SWEET! Potato Pie

As I mentioned in my last post, I woke up on Sunday morning with pie prominently on the brain. No rhyme or reason for it--I just wanted pie. Specifically, I wanted to make pie, something I'm ashamed to admit I'd never actually done before. Pie's got charm and pretty consistently gets people excited (my friend Kris keeps talking about putting on a muumuu and coming over to eat pie all night long). And, there's something really satisfying about how contained and orderly a fresh-baked pie is. It's a well-dressed, compact, and delicious unit of dessert. It's practical.

After embracing the desire to make pie, my thoughts turned to Meyer lemons--how much I don't like them and how much I want to like them. I think the first time I had a Meyer lemon was the day I picked one off the unkempt lemon tree in our yard. It was a few months after I had moved to California and I was thrilled to have such an accessible fruit tree in my back yard. (Growing up, we had a crabapple tree behind the house. My brothers would use its bitter, unpalatable fruit as sibling ammunition. When fruit is used to create marble-sized bruises on the arms and legs of a sister sandwiched between an older and a younger brother, I, personally, don't think it should count.) I envisioned myself bathed in California sun, leisurely picking bursting bright yellow lemons off of a fruit-laden tree and freshening up my drinking water, meals, and cleaning agents with crisp homegrown citrus. I'd have a fruit bowl on the counter overflowing with them all year round. I'd be known in the neighborhood for my exquisite and thoughtful use of lemons.

I'm such a dreamer.

When I picked the fruit off the tree, I naturally expected a strong, solid, sour lemon. I was sorely disappointed. Instead, I discovered I'd just flavored my ice water with a flat half-lemon, half-orange hybrid that couldn't decide which side of the citrus spectrum it belonged on. I tried making it into a custard (another dessert I'd never attempted before) and the result was completely inedible and sat in little covered custard dishes in the back of the fridge for a full two weeks, dripping condensation. After a couple of days, they settled into layers of colloidal yellow liquid and water.

I swore Meyer lemons off.

I was thinking my pie ambitions of this past weekend could lead me back to the Meyer lemon, though, and prove true every single wonderful thing I'd ever heard about them since the failed custard experiment. (To be fair, custard needs a double-boiler, which I didn't have at the time but tried to replicate using a pot of boiling water and an ovenproof mixing bowl. Just like a hammer doesn't make a great substitute for a food processor, an ovenproof mixing bowl doesn't make a great double-boiler, either.) When I reached for a bag of coffee beans in the (lemonless) fruit bowl on the counter on Sunday morning and one of our CSA-delivered sweet potatoes gave out from under the bag and collapsed into a slippery mush, I knew there were other plans for my pie. There were four sweet potatoes left, not counting the one that had just smeared all over my bag of coffee, and they were surely close to meeting the same sad, uneaten fate as their moldy brother. A quick solution?

Pie.

I'd never tasted sweet potato pie before, but it had, from what I could tell, a great reputation. I found an intriguing recipe on epicurious.com that suggested roasting the potatoes starting in a cold oven and on lower heat for a longer period of time to generate more maltose. I love the intersection of chemistry and food, even though I have no idea what maltose is or why it's a good thing. The recipe also included rum, so, maltose and gradual chemical reactions aside, I knew it had to be a win.

I also found a basic pie crust recipe on Epicurious and improvised the hell out of it, adding sour cream and lemon zest just to see what would happen (and also because, in my opinion, it's not a recipe if it doesn't include sour cream). I used coconut milk in place of most of the cow's milk the filling recipe called for (although I wish I'd substituted it one-for-one)--a little trick I learned during my short stint as a vegan.

The results are really amazing. This is a delicious pie. It's smooth and, thanks to the coconut milk, deliciously rich, sweet, and full-bodied. The spices give it a punch while the rum helps the flavor linger a bit in your mouth. Not being a fan of flaky pie crusts, the sour cream version made for a more solid and present dough.

In short: Maltose-ify your sweet potatoes. Make this pie. Don't skimp on the rum. Thank me later.

