My First Thanksgiving & Rustic Apple Croustade

For the better part of two decades, I lived in Switzerland. Before settling down in Geneva, I spent a year in Bienne. While many know it as the country’s watch-making capital, Bienne’s true historical significance has little to do with time pieces. This picturesque lakeside town is the birth place of an annual tradition, Thanksgiving Dinner at Susan’s.

Having grown up in Massachusetts, I have a special affinity for the harvest celebration. From kindergarten onward, my teachers proudly rolled out lesson after lesson on the Pilgrims. It started with construction paper hats and headdresses. A few years later, we learned that the Wampanoag taught the Pilgrims how to farm, fish and hunt in the New World. I for one will never forget the tip to plant dead fish with the corn crop. In high school we read the famous Longfellow poem about Priscilla Mullins’ romantic triangle with Miles Standish and John Alden.

On top of all that, my family spent a lot of time on Cape Cod when I was a kid. Nana Nye took my sister and me to Plymouth to see the Rock and the Pilgrim Village at least once or twice over the years. In his day, Pop Nye made an important contribution to Thanksgiving tables across the country. After he retired, one of his many odd jobs was harvesting cranberries.

So even half a world away from Plymouth Plantation, there was no way I could ignore the harvest feast. I invited a dozen of my new friends and colleagues for dinner and promised them an authentic, New England Thanksgiving.

About a week before the party, I sat down with paper, pencil and the Joy of Cooking. Figuring out my menu was easy. I would serve the very same dinner that my mother, and grandmothers before her, had been making for years. Finishing up my shopping list, it hit me. For my first big party in Switzerland, I was going to serve a brown dinner. Brown turkey, brown gravy, brown stuffing and squash, well sort of orange, but more or less brown. Even dessert, a beautiful apple pie, was brown. Alright, to be precise with the mashed potatoes and creamed onions it was actually a brown and beige dinner. The only colorful note to my decades-old menu was the ruby red cranberry sauce.

So there you have it. Fresh from the land of fast food, weak beer and bad coffee, the new girl in town was going to serve a brown and beige dinner … with cranberry jam.

But I’d promised authentic so, throwing caution to the wind, I plunged in. An Arkansas farmer shipped turkeys to Switzerland for Christmas and they arrived just barely in time for Thanksgiving. By lucky coincidence, the Swiss garnish their favorite fall feast of venison with cranberries. Familiar bags of Cape Cod berries were piled high in my local super market. There were apples and pumpkins in the Farmers’ Market and fabulous bread for stuffing at my corner boulangerie. I chopped and stirred; peeled and mashed; stuffed, trussed and basted.

The night of the party I nervously greeted my guests. After some hemming and hawing, I explained that my authentic New England feast was … in a word … monochromatic. Could be they were curious or maybe just polite but my friends hid any trepidation. I’ve always suspected that they viewed the feast as an anthropological adventure.

In spite of, or maybe because of, the age-old menu, that Thanksgiving quickly turned into a celebration of welcome and new friendship. I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and bon appétit!

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Rustic Apple Croustade
My version of a French country classic was such a big hit last Thanksgiving that I think I will bake one again this year. Enjoy!
Serves 8-12

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5-6 Cortland or Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and thinly sliced
1/4 cup brown sugar
Grated zest of 1 orange
2 tablespoons fresh orange juice
2 tablespoons Calvados or Cognac
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
8 ounces phyllo leaves, fully defrosted
6-8 ounces (1 1/2–2 sticks) butter, melted
About 2 tablespoon cold butter, cut into small pieces

Put the apples, brown sugar, orange zest and juice, Calvados, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt in a bowl and toss to combine. Reserve.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Lightly brush a 10-12 inch quiche pan or pie plate with butter. Unwrap the phyllo, stack and cover with a damp kitchen towel. Remove the first phyllo sheet and re-place the damp towel. Place the first sheet so it is about two-thirds-in and one-third-overlapping the pan; brush lightly with butter. Continue to line the pan with 1/2 of the phyllo, lightly brushing the sheets with butter.

Mound the apples in the pan. Dot the apples with the cold butter. Stack the remaining phyllo leaves on top of the apples, lightly brushing each with butter. Gently turn the edges of the phyllo up and pinch lightly to seal. Cut a few vents in the phyllo to let the steam escape.

