pie beta kappa

SEQUEL TIME.  Because this is the sequel to the seminal pie post, it needed a funny, punny movie sequel play on words.  “Life Free or Pie Hard” was the winner for its true ridiculousness.  “Pie Another Day” was a close second.  Runner-ups included “Pie-r Pie-r”, “Pie Story 2”, “Harry Potter and the Half-Baked Pie”, and “P2: The Pie-ty Ducks.”  Any better suggestions are, of course, absolutely welcome.

And some credit where credit is due: almost all of the photos on this blog are taken by a very patient M. who deals with questions like “What’s the best lighting for rhubarb?” like a pro.  (And the answer to that question: there is none.)

GRANDMOTHER’S HERSHEY BAR PIE, from the kitchen of my grandmother

Ingredients
1/2 cup milk (whole is best)
24 large marshmallows
6 1/2 ounce Hershey with Almond bars, shaved
1 pint whipping cream
1 9″ baked pie shell
1 extra Hershey with Almonds bar for garnish

Directions
Heat milk over a double boiler or in a glass bowl over simmering water.  Do not boil.  Add marshmallows and stir until thoroughly melted.  Add shaved chocolate bars and stir until thoroughly melted.

Cool thoroughly.

Whip 1/2 pint whipping cream and fold into the cooled chocolate mixture.

Pour into pie shell and refrigerate at least two hours.

Whip remaining cream and spread over the filling or pipe through a pastry bag with a rose tip.  Top with chocolate curls from the extra Hershey bar, if it’s managed to survive.

PIE IS supposed to be the quintessential American dish.  “As American as apple pie” is perhaps one of the earliest similes learned by schoolchildren.  But the truth of the matter is that the history of pie is neither an American one or a sweet one.  While pies, and sweet pies in particular, have gained a rather devoted following in the last few centuries, Laura Mayer in TIME briefly explored the history of pie just in time for Thanksgiving 2008 and noted that the vast majority of pie’s existence has been spent as a savory meat pie.  In fact, Mayer credits the Greeks with inventing pastry (insofar as a butterless flour-water combination can be called “pastry”) and, therefore, inventing pie.  Personally, I think we humans are secretive creatures who like to get our hands dirty, so the inclination to (1) squish gooey dough in our hands and then (2) hide something inside of it is contained deep within our souls.

So what does one put inside of one’s dough?  Almost anything.  Pie can act as a kind of preserving apparatus, in a way.  Meat, fruit, vegetables… anyone who has eaten shepherd’s pie has probably thought, “where do they come up with this stuff?” right before asking for seconds.  But, on a more personal level, what do you choose for the first pie you ever make?

Probably not a huge soul-searching dilemma.  Unless you have a food blog.  Whose name has pie in it.  And you’ve managed to spend a not-insignificant portion of adult life puttering around the kitchen and studiously avoiding pie.  Then, there’s a little bit of soul-searching.  Vacillating.  Pontificating.  Ruminating.  Procrastinating.  Until finally, finally, you have it.

And so you call up a few friends, and make four pies instead.

This is the first of two pie installments servings.  Each has a simple and simply delicious pie passed down from my mother’s mother, and a pie from Those Who Get Paid to Make Pie Well.

The very first pie to find itself chilling in the refrigerator (you heard me, I started with a no-bake pie) was my grandmother’s fresh berry pie.  Now, when my grandmother made it, it was always boysenberries, fresh from the small garden in their backyard.  My grandfather loved boysenberries.  This could be any berry you want, but in the spirit of making pies to delight the heart of one’s beloved, I made a blueberry pie.

GRANDMOTHER’S FRESH BERRY PIE, from my grandmother’s kitchen
makes one 9″ pie

Ingredients
Graham Cracker Crust
1 1/4 cups graham cracker crumbs
1/4 cup sugar
5 tablespoons unsalted butter (melted)
1/8 teaspoon salt

Mix the graham cracker crumbs, 1/4 cup sugar, unsalted butter, and salt.

Using the back of a wooden spoon and/or the bottom of a small glass, press the crumb mixture firmly on the bottom and up the sides of the pie plate.

Line the graham cracker crust with three cups of the berries.

Simmer the remaining berries with water for 3-4 minutes.  Add sugar and cornstarch, stir and cook until clear.  Add lemon juice to the mixture and stir.

Cool, then pour over berries and refrigerate.  Serve with real whipped cream.

watch out for wayward dollops of cream when baking four pies at once

Notes

If you’re using a berry that doesn’t automatically fail the “I dropped it on my white shirt” test, like a blueberry, the pie could use more of the simmered blueberry mixture on top of the blueberries.  It might also help with some cohesion issues I found myself having.  (I blame the blueberries.)

 

MILE HIGH LEMON MERINGUE PIE, adapted from Martha Stewart

Ingredients

All purpose flour, for dusting

Pie pastry dough, blind baked (I used the one in this post, instead of Martha’s pate brisee base, mostly because the French intimidated me and I was already sufficiently intimidated by the meringue.  And because I liked the dough I’d made)

Lemon Filling

1 large egg

2 tablespoons heavy cream

1/3 cup cornstarch

1/3 cup sifted cake flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 1/4 cups sugar

5 large egg yolks, lightly beaten

1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

2 tablespoons lemon rind

4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

Meringue

7 large egg whites

3/4 cup sugar

1/4 teaspoon salt

Directions

Bake the pastry shell according to directions and allow to cool.