SWEET! Potato Pie
Makes one 9-inch pie



Crust
Recipe adapted from epicurious.com

1 1/2 c all-purpose flour
2 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 c (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
3 tbsp sour cream
2 tbsp grated lemon zest
1+ tbsp ice water

Whisk flour, sugar, and salt in medium bowl until blended. Add butter and, using your fingers, knead and rub in until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Using a fork, mix in sour cream and lemon zest. Add ice water and stir until mixture is evenly moistened (add more ice water if needed). Roll dough into a ball; flatten into disk. Wrap in plastic and chill at least 1 hour. Bring dough to room temperature before rolling out and placing in a floured, 9-inch pie pan.

Filling
Adapted from another recipe at epicurious.com

4-5 small sweet potatoes (about 1 1/4 pounds)
1/4 c (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
3/4 c sugar
1/2 c coconut milk
1/4 c whole milk (forget it--just use 3/4 c coconut milk and skip the cow's milk altogether!)
3 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
1 tbsp dark rum (I kind of wish I had used more.)
1 tbsp all-purpose flour

Prick the sweet potatoes with a fork and place on a shallow baking pan in the middle of a cold oven. Turn the oven on to 325 degrees F and roast until very tender, about 1 1/4 hours. (The potatoes will appear to be oozing. I'm pretty sure the ooze is maltose.)


Gettin' its maltose on

Cool potatoes to room temperature.

Raise the oven temperature to 400 degrees F, and place a shallow baking pan on the bottom rack.

Scoop the flesh from potatoes into a large bowl and discard the skins. Mash the sweet potatoes with a fork until smooth. Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat and stir in the sugar (the mixture will be grainy). Add the butter mixture to the sweet potatoes and mix. Using a whisk, beat in the milk(s) and the eggs until smooth. Whisk in the remaining ingredients. The filling will be liquidy.

Pour the filling into the pie shell.

Carefully transfer the pie to the heated shallow baking pan in the oven and bake until the filling is just set (about 40 minutes). Transfer the pie to a rack to cool.



---
What? You want to know more about sweet potatoes and maltose? Turns out it's a documented chemistry thing. Check out this blurb from an article titled "Formation of Maltose in Sweet Potatoes on Cooking," published in Industrial and Engineering Chemistry in 1923:

It is evident that the formation of maltose is of paramount importance in the production of delicious cooked sweet potatoes as we know them...

Since upon cooking sweet potatoes at least half, and frequently nearly all, of the starch present becomes converted into sugar, our concept of the sweet potato as a starchy food should be revised, since when consumed by man it really is saccharine rather than starchy.

H. C. Gore, in Industrial and Engineering Chemistry, 1923, 15 (9), pp 938–940 http://pubs.acs.org/doi/abs/10.1021/ie50165a031 (for a snippet of the article)

My Favorite Meal: Home Cookin'

It always amazes me how quickly the body embraces new habits. I've started a morning gym routine recently and almost instantaneously found myself getting crabby and misaligned on the days when I've chosen to sleep in over pulling my body out of bed and into the pre-dawn city darkness in spandex yoga pants and pigtails. (It's one of San Francisco's seediest hours, as it turns out--I've so far seen one arrest and numerous stumbling, confused vagrants in my one-block walk to the gym.)

Another new habit of mine: Sunday cookery. On a day like today, when there are no plans as far as my eye can see and the sun's bright and the breeze is pushing through the window in a poetic shhh-ushhh-uhh, I want nothing else than to spend the last remaining hours of my weekend in the kitchen. It may not seem like an intuitive thing (wouldn't I rather be sunning myself in the park enjoying a cold 22-ounce beer in a brown paper bag?), but I assure you that some of the nicest weather in San Francisco makes for the best cooking experiences. There's nothing better than opening the windows a crack (and only a crack, since my cats also have a new habit, one of falling out of third-storey apartment windows) and letting the smells circulate through the apartment and into the street.