Bake at 400 degrees until the crust is golden brown and the fruit is tender, about 40 minutes. If the phyllo gets too brown, cover it loosely with foil. Let cool for 10 minutes and serve. If making ahead, reheat for 10-15 minutes in a warm oven before serving.

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One Year Ago – Cranberry Sauce
Two Years Ago – Decadent Cheesy Potatoes
Three Years Ago – Broccoli Puree
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Want more? Feel free to visit my photoblog Susan Nye 365 or click here for more recipes and magazine articles or here to watch me cook! I hope that you will take a minute to learn about my philanthropic project Eat Well-Do Good. © Susan W. Nye, 2011

Christmas Presents Past & Pecan Pie

What was the best Christmas present you ever received, could ever receive? Maybe it was “an official Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing which tells time.” Hopefully you didn’t shoot your eye out. Or it could be the Teddy that slept with you until you went to college. (Maybe you smuggled him into the dorm and kept him handy to help you through bouts of homesickness, midterm jitters and other important emergencies.) Then again, it could be any or all of the 101 boxes of Legos that came your way or the train set that took over your bedroom floor.

Perhaps a baby doll won you over. Some were beautiful, others bizarre. There was that one that bore a striking and disconcerting resemblance to a head of cabbage. But maybe it was Barbie who stole your heart. Were you one of those kids with a legion of the leggy beauties, enough to field several soccer teams or invade a small country?

Looking back, my memories of Santa’s generosity are a bit hazy. I vaguely remember lots of dolls and many party dresses. However, two Christmases stand out for very different reasons.

I was seven or eight the year I received the pink plastic office with the pink telephones. The office was at the top of my list to Santa. Looking back, I’m not sure what possessed me. I suspect the pink telephones got me. They worked like a cheap and cheerful intercom system. I think I somehow or other I envisioned having the world at my beck and call at the other end of the phone. Still, what seven year old wants to play office? If you know one, quickly send her out to play in the snow. Hopefully the cold air will distract her and bring her to her senses. There’s plenty of time for paperwork later.

My cousins from Buffalo spent Christmas with us that year. We were too many to fit in the dining room so a kids’ table was set up in the kitchen. Our parents and grandparents were just on the other side of the wall but I insisted we stay connected with my new, pink phones. We called them not once, not twice but incessantly throughout the meal. And God love him, Grandpa Westland answered not once, not twice but every single time we called the grownups’ table. He patiently answered our calls, each time using a different, silly voice.

Grandpa kept me giggling throughout the entire feast. Christmas dinner was probably the first, last and only time I played with the pink telephones. Still, they were one of the best presents ever.

When I was eleven or twelve, my parents gave me a blue, three-speed bicycle. I’m sure it was a Schwinn. It was my first brand new, not ridden by someone else, bicycle. To this day I have no idea how or why it appeared under the tree. On the other hand, my parents continue to insist that I campaigned diligently for that bike. Sure, at one point I dreamed of having my very own, not second hand, bike. But that was all in the past, I’d moved on to other things. I was right in the middle of that icky ‘tween stage. None of my friends rode bicycles anymore. What did I want with a bike? Especially in the middle of winter?

The bike gathered dust in the garage for five or six years. Finally, bikes became cool again during high school. For two years, I rode that bike to school and all over town. I took it to college and rode it all over campus. It moved to the Berkshires with me where I taught school. It regularly coasted down into Connecticut and traveled north as far as Lenox. It was, eventually, one of the best presents ever.

What was the best Christmas present you ever received, could ever receive? Have a wonderful holiday with family and friends! Bon appétit!

Aunt Anna’s Pecan Pie
My Nana Westland hated to cook. As far as I know, she never baked, even at Christmas. Her dear friend Anna Foss was famous for her pecan pie and passed the recipe on to my mother. For many, many years, Mom made Aunt Anna’s Pecan Pie at Christmas. Enjoy!
Serves 8

1 cup brown sugar
1 cup light Karo syrup
3 eggs
1 cup nuts, coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon vanilla
Flakey pastry – recipe follows
For garish: 1 cup heavy cream, whipped with 1 teaspoon vanilla

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.
2. In a large bowl beat the eggs until light and frothy. Add the brown sugar, Karo syrup, vanilla, salt and flour; whisk to combine. Stir in the pecans.
3. Pour into the chilled pie crust. Bake in the center of the oven at 400 degrees for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 300 degrees and continue baking for 30 minutes or until firm.
4. Cool completely and serve with whipped cream.

