Governors Island

If you take a train, a subway, a cab and a ferry you can get from our house in Ossining to Governors Island in a mere couple of hours.  No, this isn’t a Steve Martin/John Candy film, but a snippet from real life we discovered last Saturday while trying to attend a birthday party for our friend’s 4 year old.  Sometimes the journey is fun, and sometimes it just seems a bit like an exercise in patience.  That’s the magic of mass transit on the weekend in NYC…you never know what subway line is being worked on, where a shuttle bus will replace missing trains and why on earth it seems that everyone is trying to get to the same place as you.  Happily, I’m here to report the destination was definitely worth the trip.

I’d wanted to go to Governors Island for several years now.  It’s been on my list of semi-touristy, but still somewhat unattended sites since I saw a small segment about it on a New York City destinations program.  The island itself is out in the harbor not far from South Street Seaport and within very close proximity to Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty.  What I remember being most intrigued about were the preserved military structures and houses found dotting the island.

The U.S. military occupied Governors Island since the founding of our country.  Much like the island of Manhattan, we were able to purchase the landmass from the Native American Indians for a steal.  Its first real mention of importance was as a military base used by George Washington in 1776 in an attempt to hold ground against the British.  Sadly, he was pushed back for some time, but we eventually prevailed and the island has continued to be a stronghold for the military ever since. 

The island served as not only a military base but also a prison for Confederate Soldiers during the civil war.  There is a structure called Williams Castle seated on the western side of the island, crumbling but beautiful, which was used for the prison.  In the center of the island is a fort, and staggered along it’s sides are two eroding lanes of brick sidewalk leading respectively to houses the military occupied as well as what appears to be old barracks (not unlike college dorms from another time).

The architecture is beautiful.  I am, and always have been obsessed with architecture, especially that of older homes and community structures.  Although the United States isn’t that elderly when you compare it to other countries, we did have some lovely things going for ourselves on the architectural front in recent centuries.  Because of its continuous inhabitance by military personnel through 1996, the structures on Governors Island have been well maintained.

There is an air of the past here, an air much like people were happily living on the island and suddenly vanished.  The houses are antiseptically clean and taken care of, but there is no furniture on the porch nor can you really see any sign of human life from the outside.  It made me think of a film where someone had suddenly kidnapped a whole town, wiped the place down and acted like they never existed.  I’m sure that’s not the intention, but it was the feeling I got.   It’s interesting too because the houses are situated underneath giant old trees with a big communal lawn…it feels like houses that got picked up and sat down neat and orderly in a park.  Whatever it was, to me it was beautiful and slightly eerie.

As I said, the island hasn’t been occupied since 1996.  After 30 years as the largest Coast Guard base in the country, it was sold back to New York for a minimal sum and is now being protected and converted into a park preserve for people to enjoy in the future.  The island is only open during the summer and early fall, and I’m glad we finally had a good excuse to get out there and enjoy it.

It was a perfect day for a birthday party.  I guess any day would have been perfect if you were still four years old, but the weather was particularly grand.  Blue skies, warm weather and lots of kids to play with while moms and dads tried to eat cheeses in between bike rides and drink wine in between trying to get everyone to play nicely together.  It was exhausting just watching it all, but for our friend’s Joe and Marie it seemed worth the effort.  Both Lach (the birthday boy) and their younger son Jack seemed to have a fantastic time and that’s all that really matters.

The distance we traveled to get there made it seem like a vacation day, and the weather suddenly switching to summer once more helped out that relaxed sort of picnic feeling.  Taking a ferry is something special too.  To be out in the harbor, looking back at the city I love and hanging out with Brian for the afternoon was a great treat and reminded us of the scene in Working Girl where Melanie Griffith is taking the Staten Island Ferry to the city, a proud secretary destined for greatness.  When you see the city from that distance there is no way you can’t be moved.  It’s a strong entity all it’s own which bestows greatness or can swallow you whole…the city makes you want to succeed, to be worthy of it’s tall glass and metal structures.

