desserts

I’ve been neglecting you, friends. These past two months have been incredibly busy, and hard. It’s been better, though, since I ended my contract at the cafe two weeks ago. Only two months in and I was feeling on the verge of what a francophone would call burn-out, what a nutritionist would call adrenal fatigue, and what I would call desperate times. I was coming home every afternoon, too exhausted to read, or write, or make a soup, or call my best friend, or water my plants, or take a walk under moonlight, or a hike in the sunshine, or meet a friend for a mug of something warm, or really hear how Lulu’s day was–too exhausted for care, both for self and for others and that is a bleak place to be, indeed.

It wasn’t only the hours that were draining. And, without getting into too much detail, I was beginning to feel like I wasn’t doing the work that everything in me–heart, spirit, hands, mind–so badly wants to do. Work that contributes something positive to my community, something honest, creative, uplifting, nourishing, healing.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. So I left. It wasn’t an easy decision in some ways, and in other ways it was the easiest one.

Now, I’ve been focusing my energies on my nutrition practice, a few other projects that I’ll share w/ y’all soon, and on all that care I’ve been missing out on these past months.

Like baking this apple pie. This recipe comes from another blog–Lucy’s Kitchen Notebook–the first blog I ever followed. This was back in 2009, October, when I was subletting a tiny room in a light-filled apartment on 4th Street in the East Village, mending a broken heart from the passing of my grandma Stella. The apartment had a spacious (by NYC standards) kitchen and was in close proximity to a farmer’s market and one of the ways I dealt w/ my loss was through making some of Lucy’s recipes, feeling transported to a small village in France (though Lucy’s based in Lyon), a plot of land where there are green walnuts to harvest for nocino and an apple tree that yields and yields.

I’m not sure if Lucy is still blogging, but I return to her archives from time-to-time and I always leave her page feeling galvanized. These past two months, I haven’t spent much time in my kitchen and it’s been nourishing, in all the ways, to rekindle my relationship to home-cooking.

I’ve made this pie dozens of times since that Fall. The crust has an almost sablé-like texture and the addition of apple-sauce is down-right genius, making this comfort food feel even more like a big ol’ cozy sweater. It’s incredibly versatile — I’ve used spelt flour and, once, a mix of spelt and rye flours instead of the whole-wheat flour, yogurt instead of the petit suisse or cream cheese, olive oil instead of walnut oil, cardamom instead of cinnamon…in short, unlike other baked things, it seems pretty darn hard to mess this one up.

The one adjustment I’ve made that I’ve really come to love is to chop the apples into even, on the smaller-side cubes. Chopped this way, they bake evenly and take on a texture that approximates pillows, marshmallows, clouds. If you’re particular about one part of the recipe, make it this.

The other adjustment I’ve made is that I use whole cane sugar (like rapadura, sucanet, or jaggery) instead of processed ones. If you’ve never baked w/ whole cane sugar, now’s the time to start! It’s minimally processed (sun-dried instead of exposed to heat, high-pressure and bleach like white or brown sugars) and its taste has a depth & richness that other sugars lack.

I’ve never been in touch w/ Lucy, but I’ll sign off w/ a merci to her for all the work she does. And especially for this recipe for her Favorite Apple Pie.

I like baking, but baking doesn’t always like me. Soups like me, braised meats love me, roasted veggies and I would probably be engaged if I wasn’t already taken, but I just feel like breads and pastries don’t really get me. The me that prefers dashes and pinches to quantifiable units of measurement. The me that hasn’t faithfully followed a recipe since 2008. The me that is too laid-back (read: lazy) to ensure that I am adding exactly 1 and 1/4 cups of flour, to knead for exactly 15 (15!) minutes, to bake for no more and no less than 45 minutes at exactly 375 degrees F without opening the oven ever, not even once, just to check.

That’s not to say that baking and I haven’t had our moments. There were those two pumpkins pies for Thanksgiving in Oakland, that spelt chocolate birthday cake with raw-milk whipped-cream, those cardamom buns made outside of Stockholm (with a lot of help from a Swede).

