Hoosier Mama's Caramel–Apple Cider Pie

“I suggest that pie is too elemental to be trendy. Trends fade, but simple, seasonal food made from good ingredients should not.” Thus prefaces pastry chef and author Paula Haney in The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie—one of the most thoughtful and well put together baking books I’ve beheld in a long time. To call it a baking book seems insufficient though. It’s more like a guide that nudges readers to reconsider their tempo in the kitchen and their relationship to ingredients, and it’s obviously first and foremost a damn fine collection of pie recipes. Haney leads you through dough, rolling (pound it out first!), and crimping to sourcing and filling, explaining the reasons behind her shop’s techniques and tweaks with a seriously trustworthy tone and obvious expertise: she speaks, and we want to listen.

Chefs have written many a fantastic books for the home cook, but they sometimes have trouble translating scale and method appropriately, or they dumb down necessary information to make it “easier” on us dudes at home. The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie—judging from the four recipes I’ve made—doesn’t make these kinds of concessions, and there’s no reason to expect that your pies at home won’t turn out every ounce as awesome as her pies in Chicago. In any case, in observance of fall and my recent stumble upon a Maryland apple farm that offers unpasteurized cider, this caramel apple cider pie seems like the most fitting offering. And if it doesn’t ring your bell, there’s plenty in the book that will: Fat Elvis Pie, Jeffersonville Maple-Pecan Pie, French Onion Soup Pie—so much fall and wintry goodness abounds.

I didn’t change much with the apple cider pie: used a rye pie dough for the crust since it was handy and exchanged a quarter of the sugar for light brown since sour cream with brown sugar is an age-old Nye family comfort dessert. I doubt I improved it at all with the tweaks, but that’s the fun of baking on your time. In the end, it’s a tangy, salty-sweet paean to fall, with the added bonus of being based on a Lottie + Doof recipe. Get to it!

Caramel–Apple Cider Pie

Adapted from The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie, by Paula Haney

Yields one nine-inch pie!

This recipe makes more caramel than you’ll need, but it is fall after all—drizzle that stuff all over them apples.

1 single-crust, blind-baked all-butter pie dough (see here or here for my favorites)

2 cups (493 grams) fresh apple cider

1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar

½ cup (121 grams) full-fat sour cream

½ teaspoon (1.5 grams) kosher salt

4 large eggs (200 grams)

1 Tablespoon (18 grams) Calvados or other apple brandy

1 Tablespoon (11 grams) apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon (5 grams) vanilla paste

¼ cup (50 grams) caramel (recipe follows; I used about twice this amount to get the coverage I wanted)

1.  Pour the apple cider into a one-quart saucepan and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat, and simmer until the cider is reduced to one-quarter cup, ten to 15 minutes. Set aside to cool.

2.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Place your baked pie shell on a baking sheet and set aside. In a medium bowl, whisk the sugar, sour cream, and salt to combine. Crack the eggs in a small bowl and fork to combine. Whisk the eggs into the sugar mixture in three additions, mixing well after each round. Stir the Calvados, cider vinegar, and vanilla into the reduced apple cider. Pour this into the egg mixture and whisk well to combine.

3.  Pour the filling into your pie shell and bake for 40 to 45 minutes until the edges of the filling are slightly puffed. Haney says here to gently shake the pie: it should move as one piece. If the center jiggles on its own, return the pie to the oven for five to ten minutes. The top of the pie will be very shiny when set.

4.  Cool to room temperature, and prepare the caramel while you wait. Once both the pie and caramel are cool, pour one-quarter cup (or more) of caramel over the top of the pie. Spread it to the edges with the back of a spoon or an offset spatula. Chill pie in the fridge for at least two hours before serving; use a clean, dry knife to make smooth, even cuts. The finished pie can be stored in the fridge for two to three days.

Caramel

Adapted from TheHoosier Mama Book of Pie, by Paula Haney

The set-up for this caramel is somewhat involved, but it makes a correct and excellent sauce, so don’t be dissuaded!

½ cup plus two Tablespoons (126 grams) granulated sugar

½ cup (116 grams) heavy cream, at room temperature

pinch of kosher salt

1.  Fill a medium, heat-proof bowl a quarter of the way with ice. Add cold water just until the ice floats, and set aside. Place a fine-mesh strainer over a second medium, heat-proof bowl. Set aside.

