Die Not Rhubarb Pie

Posted: June 3, 2011 | Author: Felice | Filed under: desserts | Tags: rhubarb pie | 3 Comments

My grandparents were the number 10. He was tall and skinny and she was short and round. He was quiet, worked hard, and was humble and grateful for everything she cooked. Sincerely grateful–like he had never had such good food in his life, yet he ate from her magic plates every day. She was feisty and determined and was always at work trying to find ways to improve anything in her life that dissatisfied her. However, no one was dissatisfied with anything she created in the kitchen. There is well known lore about my grandmother that if there were only 5 random ingredients in the kitchen, she would find a way to make something delicious. She was Macgyver in an apron.

As a child I used to sit on the floor in a corner of her kitchen and watch in awe, lulled by the swishing sound of her nylons (or maybe it was a girdle) as she moved from one side of the kitchen to another. Her soft face was always dewy with a thin layer of perspiration. She made everything “from scratch.” She may have even ground her own wheat. I wouldn’t be surprised. They were both from a small farming community in Utah, and even after years of living in different places, they still had a naive country quality about them. They trusted everyone. This made them prey to a few swindlers, but for the most part, it was their greatest quality.

My grandfather was a civil engineer and used to work building bridges and dams, so they moved around with his work. They had 7 kids, and the money was never quite enough, so may grandmother always found a way to make more. When my grandfather was working on a bridge in Eastern Washington, she rented a giant house and took in boarders (other engineers and people he worked with) and their board included meals. I guess if you are already cooking for so many, what’s a few to 10 more?

This meant that the kids had plenty of cooking chores. My oldest aunt spent a lot of time in the kitchen with her mother. At the time, I think she resented it, but my aunt Tanja is also a fabulous cook.

I got the best of both worlds and inherited my grandma’s cooking skills and my grandfather’s metabolism. Which means that I can actually enjoy my own cooking, unlike my grandmother, who was always dieting. I never diet. To me, diet is “die” with a “t.” It helps that I eat healthy and I don’t go crazy over sweets. But this week I did something I rarely do. I made a pie.

I am very snobby about pies. I will only eat a home-made pie with home-made crust. I usually make apple pie if I am going to make one, but somewhere out of the deep unexplainable came a craving for rhubarb pie. Rhubarb is apparently a country pie (most people in the city don’t know what rhubarb looks like–they are missing out). So it took a few weeks of searching until I finally found rhubarb, and I made a pie that would have made grandma break her diet.

I finally found it at Whole Foods

Isn’t it strange and gorgeous? It looks like red celery. It is tart, and so when you add sugar and orange juice to it sings.

Here is the recipe:

Rhubarb Filling:

4 cups chopped rhubarb

3/4 cup all-purpose Flour
1 1/4 cups white sugar (I used organic cane sugar)
3 tablespoons orange juice

1/2 tablespoon butter

Crust:

2 1/2 c. flour

1/2 c. butter (one stick), chilled

1/2 c. solid vegetable shortening, chilled

sugar

pinch salt

4 Tbsp ice water

1 tsp cinnamon (optional)

beaten egg (for glazing)

Directions:

The secret to pie crust is to use half butter, half shortening. This makes the perfect flaky yummy crust. All butter or all shortening just doesn’t taste as good. Also, I like to always use the highest quality ingredients–like organic and non GMO products. Because why make an awesome recipe with low-grade ingredients that may actually be killing you? But enough about that.

Mix together flour, sugar, cinnamon and salt, then cut in butter and shortening into bowl or food processor. If you don’t have a food processor, do it the old school way like I did, with a fork. Cut till resembles fine crumbs. Slowly add one Tablespoon of ice water at a time until dough just sticks together. Don’t over process or dough becomes tough.

Split into two balls. (Makes 2 pie crusts.)

Chill in refrigerator 45 minutes.

Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Mix together filling ingredients (except butter) and let sit in juices while you roll out the pie dough into a 12-inch round. Line 9-inch pie dish with the dough. Fill with rhubarb filling and place pad of butter in center. Cover with top crust. Cut a vent in the top. Brush with egg. Bake in preheated oven for 30-45 minutes or until filling is thick and bubbling.