When I got back to Manhattan I casually walked around Battery Park as the sun was starting to set.  Brian had to go do a show and I wandered around in a post chocolate shake haze from Mr. Softee (those are darn good shakes).  Having an hour to myself in the city, equipped with my camera as the sun goes down is a rare treat.  There are lots of tourists, but also lots of regular city folks sitting on benches near the water’s edge trying to get a breather and a view of nature.  The sun was shining brightly on the WWII memorial, creating long, towering shadows receding from the tablets of names bearing fallen military soldiers.

By the time I got home I was feeling pretty exhausted, a belly full of cheese and chocolate shake notwithstanding, but I did want to get a coffee cake in the oven.  I had been eyeing another one of Fanny Farmer’s pastry recipes (from the 1895 cookbook) and wanted to give it a go.  Much like last week’s foray into 19th century baking, again there was no real recipe or oven temperatures or even pan sizes, depths etc.  Luckily I have been known to bake a coffee cake from time to time and relied on past experience to get me through.

I was mainly interested in flavor combinations.  This coffee cake actually calls for 1 Cup of coffee.  I don’t remember any coffee cakes I’ve made in the past requiring the namesake.  Sure, you get sour cream or buttermilk or the likes from time to time, but I was excited by the proposition of fresh brewed coffee mingled with molasses, currants, orange zest and lots and lots of spices.  The recipe I adapted is as follows:

Rich Coffee Cake

Batter

2 sticks butter (room temperature)

2 cups sugar

4 eggs (room temperature)

2 tablespoons molasses

1 cup room temperature coffee

3 3/4 cups flour

5 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1/2 teaspoon mace

1/2 teaspoon allspice

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 1/2 cups currants

Zest of one navel orange

Topping/Filling

1/2 teaspoon cardamom

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 3/4 cups flour

1 cup light-brown sugar

2 sticks butter (room temperature)

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Butter or spray (with vegetable spray) a 10” angel food cake pan with removable bottom. 

First make your topping by whisking all the dry ingredients together in a bowl and then adding in your softened butter with a pastry cutter.  “Cut in” the butter until you have large crumbs.  (Alternately you could combine all the ingredients in a food processor and pulse until you get a large crumb mixture.)  Set aside.

For the batter, mix the butter and sugar together on medium high (if using a Kitchen Aid) for about 4 minutes until light and fluffy.  Add the eggs one at a time, mixing until combined after each egg.  Add in the molasses and orange zest.

In a separate mixing bowl whisk together flour, baking powder and all the spices.  Alternately add the dry ingredients and coffee to the batter (starting and ending with the flour mixture) being careful not to over-mix.  Fold in the currants by hand.

Pour half the batter into your angel food pan.  Place half of your topping on top of the batter…this will essentially make a buttery, sugary filling layer.  Pour the rest of the batter into the pan (on top of the crumble mixture) and cover with the remaining topping.  Bake for 1 hour 10 minutes to 1 hour 20 minutes depending on your oven.  You can start testing your cake after an hour to see if it’s done (oven temperatures can vary). Let the cake remain in the pan for about ten minutes, then turn it out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

This is a big cake!!!  I baked it in a tall, ten inch angel food cake pan and it still was escaping out of the top…it must be the 5 teaspoons of baking powder.  Though the original cake recipe doesn’t call for the crumbly topping, I adapted a topping from a Martha Stewart cake recipe I like.  The cardamom brings the butter and brown sugar to life, but isn’t overpowering, and the cake itself is wonderfully dense and spicy.  There is a lot of flour and butter here, no question about that, but the shear volume of ingredients effectively spread out the spices and made it refreshing instead of cloying.

I won’t try to pretend I made a “historic” cake to fit with a visit to a historic site, but the coffee cake really did fit the bill.  I’m enjoying trying to revive these old cake recipes and see what the prominent flavor profiles were like back in 1895.  I’m seeing quite a bit of citrus and heavy use of spice throughout, but I’ve also been homing in on desserts that put me in that fall state of mind.  This is the time of year when I feel I can use spices not allowed during the spring and summer months.  Though I know there aren’t any baking police holding a gun to my head demanding I stay away from them, my internal baking clock seems to know what it wants based on the weather change. 