2.  Place the sugar in a one-quart, heavy saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat without stirring until the sugar melts around the edges of the saucepan, about two minutes. Gently stir with a rubber spatula, then turn down the heat to medium and continue to cook until the sugar melts in the middle. Stir until all of the sugar is melted and has turned medium amber.

3. Turn the heat down to low, and immediately pour in a small addition of cream, whisking all the while. Add the rest of the cream in four additions, whisking constantly. The caramel should appear ropy at first, then form a thick sauce.

4.  Remove pan from heat and dip the bottom into the bowl of ice water to cease the cooking, being sure not to splash any water into the sauce. Remove from ice bath, and whisk in the salt. Then pour through the strainer into your heatproof bowl, and dip once more into the ice bath. Whisk occasionally until cool, assemble your pie, and use the leftovers on your apples!

Blueberry Hand Pies

Fruit + sugar + thickener + pastry. This isn’t a recipe, per se, so much as a technique; some of the best ones are. The blueberries around Baltimore are incredible right now—plums too. Raspberries, grapes, and ground cherries keep popping up, and it’s been a delicious season for white peaches and nectarines as well. You can make fah-ncy pop tarts out of any of this stuff by cooking a small amount of fruit into pie filling and then stuffing your favorite pastry with it. Rye pastry, rye pastry with beer, frissage’d buttery goodness, the food processor method, even a lard-based or cream cheese dough would work here: this is a pie for people who love crusts. And if you’re inclined toward blueberries, the filling outlined below is a super delicious way to go: strictly blueberries, sugar, salt, and thickener, there’s no lemon or vanilla to complicate flavors; it would work for any fruit. Here, the result is unbelievably berryish. Plop some hearty spoonfuls of cooled filling onto the pastry of your choice, seal, pinch, egg wash, toss with sugar, bake, and there you have it. Summer in an unfussy, buttery envelope.

Assembly

1 full recipe pastry (rye pastry below)

Fruit filling (blueberry below)

Egg wash + large-grain sugar

1.  Preheat oven to 400, and line two cookie sheets with parchment paper. Divide pastry in two, and roll out into long rectangles, about an eighth-inch thick. Working with one at a time, cut each half into an even number of smaller rectangles or squares; these are the tops and bottoms of your hand pie. I made six giant pies, but you could make little square pockets or stamp out round ones too.

2. Place your bottoms on the cookie sheet, line the edges of each piece with egg wash, then spoon your cooled filling into the middle. I used a little more than a quarter-cup of filling per hand pie. Top each piece with its matching pastry, then press down the edges to seal; use a knife or rotary cutter to trim up the edges before pinching decoratively. Egg wash the tops, coat with large-grain sugar, poke some holes or slits in the top, and chill in the fridge or freezer while you assemble round two.

3. Make sure both sets of pies are very cool before baking; about 30 minutes in the freezer should do it. Pop them into your screamin’ hot oven, and bake for about ten to 12 minutes, until pastry is golden and filling is bubbling out the top or around the edges. Cool, and enjoy! Best if eaten within one day.

Rye Pastry

Adapted from Kim Boyce, Good to the Grain

For rye dough

1 cup rye flour

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 ½ sticks (6 ounces) cold unsalted butter

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

Ice water

1.  Sift the flours, sugar, and salt into a large bowl, dumping any grains that remain in the sifter back into the bowl. Cut the butter into half-inch pieces and add to the mixture. Rub the butter between your fingers to break it into smaller bits, until the butter ranges in size from hazelnuts to peas; work quickly!

2.  Add the vinegar and eight tablespoons of ice water to the mixture, using a rubber spatula or your hands to cut the liquid through the dry ingredients. The dough should come together as one shaggy lump. Squeeze it together to see if a ball forms, and if it’s too dry, add more water one tablespoon at a time until dough comes together. Pile the dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap, sprinkle with a few dots of water, wrap, and refrigerate for at least an hour or overnight.

3.   (This next bit is a tad technical, but folding and rolling the dough like this creates seriously flaky layers of pastry.) Unwrap the dough on a floured surface and pat it into square. Roll it out to a rectangle that’s roughly 8 ½ by 11 inches. The dough will be crumbly, but fear not! It will come together. For the first turn, fold the dough in thirds like a letter; the seam should be on the left. Rotate the dough so that the seam is at the top and parallel to your body, and roll out into an 8 ½ by 11 rectangle again. Fold and roll again, and repeat the process for a third, final time. Wrap the dough in plastic and chill for another hour at least, until ready to use.