This morning I woke up with pie on the brain and a rotten sweet potato in my fruit bowl. The mushy-fuzzy potato was nestled amongst several cousins and siblings that were doing a slightly better job of clinging onto life. While the fruit-laden Meyer lemon tree in our backyard was initially calling my name, I couldn't ignore the remaining tenacious tubers in the bowl. So, I'm in the process of making my first-ever sweet potato pie, taking my time roasting the potatoes in an attempt to produce maltose-rich results. (I don't really know what maltose is, but it seems like something I may have learned at some point during that one particularly terrible semester I had of organic chemistry in college. Regardless, fancy words win me over all the time, so when I read about it in the recipe, I knew I had to try it.)


They're beeeeauteee-ful.

But I digress. This post is actually about my favorite meal. The best eats I had during the past seven days. I promised I'd make the effort to reflect on it every week, and my slow-roasting potato maltose experiment gives me some time to do it during Sunday Cookery.

And--wouldn't you know it--I actually don't have a favorite meal to report on this week. Even with all this time (90+ minutes!) I have to talk about it. It's because I can't narrow it down to one.

When I somewhat haphazardly put the "my favorite meal" idea together a few or so weeks ago, I didn't expect that it would drive me deep into a world of home cooking. I thought for sure it would have inspired me to, yes, cook great meals at home, but I also thought I'd be more inspired to venture out and try tasty eats at some of San Francisco's best cheap-and-cheerful places. It turns out that I don't want to do that. I want my weekly favorite meals to be, well, mine.

There's something so fantastic about home cooking. Of course there is; most people agree that home cooking (mom's home cooking, usually) is much better than anything that can be ordered from a restaurant. I guess I just never thought about why it's so darn good.

Now that I've had a solid week (okay, more like five out of seven days) of home-cooked meals, I understand it better. For me, home cooking is so superior because it allows me to know and love every ingredient used in a dish. Yes. I am a control freak, both in and out of the kitchen.

Example: Tuesday's meal. Braised escarole and white beans with whole wheat gnocchi. What the hell is escarole? All I knew is that it came in my CSA box and I mistook it for lettuce until I re-read the CSA newsletter (it never made it onto a sandwich, but I wonder...). I consulted our copy of the Field Guide to Produce and learned a bit more (popular in Italian cooking; mild flavor; melty texture). Even after that, I wasn't totally convinced that the leafy stuff in the bag in the fridge wasn't just red lettuce, but okay. So I threw together a basic braising liquid (chicken stock, green garlic, garlic, green onion, splash of tamari) and paired it with another Italian staple, white beans, wondering aloud at several points along the way what soggy salty lettuce would taste like. Oh, and did you know you could get whole wheat gnocchi, and it's not as pasty as the potato version and it pairs really nicely with a bean-based braise?

Yup. Home cooking can be some of the most educational food you can eat. And most rewarding.

So I ate really well this week, between the braise, the pork chop with fresh steamed green beans, the first pan of meatballs I ever made, the veggie sushi (fresh mango and avocado, by far a perfect pairing), and the homemade burritos, just like I hoped I would. Unfortunately, though, I can't just pick one favorite meal; they all stood out.

Perhaps it's a rookie's mistake--trying too hard at the start, resulting in consistent(ly tasty) results. Perhaps more risks need to be taken.

Speaking of, I'm smelling something sweet burning in the kitchen.

My Favorite Meal: Celery Root and Potato Soup with Mint

I'd like to start a regular column that allows me to reflect on the week that's passed and identify the best meal I consumed within that particular seven-day period. I'll make it clear right from the start (today, right now) that I truly doubt that I'll do a good job of actually following through week after week on a regular basis, but I want you to know that my intentions are very much there and my desire very strong. And I'm doing it all for very selfish reasons.

I'm a compulsively competitive woman. Prime example: eBay. Once I start cruising and bidding on items (mostly, it's sets of wood type to further my letterpress obsession and, ultimately, drive me closer to financial ruin--wood type, as it turns out, is in high demand and does not, at the end of the auction, end up cheap), it's over. I don't care about the dollars involved. I must win the item. I must beat out all other bidders. I must come in first place, even if first place means I'm out several hundred dollars for a collection of 106 one-inch letters.