Flakey Pastry
Aunt Anna did not pass on her pastry recipe but I use this one with great success. It is light and flakey, just delicious. Enjoy!
Enough for 1 crust

1 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) chilled butter, cut into small pieces
3 tablespoons cold vegetable shortening, cut into small pieces
2-4 tablespoons ice water

1. Blend the flour, sugar and salt a food processor. Add the butter and shortening; and process until the mixture resembles coarse meal.
2. Sprinkle with ice water, 1-2 tablespoons at a time, and pulse until the dough comes together in a ball. Remove the dough from the food processor and flatten into disk. Wrap the dough in plastic and chill for at least 30 minutes.
3. On a lightly floured work surface, roll out the dough into a round about 11 inches in diameter. Drape the pastry over the rolling pin and ease it into a 9 inch pie plate, pressing it into the bottom and sides. Trim and crimp the edges. Freeze for 30 minutes.

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What was the best Christmas present you ever received, could ever receive? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below. I’d be delighted to add you to the growing list of blog subscribers. To subscribe: just scroll back up, fill in your email address and click on the Sign Me Up button. You’ll get an email asking you to confirm your subscription … confirm and you will automatically receive a new story and recipe every week.

Feel free to visit my photoblog, Susan Nye 365 or my cleverly named other blog, Susan Nye’s Other Blog, or website www.susannye.com. You can find more than 200 recipes, links to magazine articles and lots more. I hope that you will take a minute to learn about my philanthropic project Eat Well-Do Good. ©Susan W. Nye, 2010

It’s Apple Picking Time & Apple Crisp

I am a bookworm. Whether it’s the latest best seller or something more serious, I love getting lost in a book. When I went off to first grade I soon discovered that the best thing about school was not recess but trips to the library and learning to read. Of course picture books were great but I became absolutely, positively hooked when I graduated to “chapter books”. It was wonderful to escape into new, interesting, even magical worlds. Life in my quiet suburban neighborhood was nothing but dull compared to the fascinating lives of Pippi Longstocking, Nancy Drew and Mary Poppins.

By the time I was in the fourth grade, the Upham School library was one of my favorite haunts. That’s where I discovered history. There were at least a couple of shelves devoted to the biographies of famous and not-quite-so famous Americans. I’m pretty sure I read them all from Louisa May Alcott to Booker T. Washington. Thanks to those books I aced the history questions in Trivial Pursuit. I read about humanitarians, inventors, patriots, politicians, soldiers, activists, artists, educators and writers. I learned about the revolution, George Washington and Paul Revere. I read about fascinating inventions and Eli Whitney, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin and George Washington Carver. I was particularly interested in the stories of famous and a few not-so famous women. There were the nurses, Clara Barton and Florence Nightingale. There were the reformers, including the likes of Betsy Ross, Lucretia Mott and Helen Keller. And there were even a few colorful divas; the courageous and ever so lively Dolly Madison, the unsinkable Molly Brown and the charming Juliette Gordon Low.

I always had a special fondness for anyone who chose an unusual path, a road less traveled. I still do. Johnny Appleseed certainly fell into that category. Before I read his biography, I think I might have assumed that Johnny Appleseed was a myth or fictional character, the Jolly Green Giant of all things apple. Truth be told, Johnny Appleseed’s story sounds a bit more legend than fact. However, unlike Paul Bunyan, the Headless Horseman and Rip Van Winkle, Johnny Appleseed was a real-live folk hero. At eighteen he left New England and headed west to become an itinerant horticulturist and preacher. For sixty years he wandered barefoot through the countryside sowing apple seeds, cultivating orchards and preaching. Rumor has it that some of his orchards still exist today.

While apples are available from China and South America throughout the year, there is nothing like a tart, juicy, locally grown apple. Along with the spectacular foliage, a crisp, McIntosh or Cortland is the very definition of fall in New England. Picking-your-own is a wonderful way to enjoy an afternoon outdoors. Family farms can be found throughout New Hampshire and many open their orchards to the public in September and October. While you are there, don’t forget the apple cider. It’s wonderful cold and just as wonderful mulled with a little cinnamon, cloves and ginger.

Enjoy apple season. Take a long walk through an old orchard and pick a bushel or a peck. Next fill your kitchen with the fragrant perfume of apples, cinnamon and nutmeg and delight your friends and family with a delicious old fashioned crumble or pie. If you don’t feel like baking, grab one of those just picked crispy apples and settle down with a book in your favorite armchair for a good read.