These flavors make me think of a homey space and place to unwind.  Whether you are housed on an island while serving with the military or living in a house on a quiet neighborhood street, this is the coffee cake to try if you are looking for a taste of fall.  It packs a punch but is also gentle and friendly.  It’s the kind of cake that beckons you to sit and have a slice with coffee or tea, call over your best girlfriends or neighbors for a gossip session and let your hair down.  If pastry can accomplish that, then it has performed a fine service indeed.  Our army of freelancers at work gobbled it down in record time and I was proud to have done my duty to mankind.  It’s just who I am.

The Cake Paparazzi

“It’s not ‘take picture of cakes day’!!” 

(What?)

“I said, it’s not ‘take picture of cakes day’!!”

(It’s not?)

“No”

And that’s how my conversation began with one of our neighborhood kids, Jefferson.  He’s nine years old so he is wise and full of information, a great age to be if you ask me…just old enough to have a grasp on things in life, but not too old to be overwhelmed by more adult things. 

I don’t often take pastry pictures out in the front yard for fear of attracting attention.  It’s not that I don’t want people to see what I’ve been baking, but people do look at me a little strange when they see me taking pictures of cakes on the lawn.  The looks are inquisitive and never mean, mainly the “raised eyebrow” sort of wonderment, clearly perplexed why a man in his mid 30’s is crawling around in the grass on his hands and knees shooting tons of cake photos at various angles.  I guess I can’t blame them and if I weren’t who I am I might think it was weird too.

Rarely do I get engaged by anyone for more than a moment or two.  Once my neighbor caught me shooting a tart on a sunny afternoon remarking, “Wow, and I thought I liked desserts”, but that’s usually about the extent of it.  Normally I like to take photos in the backyard with the plants, away from the eyes of the public at large, but when it gets late in the day and the sun is going down I don’t get enough light out there.  If the clock rolls past 5:30pm, it’s time to head out front and face my fate.

This week my fate was Jefferson.  He really was a sweet kid and hung out with me the entire time I was taking photos.  In our brief time together I learned about his family from Guatemala, that he’s lived in a house down the street from ours his whole life and that he ate an amazing cross shaped cake at his grandmother’s birthday party. 

What I liked about him was his inquisitiveness.  He wanted to know about the cake, but also how much my camera cost, if I was a baker, what kinds of cakes did I make, did I sell the cakes, if I was married or single, if I had kids, if I had a dog, wondered if I couldn’t come teach baking at an after school program for kids???…And this was only the tip of the iceberg.  I thought kids weren’t supposed to talk to strangers, certainly not strangers with candy or cakes and clearly Jefferson was breaking all the rules.  His grandparents must not have instilled the fear of kidnapping in him the way mine did.  (Apparently, one should be particularly fearful in the restrooms of truck stops and campgrounds…reason, unknown.)

I haven’t been around a child that age in awhile and was surprised at how quickly he could fire off questions without taking a breath.  Jefferson had been out riding his bike when he saw me and pulled up with his informative commentary about “cake picture day”.  When I told him I take all these pictures and write for a blog he said if he had a blog it would be about his bicycle because that was his favorite thing.  Somehow that seems sensible to me.  Blogs should be about your favorite things. 

But my favorite comment he made by far was calling me a “cake paparazzi”.  I guess even at nine years old there is no way to escape the media and he knew all about celebrity stalkers and actors being chased around by people with cameras.   For years I’ve been trying to discern my purpose in life and all it took was the open minded nature of a nine year old to figure it out: a cake paparazzi, out and about, tracking down cakes and confections as they run from place to place hiding from my camera lense.  I didn’t realize how glamorous my hobby had become…at least in the eyes of the neighborhood kids. 

As far as the starlet in question goes, this week I wanted to try and modernize a recipe I found in The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book by Fannie Merritt Farmer.  This is the cookbook I’ve mentioned before that my cousin brought back from an excursion through his mother’s cupboard in Missouri.  It’s dated from 1895 and is in surprisingly good condition.  Aside from just having recipes, the book is really a master’s class in cooking from the time period.

