Rhubarb Pie and Once-a-Week Pie Crust

Rhubarb Pie

Seattle summers just about make up for the bleak, soggy winters.  For three months there's rarely a cloud in the sky and every time you turn around another fruit is ripe and begging to be made into pie.  I adapted this recipe for an olive-oil-based pie crust from one in an old diet cookbook, and I practically have it memorized by now.  I like to make the dough on Friday night and stash it in the fridge; Saturday morning I come home from the nearest Farmers' Market with whatever looks juiciest and in under an hour I have a hot, fresh, seasonal pie.  

Once-a-week Pie Crust
¾ cup + 1 Tbs all-purpose flour

¼ cup + 2 Tbs whole-wheat flour

2 Tbs sugar

½ tsp salt

¼ tsp cinnamon

3 Tbs + 1 tsp oil (olive, grapeseed, etc)

3 Tbs ice water

Whisk all the dry ingredients together, then add oil and stir until the mix looks like fine bread crumbs.  Stir in the ice water 1 Tbs at a time until the dough sticks together.  Wrap in plastic and chill for at least an hour (or freeze for up to two weeks).  Roll out the dough, place in a 9" pie plate, and prick all over with a fork.  Bake at 400 degrees until golden (about 18 minutes).  Add the desired filling and bake or chill as needed. 

This crust is pretty much foolproof, healthy enough to eat regularly, and hearty enough to pair with a variety robust and flavorful fillings.  As the summer goes on I'll paste more recommendations and pictures, but I'll mention here that I've used it with blackberries, peaches, mixed berries, and apples.  Since it's vegan I've used it to make tofu "French Silk" pies for vegan parties.  I've also left out the sugar and cinnamon and used it for quiches and savory flans. 

My favorite filling of the moment is locally-grown rhubarb, which I prefer not to dilute with strawberries.  Chop a scant pound of clean rhubarb and cook with 2-3 Tbs of sugar in a small saucepan over medium heat.  When the rhubarb gets tender and juicy, make of paste of 1 tsp cornstarch and a little hot water and stir it into the fruit.  Let the fruit simmer for a couple more minutes, then pour into the hot pie crust.  Put back into the hot oven, shut the door, and turn off the oven; the residual heat will set the filling.  

 

The Daily Beast: Veronique De Viguerie

Photo © Veronique de Vigurie-All Rights Reserved
One of my favorite photojournalists, Veronique de Vigurie, was featured on The Daily Beast blog in an article/interview titled The Bravest Photographer.

Veronique de Viguerie is based in Paris and, at the age of only 32, has already won prestigious awards including Canon’s coveted Female Photojournalist of the Year Award in 2006. Her photographs regularly appear in Newsweek, The New York Times Magazine, Marie-Claire, and The Guardian.

She's known for her empathy with her subjects, and that trait got her in hot water in 2008 when she photographed a group of Taliban fighters who had killed 10 French soldiers. Paris-Match published her photographs, and her critics accused her being used to spread Taliban propaganda.

I recall writing about this, and suggesting that if anyone was to be accused of anything, it should have been the Paris-Match editors.

The article quotes Régis Le Sommier, deputy editor in chief of Paris Match, that he believes de Viguerie is "one of the most daring and promising photographers of her generation."

More of de Viguerie's images are on Getty Images Reportage website.

Tango's El Diablo

El Diablo

Tango, $10

This is one of the worst pictures I've ever taken of one of the best desserts I've ever eaten.  From the minute the plates hit the table I just couldn't be bothered to futz around with f-stops and framing.  

Tango is celebrating its 10th anniversary today by giving away free servings of its signature dessert, the El Diablo.  This multi-component extravaganza looks like a goth fantasy castle in the clouds.  There's cube of dense dark chocolate mousse, spiced with enough cayenne to make your lips tingle, perched on a nest of scorched meringue, and surrounded by a little moat of tequila caramel sauce; a sprinkling of cacao nibs adds texture and a bitter bass note, and  the whole thing is guarded by a few spicy-sweet praline almonds (imagine Marcona almonds from a country that believes in butter rather than olive oil).  

Back by the bathrooms, there's a framed article from "Seattle Metropolitan Magazine" in which Tango's first pastry chef, Bennie Sata, describes the origins of the dessert.  Ten years ago, when pairing chocolate and chilies wasn't yet the done thing, Texas-raised Sata took her cues from devil's food cake and the vats of mole she ate growing up.  She also talks charmingly about one aspect of the final concept that gives over-the-top El Diablo an element of home ec practicality:  egg yolks go into the mousse, while the whites get "recycled" as meringue.  

And one word of advice to those who carp that El Diablo is "too rich to finish":  share.  Your relationship will be glad you did.  

Pâte de Fruit

Pâte de Fruit
Above: William Dean Chocolates, $5/small box
Below: Paris Caramels, $15/large box

Like jam, condensed milk, or astronaut ice cream , pâte de fruit (pronounced not like liver pâté, but as in "Pat the Bunny") is a delicacy born from a difficult challenge: how to make a perishable surplus last a little longer. During the 10th century in France, someone figured out that you could preserve ripe fruit by cooking it down into a semi-solid, super-concentrated state. Sometime later, the shelf life of this fruit paste was extended again when makers began to coat each piece with granulated sugar, a natural preservative.