Bon appétit!

Old-Fashioned Apple Crisp with Cranberry Coulis
Apple Crisp is great for fall, an easy crowd pleaser and a favorite of young and old alike. Enjoy.
Serves 10-12

5 pounds Macoun, Granny Smith or McIntosh apples, peeled, cored and cut in wedges
Grated zest of 1 orange
Grated zest of 1 lemon
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1-2 tablespoons calvados or Apple Jack
1/2 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons butter

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Generously butter a large baking dish.
2. Combine the apples with the zests, lemon juice, calvados, brown sugar and spices. Pour into the buttered baking dish.
3. Sprinkle the topping evenly over the apples. Put the crisp on a baking sheet to catch any drips and bake for 1 hour until the top is brown and the apples are bubbly. Serve warm with a spoonful of cranberry coulis and vanilla ice cream.

Topping
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup light brown sugar, packed
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
12 tablespoons (6 ounces) unsalted butter at room temperature and cut in pieces
1 cup oatmeal

1. Combine flour, sugar, salt and spices in a food processor; pulse to combine. Add the butter, pulse until the mixture resembles coarse corn meal. Add the oatmeal and pulse a few times to combine.

Cranberry Coulis
2 cup fresh or frozen cranberries
2 cups apple cider
1 tablespoon calvados or apple jack
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
Pinch nutmeg

1. Combine all ingredients in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and gently simmer for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat and cool.
2. Transfer the cranberry sauce to a blender and process until smooth. If the sauce seems too thick, add a little more cider. Strain through a sieve into a bowl; discard the seeds and skins.
3. Cool completely, then cover and refrigerate until ready to use. Freeze any leftover coulis in a plastic container for up to 1 month.

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One Year Ago – Ravioli with Sage Pesto
Two Years Ago – Brie & Sun-dried Tomato Omelet  

What is your favorite apple recipe? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below.

I’d be delighted to add you to the growing list of blog subscribers. To subscribe: just scroll back up, fill in your email address and click on the Sign Me Up button. You’ll get an email asking you to confirm your subscription … confirm and you will automatically receive a new story and recipe every week.

Feel free to visit my other, cleverly named blog, Susan Nye’s Other Blog, or website www.susannye.com. You can find more than 200 recipes, links to magazine articles and lots more. I hope that you will take a minute to learn about my philanthropic project Eat Well-Do Good. ©Susan W. Nye, 2010

What to Do with Rhubarb & Rhubarb Crisp

It’s been a funny spring, a meteorological adventure. We wore sundresses on Easter Sunday but within a day or two were assailed by rain and snow. And then more heat, more snow, more rain and on and on it goes. Proving once again, if you don’t like the weather in New England, just wait a few minutes or at the most a few days.

At least for today there is no snow in the forecast and the sun is shining. When I look over my shoulder and out my office window I am rewarded with a forest of dazzling color. The maple and beech trees are in full leaf. Far from pale and demure, the bright and brilliant spring green leaves are practically florescent.

My brave daffodils are fading fast but the lilacs are in bloom, the lupines are beginning to bud and the rhubarb is at least two feet high. The rhubarb is a gift from my sister. When I moved into my house near Pleasant Lake there were no gardens just a lot of grass and a few bushes. Brenda came over with boxes and buckets filled with day lilies, Siberian iris, lilac, rhubarb and advice.

After I got it planted, I began to wonder what to do with the rhubarb. I asked Brenda if she had any great ideas. If I remember correctly, she told me that she grew rhubarb more for its good looks than for eating. With its big dark green leaves and red stalks it is indeed beautiful. My Pop Nye grew rhubarb when I was a kid. I remember his rhubarb plants were huge, at least as big as a five year old me.  However, I don’t remember eating his rhubarb. Thinking back it is doubly strange because my grandmother did a lot of baking, even during the summer.  She made lots of pies, cakes and crisps with blueberries, blackberries and raspberries, maybe even cherries, but not a one with rhubarb.

The first year, the plant was small so I followed Brenda’s advice and simply admired it. I think I did the same in year two. Eventually, I decided that I needed to make something out of it. I thought of pie. My friend Julie bakes rhubarb pies. She bakes them often enough that rhubarb pie might qualify as one of her specialties. She tops them with a fancy lattice crust which makes them all the more special. I decided to keep it simple and settled on rhubarb crisp; some call it a crumble.

