to get the bottle rockets, roman candles, and all matter of sparkly paraphernalia up into the air for it’s explosive moment out above the trees…and away from the roof of the house.  While it was still daylight we could do the firecrackers, smoke bombs and parachutes, but we had to wait until nightfall for the adults to put on the real show.

Everyone in my family would bring a dish and we would have the most delicious snacks while watching the darkness light up.  There was always seven-layer dip, pies, Mississippi mud and homemade ice cream churned in a bucket out in the driveway.  The kids would get extremely hopped up on sugar, ooohing and ahhhing and running around like chickens with their heads cut-off just so happy to be with each other.  After the fireworks were done and the sugar wore off you could hear the crickets start up out in the woods and see sparkles still going strong from all the fireflies weaving in and out of the branches.  Those were good times.

Though we can’t legally shoot off fireworks in our backyard we did the next best thing Ossining has to offer…it’s own fireworks show.  Brian and I had an early dinner then walked down to the Hudson River where practically the whole town was gathered to watch the spectacle play out.  There was live music and people having picnics and bbqs all over the lawn, and happily there were ice cream cones to be had.  The show was really quite good, and loud…I must be getting older…and the best part of all had to be watching the young kids get excited about every new colorful design violently appearing in the sky.  They pointed, they exclaimed and I must admit I did a time or two as well.

Because our town does the fireworks on the 2nd of July, it leaves the other days of the holiday weekend open for extended fun.  Our friend Kevin came up for a visit and we took him to the Stone Barns Agricultural Center.  I’ve mentioned it several times before on the blog, but I’m amazed every time I go there.  We were able to stroll through the greenhouses, visit with turkeys and pigs, hike around a lake and up into the woods all in the span of a couple relaxing hours.  Garlic happens to be in season right now and they had the ceiling of one whole outbuilding dedicated to drying and preserving it.  Unless you hang out at the farmer's markets a whole lot you don’t normally see garlic with it’s long stalks still attached.  The fragrance was potent and lovely (if your not a vampire anyway).

Though it was a hot day, the walk in the forest kept us cool.  We followed a creek that criss-crossed over our hiking trail several times.  In the dense underbrush were many squirrels and woodchucks scampering about over fallen tree trunks and through acres of ferns.  I wouldn’t have been surprised if Bambi himself should have stepped out of the magical wood.  We emerged into a sunlit field full of golden grasses, grazing cattle and lots and lots of raspberry bushes.  I always like it when it’s raspberry time.

It only made sense to have a bbq in the evening and invite our friends Izabella and Jonathan and Jonathan’s parents who happen to be visiting.  I had wanted to have a cookout all week.  When it comes to July 4th I can think of nothing better than getting together and sharing food with friends and family, just like the old days.  As far as the menu goes I stuck to something I know and love:  blue-cheese/cheddar turkey burgers, corn on the cob, a refreshing salad and tart yet sweet fruit pies. 

I have to confess the pies were truly my muses.  My destiny has been calling since the July cover of Martha Stewart Living crossed my threshold.  If you have seen it you know there are 6 small fruit pies featured on the cover.  I have made large format pies before, but never 6 small, precious, “wouldn’t hurt a flea” fruit pies.  It had to be done.

The recipe calls for 5-inch size dishes to bake the pies.  I found the exact ones I needed at Crate and Barrel a few days before…and they were red....how perfect.  Creating small pies is just like doing the large ones, but with a little more work cutting out the crusts and making everything look pretty.  You start with the usual pate brisee, doubling the recipe and chilling the dough for an hour and up to overnight.  The fruit filling is up to you, but I recommend getting whatever looks good at your local farmer’s market.

Raspberries, blueberries and blackberries had arrived at the market Saturday morning, and I was there before 9:00am to get the best possible pick.  The fruits are at their peak, sweet and delicious.  To make the “red” pies I used the raspberries, but you could also mix in strawberries if you were so inclined.  The blueberries and blackberries went into the “blue” pies.  One round of the pate brisee dough will make the six bottom crusts, and the other round of dough can be used to cut out your stars and stripes.  I used a pastry wheel to get a nice fluted edge on the stripes, but I had to do the stars by hand since I didn’t have a star shaped cutter.  I would recommend buying a start cutter if you want to do a lot of them…they can be kind of difficult to cut out.

Once you have all the pieces it’s just a matter of assembly and baking.  Insert the bottom crusts, fill with the berries which have been mixed with sugar, cornstarch and lemon juice, then use a cream and egg yolk wash to glue your stars and stripes on top.  It couldn’t be simpler.  All it takes is a little time and you have a perfectly beautiful and color coordinated dessert for your 4th of July festivities.

Thinking back to last year berries were a festive feature of our party as well.  Our friend Kassi had come up for a BBQ over at our pals Andrea and Nathan’s.  As I recall they had most of the neighbors on their street over to celebrate the sunshine and the day.  I made a classic blueberry tart and had just discovered a red and white platter also from Crate and Barrel.  I’m sensing a pattern here, or maybe just an excuse to feed both my baking and shopping addictions.  Whatever the reason, I’m free to make the baked goods of my choosing and buy the dishes with which I think they would present best.  I’m sure that’s not what our forefather’s had in mind while trying to procure our civil liberties, but the right to make choices, both in baking and in life, I’m sure they would understand. 

No, it isn’t the 1950’s any longer, or even the 1970’s or 80’s for that matter, but some celebrations keep going strong just the same.  Enjoy the day, and preserve and observe it the best way you can surrounded by friends and family.  I know I will.  It’s just who I am.