Oh, and there have always been crumbles. That cherry crumble with Kasia and Annabel last July, the first blueberry crumble I ever made many Augusts ago in Maine, and this apple and pear crumble I’ve been making almost every couple of weeks this season.

Crumble gets me. In fact, I think it’s safe to say, crumble gets all of us. Unlike its other baked counterparts (I’m looking at you, pie), crumble is as unfussy, as forgiving as the most simple desserts–fresh strawberries and cream, raw-milk-yogurt and honey–and as satisfying. All you need are rolled oats, some butter, something sweet (honey, sugar, maple syrup), whatever fruit you have on hand, and an oven. You don’t even really need a plate.

Gleaning from Gleaning

A few weeks ago, while on a walk a bit outside of Geneva, L & I came across an apple field. The apple season had ended–the farmers had finished picking weeks ago–, but, still, many red and green delights hung from the branches. In Switzerland, as in much of Europe, there is a tradition of gleaning (See: Agnes Varda’s film Les glaneurs et la glaneuse, or this painting by Jean Francois Millet.), or free-range for all peoples on the odds & ends of a harvest. Historically, gleaning belonged to the peasant class, and was protected as their right to collect what was unwanted. A lot has changed since peasant-times, but gleaning remains a protected practice for those still wanting to make use of the unwanted, the “waste”. Those with a limited budget and a bit of free time. Those wishing to connect to the source of their food. And for those crumble-lovers on a Sunday stroll.

There are communities of dedicated gleaners here, folks who know the window for gleaning each local crop. I met one particularly spirited gleaner, or shall I say glaneuse, at our neighborhood farmer’s market. In her late 70s and towering over a card-table with few contents–a couple bags of dried herbs, five jam jars of various sizes and hues, a half-empty (half-full?) paper bag of some sad-looking quinces–this glaneuse, let’s call her Diana (Diana wants nothing to do with the internet, preferring to remain fully in the corporeal world), had produced all her table’s contents through gleaning. In fact, you could even say that she gleaned her place into the farmer’s market, an unofficial vendor of earthly delights who often disappears in the blink of an eye, or at the sight of the market patrol.

I had hopes to meet with Diana to find out more about her life, to learn the secret of her seabuckthorn jam, but the day we were supposed to meet (at an undisclosed location where she would build a fire for roasting chestnuts, if we brought the chestnuts) was too windy for fires and, well, for her, that was that.

I think the real reason baking and I don’t jive is because I’m often seeking immediate results, instant gratification. Mind you, this gratification is usually something like learning the best place to forage for Linden leaves, or being able to knit the perfect pair of socks on my first attempt, but it’s still the same emphasis on results, on future good as opposed to present process. I’m new to Switzerland, and it’s okay for me to get to know this place bit by bit, bird by bird, one gleaned apple, like one loaf of bread, one kind of pie, at a time.

Apple Pear Crumble

You don't really need to measure anything here. Crumble is one of those things, like pancakes, that once you get down the basic ratio, it's okay to eye it. If I have less butter, I use less butter. If I don't have butter, I use ghee. Experiment! And post your findings here.

Ingredients

Around 100grams or 1 stick of grass-fed butter, room temperature
Around 1/2 cup of Rapadura sugar
Around 1 cup rolled oats
Pinch salt
Two handfuls of small, tart apples, sliced thinly
Two sweet & soft pears, like Comice, sliced thinly

Directions

Heat oven to 350F. Mix butter and sugar together in a bowl and cream with a fork. This usually takes a few minutes. Add rolled oats and salt and mix well.
Line a pie plate, a cast-iron skillet, or a big sheet of tinfoil with the apples and pears, layering them alternately (one layer of apples, one of pears). The pears should be far juicer than the apples and will give them some moisture. You could grate some cinnamon over the fruit, or squeeze a bit of lemon, or add nothing at all.
Pour crumble mixture on top of fruits. Bake for 45 minutes, until crumble is golden brown.

Crumble will keep for 4 days if sealed.

Any other gleaners out there?

The Soaked Bean

Seeking Nourishment, Finding Traditions

Franco-American Apple Pie

Let’s Get Ready to (Apple/Pear) Crumble