I like the flexibility of a fruit crisp. You can use lots of different fruits. In the fall and winter my favorite is apple, with and without cranberries. In the summer, I make it with blueberries, peaches and plums. While I usually use fresh fruit, I have used frozen. They are homey and friendly, perfect for a casual get-together or a simple celebration. I’ve baked crisps and crumbles for cozy dinners for three or four as well as for parties of 100 or more.

Crisp seemed like a good starting point for my culinary experiments with rhubarb. My parents had nothing better to do so I invited them to take part in the research. I made it worth their while by throwing in dinner. We all agreed that it was delicious, a little tart and a little sweet. Now it is one of my go-to spring desserts; year round actually since rhubarb freezes beautifully.

Since that first rhubarb crisp, I have made rustic rhubarb crostatas and flan, rhubarb muffins and cakes as well as strawberry-rhubarb soup. Rhubarb and yummy rhubarb desserts are now among my favorite signs of spring.

Enjoy and bon appétit!

Old-Fashioned Rhubarb Crisp or Crumble
Who doesn’t love a good crisp or crumble? If you have never made one with rhubarb, give it a try! Enjoy!
Serves 6-8

1 tablespoon butter
2 pounds rhubarb, washed trimmed and cut into bite-sized pieces
Grated zest 1 orange
1 tablespoon Grand Marnier
2/3 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
Pinch salt

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Generously butter a 2 quart baking dish.

Combine the rhubarb with the orange zest, Grand Marnier, brown sugar and spices.  Pour into the baking dish. Sprinkle with the crumble topping.

Put the crisp on a baking sheet to catch any drips and bake until the top is brown and the fruit is bubbly, 45 minutes to 1 hour.  Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

Crispy-Crumbly Topping
3/4 cup flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1 pinch nutmeg
4 ounces cold, unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
3/4 cup quick-cooking oatmeal

Combine the flour, sugar, salt and spices in a food processor; pulse to combine.  Add the butter, pulse until the mixture resembles coarse corn meal.  Add the oatmeal; pulse until the topping comes together in small lumps.

*To freeze rhubarb, wash, dry, trim and chop the stalks into bite size pieces. Then, store in plastic re-sealable bags. Do not thaw before using. 

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One Year Ago – Spicy Grilled Steak

Do you have a question? An idea, a few thoughts or an opinion you’d like to share? I’d love to hear from you! Let’s get a conversation going. To make a comment, just click on Comments below.

I’d be delighted to add you to the growing list of blog subscribers. To subscribe: just scroll back up, fill in your email address and click on the Sign Me Up button. You’ll get an email asking you to confirm your subscription … confirm and you will automatically receive a new story and recipe every week.

Feel free to visit my other, cleverly named blog, Susan Nye’s Other Blog, or website www.susannye.com. You can find more than 200 recipes, links to magazine articles and lots more. I hope that you will take a minute to learn about my philanthropic project Eat Well-Do Good. ©Susan W. Nye, 2010

Fashion Don’t! & Rustic Apple Tart

It’s time for fall fashion. In fact, it’s probably already past time to hit the stores for the latest and greatest from New York, Paris and Milan. I confess I only give a passing nod to fashion. I like to think that I stick to the classics. My young nieces disagree and don’t hesitate to remind at least a few times of year that I am hopelessly out of date. These young fashion police have tried to help me. They even walked me into a bunch of trendy boutiques in Newburyport one chilly afternoon last fall. I quickly steered us out and over to the book store. Infrequently, very infrequently, I somehow manage to redeem myself with a sweater or scarf which by pure chance meets their approval.

How did I become a fashion don’t? First of all, when it comes to clothing I’m more interested in fabric, color, pattern and texture than what’s in. To compound matters, I’m probably too independent or just too plain ornery to be told what to wear. And finally, I found a look I liked a long time ago and stuck with it. It all started with Diane Keaton and Annie Hall. With a few minor adjustments, I am more or less stuck in the eighties. When some combination of khakis, interesting hats and scarves, odd sunglasses, vests, sweaters, Brooks Brothers shirts and turtlenecks are in style, well so am I. Or as close to being in style as I get. On a few rare occasions I have strayed into something a bit more fashionable but it didn’t take long before I stumbled back.