Fanny ran a school for cooking, one of the more prominent I would venture, at the time.  The book is full of information on the science of “cookery” and the importance of how our body uses food.  She explains things in a very chemist’s sort of way, giving compound formulas for different main ingredients such as water and milk, sugar and eggs, etc… in a well-rounded attempt to seemingly introduce the scientific background and principles of cooking to the modern (1895) housewife.

What I enjoyed about the book was the thoroughness of topics covered.  There was never one recipe for something, but five or six versions of the thing.  I counted six different lemon cakes, aptly titled Lemon Cake I, Lemon Cake II, etc…and most of the cooking being done over fire or coals in a “cooking-stove”.  The whole idea of the electric range was working its way into being, but it was not the way people cooked back then.  The book even describes what a stove is: 

“A large iron box set on legs.  It has a fire-box in the front, the sides of which are lined with fire-proof material similar to that of which bricks are made.  The bottom is furnished with a movable iron grate.  Underneath the fire-box is a space, which extends from the grate to a pan for receiving ashes.  At the back of the fire-box is a compartment called the oven, accessible on each side of the stove by a door.  Between the oven and the top of the stove is a space for the circulation of air.  Stoves are connected with chimney-flues by means of a stovepipe, and have dampers to regulate the supply of air and heat, and as an outlet for smoke and gases.”  Sounds a little more involved than just pre-heating the oven now doesn’t it?

In mentioning the cooking appliances, this also brings up and helps to describe the way the recipes were written.  In general, but particularly in the baking section, the recipes called for baking in a “slow oven” or “moderate oven”, never giving the degrees we have become so accustom to plugging into our modern stoves.  One recipe called for baking a wedding cake in a low oven for 3 hours!!!  I can’t imagine how “low” that oven would have to be for the cake to retain some moisture, but Fannie did run a school, so maybe she did know best.

That being said, I had to guess how to bake this week’s recipe:  Golden Spice Cake with White Mountain Cream.  The recipe for the cake is as follows: 

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 egg

Yolks 4 eggs

1/2 cup molasses

1/2 cup milk

2 1/4 cups flour

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon soda

1/2 teaspoon clove

1/4 teaspoon grated nutmeg

Few grains cayenne

Few gratings lemon rind

Cream the butter, add sugar gradually, egg and yolks of eggs well beaten, molasses, milk, flour, mixed and sifted with spices, cayenne, and lemon rind.  Bake in a moderate oven one hour, and cover with White Mountain Cream.

That’s it; literally…the whole recipe is two sentences long.  Earlier in the book it gives an overview on different cooking techniques, baking butter cakes being one of them, but for someone such as myself who is so used to seeing every last step written out for me it was a bit of a shock.  And seriously, what the heck is a moderate oven?  Luckily, I’ve been around this rodeo a time or two and have a fair share of cake baking under my belt.  What I did was make the batter like I always do for cakes in general…combining dry ingredients in a bowl, combining wet ingredients in the mixer and bringing them together.  In my case, I replaced the lemon rind with two tablespoons of orange zest and also added 1/4 teaspoon of Chinese Five Spice for a little extra bite as well as a 1/2 teaspoon of salt.

Based on the amount of batter I deduced 2 8-inch cake pans would work well for this and also decided a moderate oven was around 350 degrees…and you know what???  It worked!!!  I baked the cakes for 25-30 minutes and they came out “golden” and lovely.  The house was filled with the fragrance of harvest spices and I would ultimately recommend this cake as a component to your Thanksgiving spread.  Also, since I made two 8-inch cakes I thought a quick filling of orange marmalade (store bought, made with bitter orange rinds) would sandwich nicely in-between and glue them together.