The seemingly innocuous idea for a weekly favorite food column is actually, I think, a distinct by-product of that same competitive spirit. If I commit to commenting on my favorite meal every week, then I'll constantly be in pursuit of my personal best in tastiness. Every meal will have to be better than the one before; every meal should be an equal contender for first place. And if I broaden my definition of "meal" to include anything that I consume--coffee, snacks, and libations included--well, then, I'll be eating phenomenally all week long.

So I'll end up a very well-fed, very competitive woman. See why this is a selfish idea?

I meant to start this column last week after having some amazing meatballs--some were beef and lamb together; some were turkey-only; all were delicious, especially when served simultaneously in a fold of crusty sourdough bread with homemade tomato sauce--made by my friend Celeste the Thursday prior. But I didn't get my act together to post about it in time for a weekly retrospective on Sunday.

With my act only slightly more together this week, I want to talk about the celery root and potato soup I made last night.

I didn't realize until later that night that I had made the perfect meal for the first day of spring. I love the flavor of celery, and its good friend and close cousin celeriac. It's a flavor that I don't exclusively assign to one season--you can make a hearty and comforting celeriac and potato mash during the cold months, or you can whip it up with a few bright veggies to make something refreshing for warmer days, which we've had a few of here in the Bay Area lately. Celery always tastes appropriate. Its earthiness, and the smooth consistency celeriac, specifically, brings to a dish, never goes out of season (except for when it's literally out of season--technically, celeriac is a spring-through-fall veggie, but it can keep for up to four months).

Our CSA box this week included a bunch of fresh mint. I immediately thought it would make a great complement to celery (to be honest, I didn't have any other great ideas for it, and it was quickly starting to wilt in the fridge) and built a recipe from there. I added carrots to bring a sweetness to the soup and paprika to give it a bit of spice. I served it with a splash of fresh-squeezed lemon juice and a dollop of sour cream. I personally think the sour cream escalated the dish to divine yumminess, but I have a serious affinity for the stuff to begin with, so I may be biased. I encourage you to try it anyway.

I've made celeriac soups before, and they always look unappetizing (think grainy baby food). The carrot and bits of chopped herbs didn't help this time. This recipe may be something you only want to serve if your guests are close friends.

Celery Root and Potato Soup with Mint
Serves 4



Celeriac/celery root (1 medium-sized bulb)
1 large carrot
1 medium potato
3-4 green onions, chopped
1-2 stalks of green garlic, chopped (or use 1 clove of chopped fresh garlic)
4 c water
4 c chicken broth (or vegetable broth)
Splash of tamari or soy sauce
1/2 c fresh mint leaves
1/4 c fresh parsley
2 tsp paprika
Salt and pepper to taste

Serve with:
Fresh lemon juice
Dollop of sour cream
Crusty bread

In a large pot, warm the water, broth, tamari, onion, and garlic over high heat. Peel the celeriac. (Note: I prefer not to peel potatoes and carrots when I add them to a stock--I find the flavor is much richer when I leave the well-washed skins on, but that's my preference. However, peeling the otherwise-hairy celery root is a must.) Cut the root vegetables into quarters and add to the liquid. Boil for 15-20 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft. Remove from heat. Save the broth.

Using a food processor, chop the vegetables, mint, and parsley until smooth; add the broth as you need to in order to keep a more soup-like consistency. Transfer soup to a serving bowl and stir in the paprika, salt, and pepper. Serve immediately.

Apple Sage Cobbler

This is the final installment of the "fresh herbs, meet baked goods" series I did for Becky's Meals; For Moderns blog (although I'm secretly hoping she invites me back soon).

***

I do a lot of complaining about the Joy of Cooking, but I have to admit--I actually use it quite often, especially lately. After I got over the fact that it's totally not something I'd use to plan meals and started considering it more as a resource for building far more interesting recipes, I warmed up to it. It's like the starter drug for cooking.

There's also something mildly comforting about the JoC. It's what your mom had in the kitchen next to do-it-yourself binders stuffed with recipes she cut out of Good Housekeeping and the backs of graham cracker boxes and glued to copier paper. The simple cover; the red circle; the all-lowercase, serif font used on those fantastic three letters. Like I said, I'm really feeling warmer here.