So that’s what my nieces have to bear when I take them around town or to the movies or mall, a short little aunt trying to look like long and lean Diane Keaton. I usually spare them the interesting hats unless it’s raining or snowing. And I never wear or wore a necktie. Okay maybe for a few weeks but it was right after I moved to Europe and people do strange things in foreign countries. Besides I was far away and the girls had not been born yet.

But that’s just my casual look. For many years I had to dress like an Important Business Woman. I bought my first Important Business Woman suits in the mid-eighties. They had big shoulders which I could square importantly and pretend I was Joan Crawford or Katherine Hepburn. Both in the office and on the weekends, I always wanted to look like tall, elegant movie stars. Even though I fall short by at least four or five inches.

Luckily for everyone those oversized shoulder pads slowly deflated and women could wear a suit without looking like a linebacker. And those blouses with the bows and ruffles also went to fashion heaven or hell. Until now. I recently read that the eighties are back or at least those Important Business Woman suits with the big shoulder pads are back. Thank goodness I now spend my days writing in my little home office and testing recipes in my kitchen and get to work in my pajamas, a pair of jeans or khakis. It’s been a while since I donned a suit so don’t expect to see me looking important any time soon.

On the other hand … I do like to pay at least a little attention to changes and trends in the food world (okay maybe more than a little). I’m not sure if it is an occupational hazard or occupational perk. One of my current favorites is eating locally. The farmers are busy harvesting squashes and pumpkins and apples are ripe for picking. It’s time to get out and about and visit a pick-your-own orchard, your local farmers’ market or farm stand. Enjoy the harvest and the autumn sunshine,

Rustic Apple Tart
What could be better than an apple tart after a busy afternoon in the orchard? Enjoy!
Serves 8

2-4 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
Pinch of salt
4-6 apples, peeled (optional) and thinly sliced
Grated zest and juice of 1/2 orange
1 tablespoon Calvados or applejack (optional)
Flakey Pastry (recipe follows)
2 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Combine the brown sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt in a small bowl. In a medium bowl, toss the apples, orange peel, juice and Calvados together.

Roll out the dough into a rough circle, about 14 inches in diameter. Add the sugar-flour mixture to the apples and toss to combine. Leaving a 3 to 4 inch border, arrange the apples evenly over the pastry dough. Gently fold the edge of the dough over the fruit.

Dot the top of the tart with butter. Bake until the crust is golden brown and the fruit is tender, about 40 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes and serve.

Flakey Pastry:
1 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon sugar
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) chilled butter, cut into pieces
3 tablespoons solid vegetable shortening, cold
2-4 tablespoons ice water

Blend flour, sugar and salt a food processor. Add butter and shortening; and process until mixture resembles coarse meal.

Sprinkle with ice water, 1-2 tablespoons at a time, and process until dough comes together in a ball. Flatten the dough into disk. Wrap dough in plastic; chill until firm enough to roll, at least 30 minutes.

Feel free to make a comment; I’d love to hear from you. Just click on comments below.

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One Year Ago –  – Oktoberfest Sausages & Sauerkraut

I’d be delighted to add you to the growing list of blog subscribers. To subscribe: just scroll back up, fill in your email address and click on the Sign Me Up button. You’ll get an email asking you to confirm your subscription … confirm and you will automatically receive a new stories and recipes.

Want more? Click here for more recipes and magazine articles or here to watch me cook! I hope that you will take a minute to learn about my philanthropic project Eat Well-Do Good. Feel free to visit my photoblog Susan Nye 365 or take a minute to learn about my philanthropic project Eat Well-Do Good. ©Susan W. Nye, 2009

Blueberry Season & Blueberry Pie

I love to see families spending time together, not just brothers and sisters but across generations. Grandparents are a wonderful source of fun, inspiration and tall tales. Particularly when we were little, my sister Brenda and I spent a lot of time with our grandparents, both sets.

As soon as they retired, my father’s parents moved to Cape Cod. For several summers, our family rented a cottage within walking distance of Nana and Pop’s little red house on Bayberry Lane. Brenda and I spent many memorable hours with them.

Throughout the summer there were lots of family gatherings. We lazed around the beach cultivating our sunburns when the tide was high and sought refuge in my grandparent’s shady backyard when the tide was low. Every Sunday night, we joined forces for a cookout in that same backyard. The meals were simple, hamburgers, local tomatoes and corn and blueberry pie

Nana and Pop did not spend their retirement sitting around doing nothing. Nana had lots of energy and her days were filled with activity. She was always busy with family, her many friends and neighbors. She delivered meals on wheels and volunteered at the hospital and library. She even did some substitute teaching. To avoid going stir crazy Pop took on a wide variety of odd jobs to fill his time and pad their social security checks.