The “frosting” if you can call it that…the White Mountain Cream is nothing more than 1-cup of sugar brought to boil with 1/3-cup of water in a sauce pan.  Once the sugar starts to get bubbly and caramelize around the edges you add it to a gently beaten egg white with of teaspoon of vanilla and whisk vigorously.  Caveat:  WORK QUICKLY WITH THIS SUBSTANCE!!!  It hardens fast into a sugary confection (it has a similar consistency to fudge), not like the frostings or glazes we are used to working with.  It tastes great but looks a little different too.  Jefferson asked me if I had put oatmeal on top of my cake…ah kids.

I also took a half cup of currants and a half cup of dried cherries, soaked them in a liquor of your choice (preferably a brandy or orange flavored liquor) for about an hour and a half.  Then I drained them and cooked them for a few minutes in a dry sauté pan over medium-high heat to burn off the excess liquor.  They make a pretty decoration to go on top of the “oatmeal” frosting.  And lastly I placed a little fleur de sel in the center to give an extra salty bite to combat all the sweet ingredients in the cake.

Shwooo!!!  I’m exhausted just thinking about it!  I have to say it was worth my time and effort, and it required me to use my brain a bit and do some of the recipe testing I occasionally mention that I ought to be doing.  I’m not sure that I really modernized it so much as just figured out how to make it, but the experience was fun.

The golden month of September is moving along and now I have a golden spice cake to go along with it.  I can add it to my list of the desserts I’ve captured on film and hopefully will sell the photos for big bucks in Star or In Touch (or Butt*r) magazine.  There’s clearly a market out there for cake stalkers of all kinds.  I like to think I’m taking tasteful photos as opposed to the naughty pin-up sort, but as we all know, sex and controversy sell.  I’m not desperate enough (yet) to head down that road, and let’s hope it stays that way.  It’s just who I am.

After School Special

I’m in a very ABC After School Special kind of mood today.   The first cool mornings of pre-Fall are creeping in and I would rather just stay under the covers instead of getting out of bed, but that’s not the way to get things done I know.  If I’ve learned anything over the years it’s you have to get up, put a smile on your face and everything else will follow.  And, if I don’t get drunk, use drugs, become pregnant or bully any of the other kids on the bus the day will turn out fine…at least that’s what ABC always promised me growing up.

This morning definitely has that “school day” kind of feel.  I am still the person who doesn’t want to get up, sleeping until the last possible minute all in the hope of eking out one more moment of time where I’m suspended in a sleepy limbo, yet to take on the responsibilities of the day.  I would much rather spend the day on the couch watching old episodes of Martha Stewart Living or the Joy of Painting with Bob Ross or the Golden Girls, maybe with a bag of nacho cheese Doritos and sour cream and chive dip at my side for companionship…and some fresh baked cookies.

I spent a good deal of time perusing the September food magazines last weekend, and the one constant theme was “back to school”.  There were plenty of ideas for making a healthy school lunch or after school snack, but surprisingly there was very little mention of Doritos.  How could they possibly overlook that?  Apparently people today are into eating fruit and celery with peanut butter or some other low calorie concoction, but I know when I got home from school all I ever wanted were the “naughty goods”.  Chips and dips and cookies were my hands down favorite…no after school vegetables for me, thank you.

When I started thinking about school/childhood related snacks there was an obvious choice for me:  the Chocolate Chip Cookie.  I’ve always loved them, and quite frankly who doesn’t?  There are very few things in life I have gorged myself on until becoming ill and then gone back for more.  I don’t know what it is about them, besides the obvious buttery and chocolate-y goodness.  They are addictive, like a drug…but ABC always told me not to use drugs, drugs were bad (remember the eggs scrambling in the pan?) and now I have a dilemma.  I NEED MY CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES!!!

Chocolate chip cookies are deceptively simple; meaning they really are simple, but the quality of your final product depends on how much attention you pay them while in the oven.  These cookies can be quick to over-bake if you don’t watch closely, they become dried out (or worse burnt) little hockey pucks in the time it takes you to unload the dishwasher.  The dough is easy to make and takes very little time, but once they are in the oven I think it’s best to stop what you are doing, have a nice cup of tea or coffee at the ready, maybe some jazz playing in the background… then patiently wait and watch. 