Blueberry Filling

1 pound blueberries

2 ounces granulated sugar, or half honey, half sugar

.5 ounces cornstarch or tapioca starch

healthy pinch salt

1.  Whisk all your dries in a bowl, making sure the cornstarch is well blended. Toss the berries and dries in a wide, shallow pot, and cook over the highest heat, stirring all the while. The mixture will be dry at first, but in just a few minutes, the juices will start flowing and the filling will turn dark, beautiful purple. Continue cooking until filling boils, then boil for two to three minutes, until the opacity and smell of the cornstarch dissipate; you shouldn’t be able to taste it at all. Pour the filling out into a dish, press plastic to the top to prevent a skin, and cool in your fridge for about an hour or two.

Black Fruit Tart: Figs, Grapes, and Blackberries

Years ago, there was one particular tree in my Berkeley neighborhood that dripped with Black Mission figs all throughout the summer. Its proximate sidewalk was littered with sweet, rotting fruit—this was prior to the agricultural foraging maps that are all up on the internet now—and every walk or bike ride braked for a figgy snack. It was cherished excess.

When I finally moved out east, I was sorely disappointed to learn that figs are somewhat of a rarity ‘round these parts, and good figs are even more of a wonder. But a few weeks ago, our oyster shucker and resident knower of things was explaining an island off the coast of Maryland where an acquaintance is growing a whole orchard of four heritage fig breeds. This mythical person infrequently gives cuttings to compelling Baltimore folks, apparently. And a few days ago, our barista brought in a bucket of the most beautiful, tiny, yellow and purple figs foraged from my neighborhood (BUT WHERE?!). So maybe the figs aren’t so plenteous as be sidewalk litter, but they’re here.

Originally plotted to be a breezy peach and blueberry pie, this tart happened when my market proffered black seedless grapes, blackberries, and Celeste figs all on the same table. So rich that it’s almost savory, this is a bitter chocolate and red wine tart, or a sitting outside at 3:00 a.m. talking with your roommate and not missing California tart. A west coast dessert with a dark and jammy east coast edge. The rich fruit combination won’t be for everyone, but the fruit + jam technique will work to showcase whatever your summer has on hand, be it nectarines and blueberries, plums and currants, peaches and more peaches, or your long-lost favorite fruit. The method, inspired by Kim Boyce, is also here with an apricot blackberry tart, and here, with an apricot sugar plum tart.

Black Fruit Tart

Makes two

1 full recipe pastry dough (below)

24 to 30 figs, stemmed and halved if small, quartered if large

1 cup blackberries

1 cup black seedless grapes, whole

1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons black currant jam

4 tablespoons sugar

pinch salt

1 egg + milk + large-grain sugar for finishing

1. Divide your pastry in two, and work with one piece at a time. Roll out your dough to two 15-inch circles; trim rough edges. Slide onto the back of two parchment-lined sheet trays and chill while you prepare your filling.

2. Add your washed and cut fruit to a large bowl, and toss with two tablespoons of jam, your sugar, and salt.

3. Smear a quarter-cup of jam across each pastry round, one at a time, and evenly divide and arrange the fruit in a circle, leaving a two- to three-inch border of crust. It’s okay to freewheel it here: the piled look is just fine. Fold the edges of your crust up, pleating as you go, then freeze for about a half-hour to rechill your dough.

4.  Meanwhile preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Whisk your egg with a splash of milk until no streaks remain, and brush the top of your crust with it. Toss your large-grain sugar generously and evenly over the tart crust and center. Bake for 40 to 50 minutes, rotating pans halfway through, until crust is deep golden brown and filling is bubbling. Can serve hot out of the oven or cooled to room temperature!

Pastry Dough

From Apt. 2B Baking Co. and I Made That!

12 ounces pastry flour

1/2 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

8 ounces (two sticks) very cold butter

4 to 6 ounces ice water

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

1.  On a clean counter, dump your flour and salt; mix it around with a bench scraper. Chop one stick of butter into quarters, and cut it into the flour with your bench scraper. When butter is about the size of lima beans, cut in the second stick, pulling, folding, and tossing with the bench scraper as you go, until the butter is about the size of quarters. Add the vinegar to the ice water.

