Speaking of our Celtic friends, here's a little something, just in time to help you St. Patrick's Day revelers carbo load before you binge drink and hunt for leprechauns or whatever the hell Americans do to celebrate this Irish holiday in a manner that is completely unrecognizable to actual Irish people. You see, I am still riding on the sober coattails of Dry January, so I feel like it's my duty as a person who is, for the moment, certifiably Better Than You, to judge you harshly but also provide you with a delicious, less intoxicating alternative to green beer or Car Bombs: Pie.
Pie is a matter of religious importance in my family. We all worship it. That we agree on a fondness for pie is not remarkable. Pie is not exactly controversial in and of itself, though I realize there are those among us who walk the earth wrongly preferring cake. For many of my family members, though, the pie filling is largely irrelevant. It's the crust that is literally and figuratively foundational to the pie. The filling can come from a can, as is often the case with pumpkin, but the crust must be homemade, or GTFO.
My grandmother, matriarch of the family, is also Lord of the Crust. She's a wonderful cook, and I've been fortunate to learn a thing or two growing up in her kitchen. In her heyday, her holiday meals were as if Norman Rockwell's Freedom from Want and a Dutch still life birthed an edible baby right on the dining room table (too vivid?). In her hands, a simple tuna salad sandwich is elevated to heights that would make Ina Garten seethe with jealousy. But beyond all other culinary feats, her pie crust
My family isn't particularly religious. Even at holiday meals, saying grace is optional depending on who is in attendance. The one ritual that is non-negotiable is finishing your pie crust. If you don't finish yours, someone else will gladly finish it for you. God forbid you linger a little too long over your wine glass before savoring the last few bites of crust, because someone will swoop in and claim adverse possession. And if you voluntarily surrender your pie crust? That is offensive and a serious breach of trust. We don't take kindly to crust abandoners.
When I was about to get married and move to Idaho (the very place where I started this blog in a pique of unemployment and social isolation nearly 9 years ago), my grandmother and I sat down at her kitchen table with her primary-colored, checkerboard patterned recipe box so I could transcribe some of her most famous treats. She has several crust variations in her repertoire, including one that calls for Crisco (at one time it called for lard), but her more recent ride-or-die recipe for pie crust, a pâte brisée that I think she adapted from Martha Stewart, was my top priority. She was kind enough to copy it for me in her own iconic, left-handed cursive, which makes it extra special. I'm feeling benevolent, so I'll share it here. Plus, I realize you can easily Google some version of the recipe so there's no point keeping it to myself, which also means there's no real reason to share it here, and yet...
The instructions call for a food processor, which I did not have at the time. A good substitute is to freeze your butter and quickly grate it over the large holes of a box grater, pausing periodically to fluff the butter shreds into your flour. When all the butter is grated, work quickly with your fingers, two forks, or a pastry blender, to incorporate the butter into the flour until the texture ranges between gritty sand and pea sized nubs.
Pate Brisee
makes enough for one lidded pie or two topless pies
2 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar
2 sticks very cold butter, cubed
1/2 cup icy cold water
Add dry ingredients to the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to distribute the salt and sugar. Sprinkle the cubed butter atop the flour and pulse ~10 times so that the mixture looks like sand and gravel. With the motor running, drizzle in 1/4 cup of the water. After about 10 seconds, turn the motor off and assess the texture of your dough. If it looks very dry with a lot of loose flour remaining, add more water a teaspoon at a time with the motor running, until the dough starts to form a ball. The amount of water you end up using will vary greatly depending on the temperature and humidity in your kitchen.
Be careful not to run the food processor for more than 30 seconds. You don't want the heat of the motor to melt the butter. The butter needs to stay very cold and remain somewhat marbled if you want a crust that is flaky, not chewy.
Turn your ball of dough out onto a floured surface and quickly form a ball. Cut the ball in half and, again, time is of the essence, quickly flatten and shape each half into a disk. Wrap tightly in plastic and immediately refrigerate. The dough needs to chill for at least 30 minutes before using*. It can be refrigerated for up to a week or frozen for a month. Frozen dough will need to thaw in the fridge for several hours or overnight. Don't thaw it on the counter. Also, you wont, like, die from eating old pie crust but the taste and texture will be a bit stale.
*Pro tip: When you are ready to make a pie, freeze your pie plate for about 30 minutes. Let your dough rest on the counter for 5-10 minutes, then roll out on a floured surface until it is large enough to cover the bottom of a 9" pie plate with roughly 1/2" overhang.
Grab your pie plate from the freezer and gently transfer your crust to the plate, smoothing out the bottom and sides. Quickly crimp your crust edges and pop that SOB back in the fridge, not the freezer this time. When your oven is hot and whatever excuse-to-eat -crust filling you are using is ready, only then should your prepared crust emerge from the fridge. Plop in that filling and get it into the hot oven as quickly as possible. You want the heat to shock the nearly-frozen butter for maximum flakeage. You're welcome.
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| Apple Pie, Thanksgiving 2017 |
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