When it comes to the legendary chocolate chip cookie people have their favorites.  Some folks like large, crispy disks studded with milk chocolate, others a soft and moist cookie, delicate but flavorful.  I definitely lean toward the softer side… it must be my gentle nature.  I’m keeping a vigil for the perfect chocolate chip cookie, a candle in the window for a soldier returning home with a recipe recovered from deep behind enemy lines…a recipe so secret that the nation wouldn’t be able to cope with it’s contents.  That’s part of the fun when it comes to baking and trying out new recipes, you never know if “this one” is going to be “the one”, the holy grail of chocolate chip cookies (or insert other pastry item here) as we know it…and the truth is completely subjective.  One person’s crisp cookie is a “soft cookie kind of person’s” failure, and vice-versa.

The chocolate chip cookies I made this week were certainly in the upper echelon of the soft cookie species.  I think it comes from the sour cream found in the recipe, and this is also what intrigued me most.  It really did keep them moist and flavorful without being overpowering.  The sour cream gave the cookies a counterpoint to all the sweetness (similar to the way salt does), making a more robust and yummy cookie with delicate golden edges and a cozy, soft interior.  Eating them is like reliving the best moments of childhood.

All I know for sure is I was in a cookie mood, and apparently one kind wasn’t going to cut it this week.  As the “back to school” magazine theme kept drilling itself into my head another thought occurred, a long and seemingly repressed memory from third grade, not a bad memory, and in fact a pleasant memory that shot out of the ether (as random thoughts often do) to manifest itself in the form of a delicious Oatmeal Cream Pie. 

I don’t know about you, but I remember loving Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies.  The September 2010 issue of Everyday Food has a recipe for an oatmeal cream pie that is to die for.  They are really like inside out cheesecakes or are on par with what I would call cake sandwiches more than cookies…and that’s just fine by me.  I don’t make oatmeal raisin cookies very often, though they are one of Brian’s favorites, and I think it’s because I’m not a big fan of raisins in general…unless they are in these cookie/cakes or in the occasional cinnamon roll.  The cream cheese filling sandwiched inside is made with good old fashioned Philadelphia Cream Cheese and 6 tablespoons of confectioner's sugar:  the definition of simplicity and decadence and it will leave everyone wanting more.   I also added an 1/8-teaspoon of cardamom to the dry ingredients for a little extra spice and an extra 1/4-teaspoon of salt to really bring the cookies to life.

Fall is the perfect time for going through your spice cabinet, throwing out the old, bringing in the new and getting acquainted with old friends hiding inside.  It’s the season of cinnamon and cardamom, cloves, nutmeg and ginger…all the greats in my book.  Just thinking the names gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over and conjures up thoughts of holidays coming down the road and bright colored leaves.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to rush things, but I look forward to this time of year all year long with it’s colors and sentimentality, the smell of fireplaces starting up and tons and tons of mums, new jackets, new sneakers and Beverly Cleary books…now I’m getting sidetracked.

The inspiration, as I started to mention, was from when I was 8 years old and in the third grade.   Mrs. McNabb was our teacher that year, a rather grandmotherly figure as I recall, and the incentive for memorizing all the capitals of the United States was a Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie.  On one hand it seems like a “throw-away” sort of memory and I certainly couldn’t tell you much more about the third grade than that, but on the other hand it must have been profound and quite possibly the first time I ever had a Little Debbie product…it must have been like a drug to my system because all I knew is I had to have more!!!  What better incentive can you have for learning American geography than cream cheese?

I know I’ve blasted processed desserts in the past, and I’m not going to start advocating for them now when there is a delicious recipe clearly outlining the simple steps it takes to make such a wondrous morsel, but when I was 8 it was a thing of amazement.  I think Little Debbie was also amazing when I was in college, making late night runs to the local 7-11 or Git-n-Go, but clearly I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions at that time…. no one can.  Cookies have always been my drug of choice…I guess ABC’s After School messages have failed.  Thank goodness I didn’t wind up pregnant (I must have been paying attention that day).