Last week was a challenging one. Not just for me, but for some close friends as well. I initially wanted to do something savvy, fun, and ambitious for my last guest post (bruising lemongrass sounded so cool!), but when it came down to Sunday evening (baking day for the gainfully employed and over-booked) all I wanted was something warm and familiar.

We had also just picked up our produce CSA box for the week and had another bag full of apples. Those who know me well know that I have a serious physical aversion to apples. It's happened to me as for as long as I can remember: the sound (ugh) of someone biting into an apple (ergh) and chewing it (argh) gives me goosebumps, like squeaky chalk on a chalkboard for normal people. Unlike squeaky chalk, though, the apple sound also makes me--you're going to love this--start salivating voraciously. Like one of this guy's test subjects. It even happens when I think about the sound. Right now, for example. I'm shivering and salivating like mad.

So I don't eat (or think about) raw apples. It's pretty physically uncomfortable for me. But baked apples--like those in apple cobbler--are totally tolerable. And what's more comforting than cobbler? (And how else am I going to get rid of these apples??)

I consulted the JoC for a basic cobbler recipe to better understand what I was getting myself into. Cobbler seems like a pretty traditional baked good, and I'm not exactly known for being traditional with my baking, so I felt a little out of my league. I ended up lifting the cobbler dough recipe right out of the "biscuits" section (but added lemon zest, so it's still unique, right?).

Sage, meanwhile, seemed like the perfect pairing. A nice complement, taste-wise, and kind of a warm and comforting herb, as well.

As you'll see in the recipe, I made a sage-infused butter and tossed the apples in it. I strained the sage out before doing the apples, which I wouldn't do next time. I think this would have been really tasty with the sage baked right in.

Apple Sage Cobbler



Apple sage cobbler! The perfect visual accompaniment to a wall outlet.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F and have ready an (ungreased) 8x8 inch glass baking dish.

Begin by preparing the dough that you'll put either above (my choice) or below (seems interesting) the fruit.

Sour Cream Cobbler Biscuit Dough

1 3/4 c all-purpose flour
3/4 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
4 tbsp chilled unsalted butter
1/2 c sour cream
1/4 c heavy whipping cream
1 1/2 - 2 tbsp lemon zest

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and baking soda.

Using two knives, cut-in the butter, one tablespoon at a time. The dough should be a bit crumbly.

Whisk together the sour cream, heavy cream, and lemon zest.

Make a well in the center of the bowl. Pour the sour cream mixture into the well and stir just until the dough comes away from the sides of the bowl (note: this actually never happened for me--everything just got crumbly).

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead 8 to 10 times. Roll (or, using your fingers, press) the dough until it's about 1/4 of an inch thick.

Then, turn to the fruit.

Sage Apple Mixture

6-8 medium apples, sliced
4 tbsp unsalted butter
1 tbsp brown sugar
2 tbsp chopped fresh sage

Melt the butter in a small saucepan, with the sage, over medium heat. Add the brown sugar and use a fork to mix until the brown sugar seems evenly mixed with the butter. When the butter starts to bubble, turn the heat down to low. Simmer for 3-4 minutes to infuse the butter with the sage. Strain the butter to remove the sage and transfer to a large frying pan on medium heat.

Toss the apples in the butter mixture over the heat for 5-6 minutes, then take the pan off the heat and let sit for 2-3 minutes.

Transfer the apples to the glass baking pan and drizzle the butter mixture over them, saving around 1/2 tbsp. Place the cobbler dough on top of the apples and cut it to fit, if needed. Cut 3 small steam vents into the dough.

Using a spoon (or a fancy cooking brush thing if you have one!), brush the remaining butter mixture on top of the dough. Sprinkle 2-4 tsp of sugar on top.

Bake until the top is golden brown and the apple juices have thickened slightly--it only took about 30 minutes for me. Let the cobbler cool for 15 minutes before serving.

Serve with fresh whipped cream (you should have some heavy whipping cream left over from the dough!):

1/2 c heavy whipping cream
2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 - 1 tbsp confectioners' sugar

Using an electric mixer, beat the whipping cream, vanilla, and confectioners' sugar until it makes stiff peaks.