For the lemon filling, combine cornstarch, cake flour, salt, and sugar in a medium saucepan over medium heat.  Martha notes that this should be a nonreactive saucepan.  I only had one kind, and it turns out it was nonreactive.  Copper saucepans are, apparently, reactive.  Don’t use copper saucepans in this recipe.

 

Gradually add two cups of cold water and bring the mixture to a boil, whisking constantly.  This should take about four minutes.

Remove the nonreactive saucepan from the heat.  Pour a small amount of the hot mixture into the egg yolks to temper them and keep the lemon filling from becoming lemon-and-scrambled-egg filling, then add the eggs to the nonreactive saucepan.  Cook over low heat for five minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat again and whisk in the lemon juice and rind.  Add the butter one piece at a time, but in a fairly methodical manner while the mixture is warm enough to melt the butter.

 

When the butter is fully melted and absorbed into the mixture, pour it into a large bowl and let it cool.  Place wax paper directly on top of the  surface to prevent a skin from forming.

When cool, pour the filling into the pastry shell, cover with aluminum foil, and refrigerate for approximately one hour, until firm.

When the lemon filling is firm, make the meringue by combining the egg whites, sugar, and salt in a heat-proof bowl.  Set over a pan of simmering water and beat until warm and the sugar and salt are dissolved into the egg whites.

 

Remove bowl from heat and whip into stiff peaks.  This alone makes pre-stand mixer cooks who could make any kind of lemon meringue pie, much less a beautiful one, head and shoulders above all the rest of humanity.

 

Spread the meringue over the pie  so that it touches the crust all around.  This will, at least in theory, reduce the “weeping” that occurs (in which watery puddles form at the bottom of the pie pan after pieces are removed).  Using the flat part of a spatula, lightly tap all over the surface of the meringue to encourage well-intentioned, “it came out this way all on its own” peaks.

 

Broil until brown, approximately two minutes.  Watch as closely as you would a two-year-old in a china shop.

Serve at room temperature.

Notes

Because I was so intimidated by its height and its gravity (or lack thereof), I was very careful to adhere to Martha’s meringue work.  With that said, it didn’t quite taste right.  The lemon filling was delicious, and the crust was of course delightful, but the meringue was, as Nick put it, savory.  Not the expected sweet.  Don’t get me wrong, it didn’t keep me from finishing my slice.  Very quickly.

EVERY COOK has go-to recipes for certain occasions.  Those tried-and-true recipes that are guaranteed, barring a gas leak, a broken stove, or an act of God, to impress.  The only downside for these recipes, of course, is that there are never any leftovers.

I’ve always tried to keep my go-tos to a minimum for fear of seeming a one-trick (or two-trick, or three-trick) pony.  In college, it was lime and garlic chicken fajitas — the simple, cheap meal that, in California at least, everybody eats.  These days, I have two go-to meals.  One for special occasions (maybe I’ll share it some time), and one for friend or work barbecues.

Outrageous oatmeal cookies are what I make when I’m going to a barbecue.  They’re perfect on so many levels.  First, they’re delicious.  Second, they’re unassuming.  Their appearance, and their very nature as a dessert, means that they won’t be upstaging the host’s dishes.  (At least, until they’re the first dish gone.  But then they’re gone.  At that point, you can’t be blamed for a nonexistent dish.)  And finally, they’re not a guilty cookie. Whole wheat flour, no butter (!)… sure, cookies are never foods on which you should subsist.  But if they’re delicious first, and not terribly bad for you second, it’s a bonus.  (Depending on your crowd, you lead with delicious or lead with “no butter, but delicious!”)

OUTRAGEOUS OATMEAL COOKIES, adapted slightly from my mother’s recipe drawer

Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups vegetable oil
2 eggs
2 cups whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups packed brown sugar (light or dark)
6 cups old-fashioned oats (or part granola)
2 cups broken walnuts
6 ounces semi-sweet chocolate morsels
1/2 cup warm water

Directions:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit with the rack in the center position or with both racks evenly distributed around the center of the oven.

Combine oil and egg, whisking briefly to combine.  Mix flour, baking powder, and salt in a very large mixing bowl, and stir until blended.

Add brown sugar, oats, walnuts, and chocolate, then stir to combine.  Add oil and egg mixture and work through the dough with a wooden spoon (or your fingers) until moistened throughout.  Add just enough warm water to make the mixture damp enough to hold together.

Generously grease two heavy baking sheets.  Using a 1/4 or 1/3 measuring cup (depending on desired size of cookies) to form the mixture into mounts and place on baking sheet with 1-3 inches between them.

Bake for 10-15 minutes until the cookie feels done when pressed with a finger.  Cool briefly, then use a spatula to remove from baking sheet.  Cool completely.

Notes:

The “very large mixing bowl” is no joke.  I don’t have a bowl big enough.  I use my fingers to mix the ingredients because using a spoon knocks too many of the ingredients out of the bowl and, invariably, onto the floor.  And, let’s face it, I use my fingers to mix because it’s also fun.