Maybe I shouldn’t poke so much fun at those after school shows, I guess they helped me turn out okay in the end, I mean I still remember them right?  The “moments” your brain hangs onto is quite astounding.  Sometimes all it takes is a flash of an image or a random smell and you regress to elementary school in no time flat, time and reality seem to draw out and you can vividly see “that place” or hear “that person” as if it was only yesterday.  And sometimes maybe it’s about tasting “that thing” once more, the wonderful sugar laced item that made you smile and feel special and accomplished.  Baking these cookies is a worthy accomplishment.  Bringing them to work on a Monday will make everyone feel better about getting out of bed and I highly recommend them both. It’s just who I am.

An Ode To The Apple

If only everyday could be full of blue skies with puffy clouds, moderate breezes and me eating an endless supply of freshly baked tart crust and potato salad (separately of course), well that sounds a bit like heaven to me.  Thankfully my afternoon has been just that, and now I can contentedly wait for round two when we have a BBQ later this evening.  No one will miss a stray potato or a scrap of crust, will they???

I had planned on baking something from an old cookbook (dated 1895) my cousin brought over last week, a discovery he made in the cupboard of his mother’s kitchen, but along about Wednesday morning I peeked out into the backyard and “what to my wondering eyes should appear” but apples gently resting in the mounds of sea grass underneath the apple tree. 

I’ve been keeping a steady eye on the apples since their first appearance in late spring.  Last year an ill occurring frost obliterated any chance of blossoms and forthcoming apples, so when I saw the tree in bloom earlier this year I had high hopes for a bountiful crop in which to create yummy pies, tarts and cakes.  Unfortunately, I only ended up with seven apples so that kind of ruled out making shelves and display cases full of apple desserts (because apparently our one, little dwarf Golden Delicious produces bushels and bushels of fruit in my imagination).  Considering the previous year’s production of zero, I’m happy to take seven with a smile on my face.

It’s so much more gratifying to grow your own fruit than to go to the store or even to the farmer’s market.  There is a feeling of pride that comes with knowing you watched and waited patiently for something in your own backyard to develop and become ready for consumption.  Farming is an exercise in longing more than anything (again, not that I’m farming with a single apple tree out back), but anytime you’ve taken the time to plant something with love, water it, feed it and say nice things to it from time to time, watched it grow and kept an eye on it until it’s ready to eat or freeze or even put in a vase…well, then you understand the patience and desire I’m speaking of.  My apples feel like that for me.

September is really the start of apple season.  I’m hoping to get out to a nearby apple farm later in the month or early in October to stock up and work on my traditional pie baking skills, taste some cider and maybe score an apple doughnut or two, but for now I’m satisfied with the Barefoot Contessa’s French Apple Tart.  In fact, it turned out to be a Barefoot Contessa kind of day…now how bad can that be?

Since it’s Labor Day weekend and I have three days to relax and unwind, I wanted to spend at least one of those days in the kitchen.  I know it sounds like work to a lot of people, but to get a whole morning or afternoon in the kitchen without interruption or having to run off anywhere is like a dream.  If it is work, then it’s certainly satisfying with a tasteful payoff.  I often find myself in the most Zen-like of moments when I’m slicing fruit or rolling out dough, nothing matters but the task at hand.  The dough is a living thing that either comes together nicely and rolls out beautifully, or it’s angry, dry, cracked or on occasion soggy.  When you get ”happy” dough, the rest of the day can be a happy one too. 

I’ve really been working a lot on my dough skills…tart crusts in particular as of late.  I think people often over mix and end up with an over-combined mess on their hands.  Particularly with tart dough it’s important to see flecks of butter in your pastry…when the heat of the oven hits those tiny pieces, the puffing begins.  If your butter is too evenly disturbed, you aren’t going to get the flakey rise you are looking for.

It’s also important not to add too much flour.  Flour is something that should never be packed into the measuring cup.  You should always loosen your flour (if it’s stored in a container) with the measuring cup before you scoop it.  Mix it up so it’s not so clumped together and then lightly use the measuring cup, leveling the top with your hand or a knife.  The amount of flour you will end up with is vastly different from a compacted scoop…this excess of flour can really cause you to end up with a dry pastry.