As a master carpenter, Pop was in great demand. He helped out his neighbors with small renovations, repairs and their seemingly endless lists of handyman chores. He was busy as long there were husbands in the neighborhood whose answer to the honey-do list was, “but honey, I don’t” or “honey, I would but I’ve got to go sailing (play golf or tennis or snooze in the hammock).”

In addition to these odd jobs, he picked raspberries and blueberries in the summer and harvested apples and cranberries in the fall. When it came to blueberries, he didn’t exactly pick them by the truck load but he picked a lot. There was an abundance of blueberries in my Nana’s kitchen, our kitchen and at least a dozen others. It might have been the cool breezes off the ocean or our impatience to have blueberries before they were truly ripe, but family folklore suggests that Pop never quite managed to find the sweetest berries.

During blueberry season, Nana made pies at least once a week, usually twice. She also threw blueberries into pancakes and muffins and baked them into cakes. If the tide was low or no one was available to take us to the beach, Brenda and I would wander over to Nana’s kitchen. She was happy to spend time with us, tell us stories and make us our favorite treats. We got in her way and asked endless questions as she bustled about her tiny kitchen making cookies, pies and chowder. Whenever she made pies, Nana always made sure there were a few scraps of leftover pie dough for us to make raspberry tarts

One morning after making blueberry pies, Nana found she had an extra quart or so of berries and asked me to bring them home to my Mother. I was five, maybe six, and blessed with the brutal honesty of a child. I didn’t mince words but bluntly told her, “Nana, my Mummy says she doesn’t want anymore of Pop’s darn blueberries, they’re sour as swill.” Luckily Nana had a good sense of humor and laughed. She told and retold the story for many years to come.

Bon appétit!

Blueberry Pie
It wouldn’t be summer without blueberry pie. A long tradition in our family is pie for breakfast. Whenever there is an extra piece left over from the night before, the first one up gets to have pie for breakfast! Enjoy!

Flakey pastry, recipe follows  
1 quart fresh blueberries, washed and drained
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ginger
Pinch of nutmeg
Grated peel of 1 lemon
1 1/2 tablespoon butter, cut into small pieces

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Put the berries in a large bowl; add the cornstarch, sugars, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and lemon peel. Gently toss to combine

Remove one of the pieces of chilled dough from the refrigerator. Roll it out the on a lightly floured surface. It should be about 12 inches in diameter and about 1/8-inch thick. Working carefully, fit the dough into a 9-inch pie plate. The pastry will hang over the edge of the pie plate.

Pour the berry mixture into the pastry shell. Sprinkle the butter pieces evenly over the top of the berries.

Roll out the second piece of dough and place it over the filling. Press the edges together and trim, leaving a 1-inch overhang. Roll up the overhang and crimp to seal. Cut a few vents in the top of the pie.

Place the pie on a baking sheet and bake at 375 degrees for 45 to 50 minutes or until the filling is bubbly and the crust is golden. Check it after 30 minutes, if crust is getting too brown too quickly; cover the edges with aluminum foil. Let the pie cool and serve with vanilla ice cream.

Flakey Pastry
2 cups all purpose flour
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
8 tablespoons (1 stick) chilled butter, cut into pieces
6 tablespoons solid vegetable shortening, cold
4-6 tablespoons ice water

Blend the flour, sugar and salt in a food processor. Add the butter and shortening and process until the mixture resembles coarse meal.

Sprinkle with ice water, 1-2 tablespoons at a time, and process until the dough comes together in a ball. Flatten into two disks. Wrap each disk of dough in plastic. Put the dough in the refrigerator and chill until it is firm enough to roll, at least one hour.

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One Year Ago – Grilled Lamb

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Understanding Easter & Lemon Tart

All around the world Easter is a celebration of spring. The air warms, the sun shines, daffodils bloom, supermarket shelves fill up with marshmallow peeps and spirits soar. In New England, the air tries to warm up, rain pours and dirt roads turn to seas of mud. The snow is melting or at least trying and a few early blooms are blooming. In a spirit of optimism, we don summer dresses on Easter Sunday, put on a sweater and our rubber boots and head out the door to celebrate.

