“Normal is an illusion. What is normal for the spider is chaos for the fly.” –Morticia Addams.
There are “normal” hand pies, and then there are my Halloween hand pies. I’m not a huge Halloween person, actually. Out of all of the holidays, it’s one of my least favourite. Of course, there are elements of Halloween that I love – the earthy magic, the subtle eeriness, black cats and classy black candles paired with winter-white pumpkins, carving Jack O’Lanterns with my kids, the sense that the veil between this world and the next has been lifted for just one enchanted evening – but I try to carry this magic with me throughout the whole year, not just on Halloween. What I don’t like is that here in the US the holiday has been distorted and come to symbolize something dark, morbid and evil. It’s used as an excuse to be tastelessly gory with violent images decorating houses and bloody costumes, or it’s a reason for people to simply act ridiculous. I don’t want to sound old-fashioned here but, to me, Halloween is deeper than just a child’s holiday. It means Samhain bonfires and forest magic; harvest celebrations with apples, pumpkin and corn; the turning of the seasons; light to dark; a night to feel closer to family and friends who have passed on; and for the little ones, trick or treating! (Little ones only!) In my opinion, the guts and gore take away from the etherial mystique that surrounds Halloween, and they’re anything but classy. Continue reading “Halloween Hand Pies”
There are two different approaches to making apple pie. The first is to toss the apples with sugar and a bit of thickener (flour, cornstarch) and place them in the crust, raw, so that they cook in the oven. The second is to cook the apples on the stove top first, before placing them in the crust. The first method is quick and easy, and works in a pinch, but the results are a filling that doesn’t hold together quite as well and oozes out when you slice it. Additionally, as the pie bakes, the apples shrink, releasing their juices and creating gaps between the filling and the top crust which shatter when the pie is sliced. By cooking the apples beforehand, they are pre-shrunk, a little like a good pair of jeans, and you can count on the crust staying intact, without gaps as the pie bakes. This is how I like to make apple pie, and because much of the liquid is reduced and boiled away while the fruit is cooking, there’s no need for a thickening agent, which preserves the clean, fresh taste of the apples. Continue reading “Windmill Lattice Apple Pie”
Happy Monday! I hope you all had a very wonderful Thanksgiving, if you celebrate… and if you don’t, I hope you had a fantastic weekend. We discovered on Thanksgiving day that our refrigerator wasn’t keeping things as cold as it should. Actually, I had suspected that was the case for a few weeks, when I kept having to turn the temperature down, but since I’d packed it full of food for the holiday it became very apparent that only the bottom of the fridge was maintaining a constant temperature. Continue reading “Kolaczki Cookies”
I love the trend of returning to our culinary roots. That’s not to say that I don’t respect the innovative chefs creating modern and exciting new adaptations of our old favourites, but the slow living movement, the trend to cook like our grandmothers once did is where my heart lies when I’m in the kitchen. Cooking real food with natural, wholesome ingredients that have names even our grandmothers would recognize. Tried and true recipe that have stood the test of time. However, there is one thing that I absolutely will not cook the way my grandmother did. Pie crust. My grandmother came from the generation of cooks who, in the 40s and 50s, embraced shortening as a better alternative to butter and used it for just about everything from hand cream to pastry dough. Continue reading “Swiss Chard & Potato Galette”
On a quiet corner in le Marais was a little café called Café des Feuilles d’Or. I’m not sure what it’s called today, or if it still even exists. But at the time it had a lovely patio that stretched out along the tree-lined street. There, at a lacy, iron table, sat a man in a grey overcoat which almost perfectly matched the leaden sky that cold, autumn morning. Had you been walking by at the time, you surely would have missed him, as he blended in so well with the other patrons in their grey overcoats sitting on the patio with him. I imagine they were all trying to pretend that
winter wasn’t just around the corner. Continue reading “Espresso Madeleines”