I first fell for pâte de fruit while visiting France, where the 1000-year-old treat is still a part of modern life. It's a prime souvenir of the Auvergne region where it was invented, while the high-end epicerie Fauchon displays gleaming cubes of every imaginable flavor in a chic display case, and most corner shops sell little plastic-wrapped bars suitable for a kid's lunchbox.

While the US is well-stocked with fruity gems, gels, and jellies, it's decidedly lacking in proper pâte de fruit. What do I mean by "proper"? No "fruit flavorings". No gelatin (first, because I'm squeamish, second, because fruit is packed with pectin, a natural substance that is ready and waiting to become squishy, and third, because fruit + gelatin = jello). No more added sugar than absolutely necessary (again, fruit is already full of sugar). And finally, NO corn syrup, NO artificial coloring, NO preservatives; any so-called pâte de fruit that includes these ingredients is missing the point.

Needless to say, I don't get to eat pâte de fruit very often! I was thrilled to find them for sale at the William Dean Chocolates display at the Seattle Chocolate Salon. The ingredients were staightforward enough (fruit puree, wine, sugar, pectin, glucose, tartaric acid) so I bought a small box including cassis, mirabelle plum, kiwi, pear, raspberry and passionfruit (pictured above). I got the Paris Caramels box (below) from ChefShop, whose website reports that the fruit used comes directly from small-scale French growers. The flavors of lemon, passionfruit, and raspberry come through loud and clear.

Since things can get a little grim during Seattle winters, I'm trying not to eat all of these right away; I can picture myself in the middle of January, self-medicating with a daily dose of these sunny little sweets.

Galaktoboureko

Galaktoboureko
The Continental, $3.50

Although its name is a simple amalgam of the Greek word for milk and the Turkish word for pie, galaktoboureko is a real mouthful--so much so that a friend of mine who married into a Greek family has given up trying to pronounce it correctly, asking instead for second helpings of "galactic booty call."

Like a Maria Luisa, galaktoboureko is essentially a custard sandwich, two wisps of flimsy phyllo pastry bookending a dense slab of eggy custard (which in the "portokali" variant is infused with orange). While the custard and pastry layers of a napoleon are cooked separately, galaktoboureko is cooked all at once, resulting in more robust texture. Before serving, the pastry is soaked in plain or citrus-scented simple syrup.

At the Continental, galactoboureko is baked once a week and is available from Thursday to Saturday, or until it runs out. I prefer it in the first day or two, before it absorbs too much of the syrup.

The Continental

4549 University Way NE
Seattle, WA 98105

206/632-4700‎

Tokaragashi V

Tokaragashi V

Since I bought Tokara's seasonal wagashi at almost the same time last year, this box gave me the pleasure of recognizing an old favorite along with the thrill of discovering two new delights.

I was too slow to check Tokara's website for the correct names and descriptions, so apologies for being a bit vague. The modernist flower (above) was soft, translucent mochi, decorated with petal marks seared in by a branding iron and tiny cubes of kanten jelly for abstract drops of morning dew. Inside, a black sesame paste--pungent, dry, and velvety as halva.


















A bundled-up bamboo leaf unfurled to reveal a fu manju (above), a dumpling of steamed wheat gluten, flavored with grassy yomogi and tucked around a core of sweet, chunky red beans.

Last but not least, the "old friend", Gourd (below): matcha-flavored white bean paste inside a molded kanten jelly textured with crushed, cooked rice.

To see more of Tokara's beautiful creations:
Tokaragashi I
Tokaragashi II
Tokaragashi III
Tokaragashi IV

ANZAC Biscuits

ANZAC Biscuits 

Observed on April 25, ANZAC Day is an antipodean memorial day, commemorating the past and ongoing contributions of Australian and New Zealand armed forces.  The holiday's origin, however, was more specific.  It was established in memory of the many Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) soldiers who lost their lives in Turkey during WWI, as part of a long, horrific, and ultimately unsuccessful campaign. 

In many places, the sale or consumption of crispy golden cookies known as "ANZAC biscuits" will be as much as part of observances as poppies or parades or sunrise vigils.  If it seems odd that there's a more-or-less official sweet treat associated with such a somber occasion, just consider how much comfort this humble taste of home must have given to those ANZAC soldiers. 

The ultimate origins of the ANZAC biscuit are unclear (I found a similar recipe for "Canadian shortbread" dated 1933 in a vintage Australian cookbook), but it was a perfect match for the shortages and challenges of wartime.  Made from oats, flour, shredded coconut, sugar, butter, baking soda, and water, the ANZAC biscuit calls for treacle or golden syrup as a binder, instead of then-scarce eggs.  The biscuits were durable enough to ship, would keep for long periods without refrigeration, and--just as important--were both nourishing and delicious.  Women in Australia and New Zealand packed ANZACs into whatever tins they had on hand and sent them off to the battlefields by the boatload. 

ANZAC biscuits are now a popular year-round treat, manufactured by commercial bakeries as well as by home cooks.  On ANZAC Day, biscuits are frequently sold to raise funds for veterans' services, continuing to provide comfort and sustenance for those who have served.