2. Using your fingers, flick the water onto the butter-flour mixture, gently folding with the bench scraper all the while. You have added enough water once the mixture holds together when squeezed; it should still be very shaggy.

3. Next, push the butter into the flour. Using the heel of your palm, push a small section of the dough down and away from you; this creates long layers of butter in your dough, which translates to long flaky layers in your crust. Use your bench scraper to scrape up the smear, and put it a bowl. Repeat until all the dough has been smeared and you have a bowlful of long, buttery layers. Push these into one mass, divide in half, wrap each in plastic, flatten into disks, and chill at least two hours, or better yet overnight.

Stone Fruit Hazelnut Tart with Corn Flour Crust

Time really is a luxury these days. It’s rich to even notice when I’m too busy and to be able to contrast it with my more free-wheeling moments, but damned if I ain’t truly swamped. When my folks came out to visit a few weeks ago, my dad set about installing a set of gorgeous shelves in our sweet little kitchen. I thought I’d fill them up right quick with kitchen paraphernalia, but they’re stocked with nary a thing as I’ve hardly stepped foot in that bad boy since moving to Baltimore. Well, unless you count traversing the kitchen on the way to the back porch for too many 4:00 a.m.-beers and Spray Tan cocktails.*

This tart, then, is sort of a time suck miracle, borne primarily of the guilt of buying way too damn much produce at the farmers market that I found en route to Woodberry. These yellow egg plums—firm, fleshy, and sweet—sat sad on the counter next to a few wilting white peaches before I eventually mustered the stomach to be in My Kitchen on a rare day off from The Kitchen. And so I took a page from Yossy’s book, and cobbled the thing together as quickly as possible—press-in shortbread crust, no macerating, no chilling, a few ground hazelnuts because they’re the best—and there you have it. A surprisingly quick, easy, and downright good summer dessert: the barely sweetened fruit sings above the hazelnuts, and the corn flour tart shell is like one big salty-sweet cookie. Get busy or don’t, but definitely make this when you’re looking for an easy way to showcase that summer stone fruit.

*Ahem: coined by my sister in honor of my fantastic roommate, the Spray Tan is tequila, lime, and pompelmo, usually accompanied by a watermelon snack. Get it.

Stone Fruit Tart
Adapted from Apt. 2B Baking Co.

For the crust

4 ounces corn flour (or very fine cornmeal)

4 ounces all purpose flour

1.75 ounces sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons olive oil

3 ounces butter, melted and cooled

1 egg yolk

1. In a medium bowl, stir the flours, sugar, salt and lime zest. Make a well in the center of the mixture and add in the olive oil, butter and egg yolk. Stir gently to combine.

2. Turn the dough out into a 10-inch removable bottom tart pan and pat it evenly on the bottom and up the sides. Pop into the fridge while you prepare the filling.

For the Filling

2.5 pounds plums or stone fruit of your choosing

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

Scant 1/4 cup toasted hazelnuts

1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons demerara sugar, divided

1 tablespoon butter, cut into small pieces

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Toast hazelnuts on a baking sheet for eight to ten minutes until the skins are darkened. Wrap them with a clean kitchen towel, let steam for a couple of minutes, then rub together to remove the skins.  Add the nuts and 1/4-cup sugar to your food processor, and pulse until nuts are very finely ground. Set aside.

2.   Turn oven up to 450 degrees F, and quarter your pit fruit while you wait for the oven to heat. Spread the ground nuts evenly over the bottom of your corn flour crust, and arrange plums and peaches evenly on top, in three, tight rings. Top the fruit with remaining two tablespoons of sugar and dot with the butter. Slide tart onto a cookie sheet, and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until crust is deep golden and fruit is baked and bubbling. This tart is best if eaten within a day or two.

Honey Rhubarb Fool with Cardamom Chèvre Cream

“New school, new baby pool!” Or rather, new city, new so many tons of things to be doing all of the time, including my brand new intense job, that this will be a quick blog post. When I posted last, I was courting a production baking job in Portland, Maine, and lazing away the start of summer with my folks in their dreamy log cabin up north. All of the sudden, I found myself instead with the pastry opportunity of a lifetime in Baltimore, and I’m here now (!!), working away as a pastry assistant at Woodberry Kitchen. Check ‘er out, dudes. It’s an amazing restaurant, business model, idea, influence, etc., that supports farms all over the Chesapeake Watershed by putting their produce to exclusive, consistent use. Farm-to-table in the sense of it being for the benefit of farmers, more than for the delight of eaters, but delight we do, and it sure is a ton of work. 