Allow it to cool before eating.

It screams out for a dollop of vanilla ice cream. Give it what it asks for.

The Hearts of This Blog

Posted: May 13, 2011 | Author: Felice | Filed under: Uncategorized | 1 Comment

This blog and the forthcoming cookbook/memoir collection has been gestating– or to use a food metaphor– ripening for a few years now. It all started with Emily. She came to Memoirs Ink as a young intern and English major at UCLA. She didn’t have to do an internship, but she wanted real life writing business experience, so she took the initiative to find one herself by searching that great mecca of all things Craigslist. By the laws of serendipity she found my post. During our whole interview Emily giggled nervously. I wasn’t sure about her, but I didn’t have a million people applying for my unpaid internship so I hired her. It turned out to be one of the best things I ever did.

She was my first intern ever, and even though I had been an intern once, I still felt somewhat guilty about having what basically equated to a slave. I wanted to do right by her and make sure that she got some good experience and mentorship out of her time with me. So I asked her what her hopes and dreams were. She didn’t know for sure. She knew that she loved food and she loved writing, especially memoir, but she did not want to be a food writer.

I wasn’t sure how to help her with the food part of her dream, so I focused on mentoring her in her writing. But somehow food became part of our work. It would usually start like this.

“Have you ever tried _____?” Emily might ask randomly about some food or spice or dessert.

“No. What are they?’

“They are so yummy….” Emily would go into an inner world and be having an experience that I couldn’t have. But it got me thinking of my own favorite gustatory pleasure of the week.

Soon we’d both be hungry.

I worked out of a home office, so when we needed to take a break we could easily cook up a snack. Often these breaks would turn into hours of culinary experimenting. We rolled homemade sushi, we learned how to grind up lemon grass, slathered butter on warm bread, and arranged shrimp on a mound of rice with a moat of curry. Always, before we ate, Emily would have to take a picture. I later learned that she takes pictures of just about everything she eats. Most of the girl’s hard drive is probably pictures of food.

Here is a picture of Emily taking a picture of food.

I have always been a good cook, but becoming a single mother and running a business, I had begun to let my story affect the menu. Emily brought that love of cooking and food back into my life and even enhanced it. Soon my assignments to her included looking up a recipe for this or that.

Emily brought many great things into my life and to Memoirs Ink. But sadly, interns move on, and she did. She graduated and moved to New York, despite my pleas to stay. Now at last, years later, I found a way to rope her back in. When I realized Memoirs Ink needed to do a cookbook with stories, I knew Emily had to be part of it. And I am so excited for you to hear her thoughtful, beautiful and delicious ‘voice.’

Another inspiration for this project, besides my stomach, was Rachel.

Rachel and I have a long history of acquaintance, but didn’t become friends until we both divorced and then, through years of regular 144-character updates on Facebook I learned how cool she was. She is witty, observant, and despite the challenges life has handed her, still wide-eyed with wonder at things. Mostly she is wide-eyed at me and the idea factory that is my brain. It is always interesting to see yourself again through another person’s eyes. I kinda love her. And as she told me once, kinda=really. Why I asked her to be a part of this project was because I’m amused that she went from wanting to write a book about divorce to wanting to write a cookbook with a paragraph in it that said don’t marry an idiot.

Me and Rachel out to dinner.

Me, I’m just a regular girl who likes to write. I am president of a company called Memoirs Ink. I live in the land of plenty (Los Angeles, California) where I can go to a farmer’s market every day of the week. I grew up eating from my mother’s garden, but didn’t come of age culinarily until I was 20. I like to make up words (like culinarily), surf, eat beautiful organic food, write, read, ride my bike, and dance around with scarves. I give and receive love through food and physical touch. Even though I live in the city, I will one day own a goat.

Recipe for Felice’s Love

Healthy yummy meal made with love just for me
Sunshine
Warm/Cool Breeze- (in season)

There is nothing so wonderful as someone cooking me a healthy yummy meal and my enjoying it outdoors in nice weather. Hugs optional. Adjust where necessary.