And I know I’ve said this before, but if you are using a mixer or food processor to bring together your dough, stop mixing just before it “comes together”.  Sometimes the dough will look like there are moist sections with crumbly, dry bits of flour still hanging out, but once you turn the dough onto your floured counter top and give it a couple of kneads it will come together beautifully.

What was so nice about this morning, aside from the remarkably cooled off temperatures was the breeze.  I was able to turn off the air conditioner, open up all the windows and turn on the oven without feeling like I was going to melt into a puddle on the floor.  People were out mowing their lawns getting ready for parties and guests; the smell of freshly cut grass mingling with the butterfly bushes outside was spectacular.  After finishing my coffee, it was time to bake.

As I said earlier, it was a Barefoot Contessa kind of day.  I not only wanted to make a dessert, but also a side dish of potato salad to take over to our friend’s Izabella and Jonathan’s (and Mia’s) for a BBQ.  I don’t care how many times I make something of Ina Garten’s, I can never, ever find anything wrong with it and most of the time it truly is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.  I assume she really tests her recipes and spends countless hours tweaking and changing things to get the perfect balance of any dish.  I’ve preached about her many times over, and if you don’t have one of her cookbooks in your kitchen yet then you are doing yourself a grave injustice. 

The French Apple Tart is in her Back to Basics book, and the Old-Fashioned Potato Salad is in Barefoot Contessa at Home.  These recipes were great to make in tandem because while the dough was chilling I could work on the potatoes, and while the potatoes cooled off I could start slicing the apples for the tart, etc…  When one step was complete on one, it was time to do the next thing on the other…and I ended up with constant motion on both, arriving at the peak, deliciously fattening climax of the two recipes at almost the same time.  I like it when a plan comes together.

I won’t go into how to make a potato salad here, it’s rather off topic, but the tart is another story.  As always I started with the dough.  This dough is again made in a food processor, then flattened into a disk, wrapped in plastic wrap and chilled in the fridge for at least an hour.  (Make sure you see the little pieces of butter in your dough).  After the dough has chilled, roll it out to a 10x14 inch (roughly) rectangle, trimming the edges with a knife for a clean presentation…though I think it would look quite nice and rustic if you leave the edges unfinished.  The dough can stay on a parchment lined sheet pan in the refrigerator until you are ready to cover it with apples.

Second, is the apple preparation.  The recipe calls for 4 Granny Smith apples, but my Golden Delicious seemed to work out fine.  The only work is in the peeling and coring, and then it’s a matter of making 1/4-inch slices.  I did toss them with a little bit of lemon juice to keep the oxidation to a minimum.  Lay them out in a nice pattern all along the pastry dough, top them with 1/2 cup of sugar and 4 tablespoons of diced butter.  Bake in a 400-degree oven for about 45 minutes and you will have a glorious apple tart.  Tip:  if you find your pastry rising up forming bubbles while baking, gently pierce them with a knife so the dough collapses once more.

The only remaining step is to heat some apricot jam (1/2 cup) mixed with two tablespoons of rum or water until you can paint it onto the tart as a glaze.  This not only adds flavor but also seals the tart, helping it to retain its loveliness for just a little while longer.  Maybe you will find yourself with some time on your hands over this long weekend and try the recipe out for yourself.  This tart is another one of those things that look a bit complicated, but when you break it down into manageable portions you’ll find it to be quite easy and worth your time…and of course supremely delicious.

We don’t really have any more holidays for a while and the kids are heading back to school next week.  The mums are starting to bloom and a few leaves are already starting to turn near where we live; even the leaves on my lilac bushes have changed to a deep burgundy color effectively warning me of fall’s proximity.  Fall has always been my favorite time of year largely for the quiet it brings along with the harvest and the bright colors painted through the woods and across the mountaintops.  As the chill creeps into the air more apples will begin to ripen, and maybe you’ll find the time to pick a few off the branch or up off the ground, dust them off and turn them into something miraculous.  Or at least give it a shot.  I know I have one or two more apple desserts left in me, waiting to come out.  It’s just who I am.