On one of my precious days off last week, I hopped down to DC to retrieve all of my things, and whipped up this rhubarb dessert in compensation for my trespassing unannounced in the house of my sister and buddies. It’s an April Bloomfield recipe that I’ve had my eye on for awhile, and in the spate of 90-degree heat, it seemed a lot more appealing than a rhubarb Bundt cake, both to make and to eat. It ended up being finished just in time for a sparkling wine–fueled round of porch Carcassonne and visits from the dearest friends, and I’m so thankful to be back home. So please come visit in Baltimore, and eat at Woodberry Kitchen! I’ll be the gal in the back covered in flour and rhubarb splatters.

Honey Rhubarb Fool with Cardamom Chèvre Cream and Pistachios

Adapted significantly from April Bloomfield, via Lottie + Doof and the LA Times

Here, I used honey in place of sugar, omitted rosewater, reduced the cardamom, and used goat cheese instead of creme fraiche in the cream. The original recipe calls for the addition of one to two teaspoons  rosewater to the rhubarb. I think that sounds good, but I wanted to round it out with honey for a nice base to the chèvre instead. If rosewater is your thing, add it to the rhubarb once it’s finished cooling, a 1/2 teaspoon at a time, until you reach a flavor strength that you’re down with. And to see the original recipe, check out Bloomfield’s book, or pop on over to L + D or the LA Times.

Rhubarb

1 1/4 pounds of rhubarb, topped and tailed, then sliced into 3/4-inch pieces

3 tablespoons mild honey

1 tablespoon superfine sugar

1/2 cup dry white wine

1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

1.  Toss the rhubarb and sugar in a medium pot. Add the white wine. Use a knife to scrape the seeds from the vanilla pod into the pot, and toss the pod into the pot too. Place the pot over medium-low heat and bring to a gentle simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the rhubarb is very tender but still more or less intact, about 10 minutes—keep a careful eye on it as a totally stringy pulp is not what you’re going for here. Set aside to cool.

Cardamom Chèvre Cream

5 green cardamom pods

3 tablespoons confectioners sugar

4 ounces mild, fresh chèvre

1 1/2 cups heavy cream

Handful of roasted, salted pistachios, for garnish

1.  Smash the cardamom pods, discard the husks and pound the seeds in a mortar and pestle or grind in a spice grinder until finely ground. If using a mortar and pestle, grind the sugar into the spices toward the end.

2.  Combine the goat cheese, heavy cream, cardamom, and sugar in a large mixing bowl. Chill until ready to assemble. When ready to assemble, whisk the mixture to soft peaks—about two minutes.

3.  To assemble: Use four 8-ounce glasses, or a large glass bowl (so as to see the layers, counsels Tim Mazurek!). Layer the rhubarb and whipped cream and top with chopped roasted and salted pistachios. Cover the fools and let them chill in the fridge for an hour or so before serving. They will keep for longer, but really are best served about an hour into chilling.

Rhubarb Pie A La Mode with Rhubarb Syrup

Let’s not beat around the bush—this is my absolute favorite pie. I’ve shared before that I was first introduced to rhubarb by way of a terrible dessert that my grandmother’s older sister made when I was a kid. Once Eloise had left for the night, Grandma Phyllis hung her out to dry during Balderdash, when she submitted as the definition to a squelchy word, “The sound you make after eating Eloise’s dessert.” Sisters through and through. I had rhubarb again as part of the pies made famous by the touristy gold-mining town near to where I grew up, but it was always cut with something: strawberries usually, blueberries sometimes, the occasional cherry bunch, or a ridiculously sugary crumb topping. More recently, I’ve enjoyed it paired with raspberry and with ginger, but rhubarb is absolutely my very favorite when it’s jumbled up with nothing.