Easter is a strange mix of Christian and pagan rites. When Christian missionaries traveled north to convert the Celts, Anglos and Saxons, they realized that a merger might be more successful than a takeover. Their celebration of Jesus’ resurrection fell at the same time as the North’s spring rituals. The northern tribes were celebrating the end of winter, an end to the harsh cold and long dark nights. In a way, both festivities celebrated rebirth, the triumph of light over dark and life over death. A few compromises were negotiated and the two celebrations merged.

It was that very spirit of compromise that created our jumbled mix of Easter traditions. It is all rather curious how bunnies, eggs and parades, even the name came into the picture. It may be a sacred Christian holiday, but the name Easter comes from the ancient Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring, Eostre.

Now, what’s with the eggs? Eggs have been a symbol of new life and fertility since the ancient Egyptians, Greeks and Romans. They were a natural part of spring fertility rituals and celebrations. On a more practical note, eggs were forbidden during Lent in Medieval Europe. Not wanting to waste the eggs laid during Lent, they were boiled or preserved. With forty days of eggs waiting to be consumed, they became a mainstay of Easter meals.

With so many eggs around, it only made sense that they become part of the entertainment. Eggs were used in games and given as gifts. Not just any old egg, after all it was a holiday. Decorating eggs with dyes and paints made its way into the celebrations. Long before the big festivities on the White House lawn, families celebrated the day and the season with egg hunts, eggs tosses and egg rolls. (That’s rolling the egg across the lawn not the crispy treats from your favorite Chinese restaurant.) And those sweet little chicks and marshmallow peeps? Just an extension of the egg theme.

Now the Easter Bunny has always been a bit of a mystery. What does a rabbit have to do with Jesus or even eggs? The rabbit was an ancient fertility symbol in northern Europe, particularly Germany. The tradition of the Easter rabbit was brought to the US by German immigrants. I guess someone or something had to deliver all those eggs.

I’ve never celebrated Easter in New York, but I always thought that it would be fun to parade down 5th Avenue. Better yet, dance down the avenue like Judy Garland and Fred Astaire. In spite of its fame, New Yorkers did not invent the Easter parade. Easter parades have been around since ancient times. Early Christians celebrated their baptisms with new white robes and a parade to celebrate their new lives. In Medieval Europe, everyone paraded through the town after Easter Mass. I’m not sure if they wore straw bonnets festooned with flowers, ribbons and bows.

And finally the big Easter feast. Easter dinner celebrates the end of Lent and, at least in warmer climates, the first spring harvest. If you are lucky enough to live in one of those warmer climates, Easter dinner has always been about eating local foods. Artichokes in Italy, lamb in France and lemons in Greece. In New England, we should be savoring maple syrup! Or maybe bear. Beware, they are out and about and wandering around the neighborhood looking for birdfeeders.

Have a Happy Easter with family and friends and,

Bon appétit!

Tarte au Citron

I don’t think that this lemon tart is traditional for Easter anywhere. But it is wonderful and lemons are a perfect addition to any spring feast. Enjoy!

Serves 8

5 whole eggs
2 cups sugar
Grated peel of 2 lemons
Juice of 3-4 lemons
2-3 tablespoons melted butter
4 tablespoons heavy cream
1 9-inch unbaked flakey pie crust, recipe follows

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. Whisk together the eggs, sugar, lemon peel and juice, butter and cream.
3. Pour into the pie shell and bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour or until firm.  Let cool and serve.

Flakey Pastry:

1 cup all purpose flour
1 teaspoon sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) cold butter, cut into pieces
3 tablespoons solid vegetable shortening, cold
2-4 tablespoons ice water

1. Blend flour, sugar and salt in a food processor. Add butter and shortening. Process until mixture resembles coarse meal.
2. Sprinkle with ice water, 1-2 tablespoons at a time, and process until dough comes together in a ball. Remove the dough from the food processor and flatten it into a disk. Wrap the dough in plastic; chill until firm, at least 30 minutes.
3. Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface. Gently press it into a 9-inch pie plate. Crimp the edges and chill until firm.

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Cook like a pro in a Susan Nye – Around the Table apron. Details and order form on the web at www.susannye.com.

Susan Nye lives in New Hampshire. She is a freelance writer and cook. To learn more about her catering services and cooking classes and find lots more recipes visit her web site at www.susannye.com For updates, cooking tips and more, follow Susan on Twitter at http://twitter.com/susannye. © Susan W. Nye, 2009