Maybe the squelchy Eloise-type desserts of yore gave rhubarb a bad rap, but it never seems to be all that present on restaurant menus. Sure, most people I know love the heck out of it and find infinitely creative ways to use the plant, but I can’t think of the last time I saw a rhubarb dessert on a menu, unless it was strawberry rhubarb pie; even my own main dude, number one eater of rhubarb baked goods spilling forth from my kitchen, “can never remember whether I like it.” Fruity, zingy, earthy in a way—it’s one of the most distinct flavors around, and I’d love to see it get more of its due. In the meantime, this simple pie can be yours. The rhubarb profile is strong, brightened up with a touch of orange, and rounded out with a splash of vanilla. I’ve been experimenting with partially cooking fruit pie fillings, and it really helps nail the consistency here: broken down, but not mushy, juicy, but not runny, tart, but not puckering. And with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and a drizzle of rhubarb syrup? It’s just my favorite iteration of a slice of pie this time of year.

Rhubarb previously: rhubarb ginger jam, rhubarb ginger jammers, raspberry rhubarb crostata, and strawberry rhubarb pie.

Flaky pie crust

Adapted from I Made That!, via Apt. 2B Baking Co.

Makes two crusts, or enough for this double-crust pie. Feel free to substitute in your favorite recipe or technique!

12 ounces pastry flour

1/2 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

8 ounces (two sticks) very cold butter

4 to 6 ounces ice water

1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar

1.  On a clean counter, dump your flour and salt; mix it around with a bench scraper. Chop one stick of butter into quarters, and cut it into the four with your bench scraper. When butter is about the size of lima beans, cut in the second stick, pulling, folding, and tossing with the bench scraper as you go, until the butter is about the size of quarters. Add the vinegar to the ice water.

2. Using your fingers, flick the water onto the butter-flour mixture, gently folding with the bench scraper all the while. You have added enough water once the mixture holds together when squeezed; it should be very shaggy.

3. Next, push the butter into the flour. Using the heel of your palm, push a small section of the dough down into the counter and away from you; this creates long layers of butter in your dough, which translates to long flaky layers in your crust. Use your bench scraper to scrape up the smear, and put it a bowl. Repeat until all the dough has been smeared and you have a bowlful of long, buttery layers. Push these into one mass, divide in half, wrap each in plastic, flatten into disks, and chill at least two hours, or better yet overnight.

For rhubarb filling

Inspired by Apt. 2B Baking Co.

8 cups rhubarb (from about 2 ½ pounds), chopped into half-inch pieces, divided

1 ½ cups granulated sugar minus two tablespoons

Zest of half an orange

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Pinch of salt

¼ cup cornstarch

For assembly

2 tablespoons butter cut into bits, optional

1 egg yolk, for brushing onto crust

2 tablespoons granulated sugar, large grain if you’ve got it

1.  In a large, ungreased skillet, mix six cups of rhubarb, the sugar, your zest, and a pinch of salt. Over high heat and stirring gently all the while, cook the rhubarb until it releases its juices; this will only take about three minutes. Strain out the fruit, reserving the juices, and in a shallow bowl, mix the cooked rhubarb with the two remaining cups of uncooked rhubarb and the vanilla extract. Then, in a small bowl, make a slurry by whisking two tablespoons of the reserved, warm juices with the cornstarch until smooth. Fold the slurry into your fruit and pop the bowl into the fridge to cool for about a half-hour; reserve the remaining juice if you wish to make a syrup out of it.

2. While the filling cools, preheat the oven to 475 degrees F. Roll out one of your pie dough pucks into a 12-inch circle, and fit it into a 9- or 9.5-inch pie plate. Pop into the fridge to chill. Then roll out top dough to 12-inch circle, and if proceeding with lattice top, cut into 11 or 12 one-inch strips. I like to slide my strips onto a parchment-lined cookie sheet and into the fridge while I ready everything else.

3.  Once the rhubarb has cooled, pour the filling into your prepared pie shell. Dot with butter, if using, then weave your lattice across the top, fold the bottom crust up over the lattice edges, and crimp. This is my favorite lattice-top instructional site, although I prefer to use wider strips. Beat your egg yolk with a fork until smooth, then brush it across the lattice and crimp; sprinkle with the remaining two tablespoons of sugar. If you suspect that your pastry has warmed, chill the pie in the freezer for about 15 minutes, otherwise, slide pie onto a cookie sheet or foil to catch any drips, then bake at 475 for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 and bake for an additional 30, until the top is golden brown and juices are bubbling. Cool for at least two hours before serving. Pie will keep for three or four days, covered, in the fridge or at room temperature. Put 

4.  If interested in turning the rhubarb juice into a syrup for using atop an a la mode slice, just simmer the juice in a small saucepan over medium heat for about ten minutes, until the concoction has thickened. Stir occasionally throughout, and keep an eye on it, because the syrup will turn to rhubarb caramel in a flash if you’re not careful (although that’s not exactly a bad thing).

Savory Asparagus Tart with Mustard, Caramelized Onions, Lemon, and Tomme

This asparagus tart is a springy riff on the potato tart that I made at the farm late last summer. Then, I was working with a wheel of goat tomme that Arlene had made, but this time I was lucky enough to use a hunk of the cow tomme that I made in the fall with my very own shaky, inexperienced hands. After letting four wheels age a full five months in the cave, we finally cut one open late last week, and it tasted dang delicious. I was shocked. The black stripe of vegetable ash—made famous by Humboldt Fog—isn’t traditional to tomme-style cheeses, but it gave this wheel some beautiful character and a deep, delicious saltiness that made it a lovely candidate for baking.

Even so, don’t let the specialty cheese sway you from baking your own version of this tart. Any sort of semisoft or hard cheese would do, from gruyère to sharp cheddar, or even ricotta salata. And although this recipe uses a cow’s cheese, a hard goat’s or sheep’s cheese would be so at home with the asparagus and caramelized onion. On a more personal note, I also really enjoyed making this because it reflects two very important seasons in my life: the momentum of spring now and ahead, and my formative fall at the farm. Special to make, special to eat—it really had no choice but to be good.

Olive Oil Press-In Crust

I like to use this olive oil crust when I’m baking for my butter-wary parents. Feel free to substitute your favorite buttery pastry dough, such as this one.

1 1/2 cups all-purpose or pastry flour

Heaping 1/2 teaspoon flaky sea salt

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/3 cup olive oil

3 to 5 tablespoons cold milk or water

1. Combine all the dry ingredients in a medium bowl. Pour olive oil and first three tablespoons of milk in, and whisk with a fork until mixture is evenly blended and somewhat moist. If need be, add an extra tablespoon or two of milk to get moist, crumbly consistency.

2.  Press dough crumbles into an 8- or 9-inch tart pan, using a metal measuring cup to ensure even edges that are flat against the bottom and sides. Pop into the fridge while you prepare the filling.

Savory Asparagus Tart

Makes one 8- or 9-inch tart

1 pound asparagus, from about one bunch

1 large yellow onion, sliced into thin rings of half-moons

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

¾ cup heavy cream or half-and-half

1 large egg

Zest of half a lemon

½ teaspoon flaky sea salt

1/3 cup grated hard cheese such as asiago, gruyere, or tomme (I used farm-made cow tomme!)

Olive oil

Pinch red pepper flakes

Cracked black pepper

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

2.  Caramelize onions: heat a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan for two to three minutes over medium heat until it’s quite warm. Turn heat all the way low, and add onions to the dry saucepan. Stir for about two minutes, then cover, and leave to cook for 15 to 20 minutes, checking occasionally and stirring onions as needed. By this point, they should smell sweet and be browning evenly. Add a tablespoon or so of olive oil and a pinch of salt, and, stirring every few minutes, continue to cook uncovered for another 15 to 20 minutes until the onions are very dark brown. Remove from heat and set aside.

3.  Cook asparagus: fill a medium saucepan with water and bring to boil. Snap off all of your woody asparagus ends, and boil the spears for just one minute. Drain immediately and run under very cold water to stop the cooking. Pat asparagus dry. Heat two tablespoons of olive oil in a medium saucepan and when it’s hot, add asparagus. Top with a few pinches of red pepper flakes and a small pinch of salt, and allow asparagus to brown for about five minutes. Flip, and cook the other side for another five minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

4.  Assemble and bake:  whisk the egg, cream, zest, and salt in a small bowl and set aside. Retrieve your tart crust from the fridge, and spread the mustard across the bottom (an offset spatula makes this easy). Arrange onions in an even layer across the bottom, then top with asparagus spears. I lined mine up tightly and side to side like soldiers across the whole tart, alternating tops and bottoms, then tucked the remaining spears into the bare shoulders of the pan. Pour cream mixture over the top of tart, then top evenly with cheese. Crack some black pepper over the top, slide onto a cookie sheet, and bake for 45 minutes until tart is evenly browned. Allow tart to cool for 15 minutes before removing from pan. Cut slices with a very sharp knife—leftovers will keep for about three days.