Honey Panna Cotta with Olive Oil and Pine Nuts

There’s a newish restaurant in Baltimore that you have to visit. It’s called Bottega, a BYOB 20-seater with a northern Italian menu, and the first time I ate there, the one-man kitchen had run dry of about a third of the menu. In my mind, that was an excellent rather than a bummer situation. The ingredients, their farmers, the food, and the service are special, and I don’t think that anything communicates that quite so well or confidently as does abiding by smallness. There’s a lot to be said for enoughness and the choice to be out when you’re out. Like, you have zero uncertainty about the quality of the entirety of your offerings, and your efforts are so intentional and so focused, that a disappointed diner isn’t possible. Smallness—as opposed to the rote production that characterizes its opposite—could be the trick to the sort of success I keep experiencing at Bottega.

Simplicity might be the other side of the smallness coin—Bottega has that too—and it was the restaurant’s simplest dessert that was one of the best finishers I’ve had in seriously forever. They’re currently offering a ginger-lemon panna cotta, infused with both flavors only barely, and it was purely, completely delicious—unmuddled. Set just a skosh more than pudding and a million miles south of jello, panna cotta is a straightforward cream dessert that is disarmingly good. Weirdly good. When we ate there last week, I’d been considering baking some fussy tarts and fancy cakes for fun this weekend, but Bottega’s panna cotta righted my course and all. So, inspired by Bottega's general excellence and specific deliciousness, here’s a panna cotta riff with a pretty tasty honey profile, complemented by olive oil, salt, and pine nuts if you so choose. It’s small, simple, and delicious—there’s not much else you need.

(OH. And if you find yourself in Baltimore, totally please go to Bottega. My favorite savory dishes have been the venison pappardelle and the speck with stracciatella; literally everything has been good.)

Honey Panna Cotta

Adapted from Alice Medrich’s Pure Dessert

Makes about 8 servings

Use the best dairy and honey to be found, y’all. I mean, we always say that, but since there are so few parts to this dessert, it’s especially excellent to use your favorites since every ingredient is discernible. Medrich cautions us to measure granulated gelatin very carefully, since even a hair too much could wrestle the panna cotta into jello territory.

3 sheets sheet gelatin OR 2 1/2 teaspoons granulated gelatin

1 1/4 cups cold whole milk

3 cups heavy cream

1/3 cup mild, delicious honey

1/4 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

Honey, olive oil, salt, and toasted pine nuts for garnish

1.  Pour the milk into a small bowl. Sprinkle the gelatin over the top, don’t stir, and let soften for about ten minutes.

2. In a medium saucepan, heat the cream, honey, and salt until steaming, but but not boiling; stir a few times to ensure it does not scorch. Remove the cream from heat, add the milk and gelatin to the pot, and whisk vigorously to dissolve the gelatin.

3. Set a large bowl with a spout over a larger bowl filled with ice and a bit of water. Pour the hot cream mixture into the spouted bowl, and allow it to cool to 50 degrees F. Divide the cream mixture between your ramekins or jars, cover with plastic wrap, and allow to set for at least four hours, preferably overnight.

4. When ready to serve, top your panna cotta with a spoonful of honey, a drizzle of olive oil, a sprinkle of sea salt, and a couple of pine nuts. Panna cottas will keep, covered in the fridge, for about a week.

Four and Twenty Blackbirds Salty Honey Pie

My mid-Atlantic pals are all hunkered down awaiting Sandy’s onslaught, battening the hatches, roasting whole turkeys, and guzzling liquor in equal measure. Some of them are camped out on the first floors of their houses, and most of them are apparently wearing short shorts, watching SVU, and playing Scrabble. I’m not envious, but I would a little bit love to be home stuffing my face and playing Celebrity with all my buds; I miss you, dudes, and wish you much safety! Up in our neck of the woods, preparations have included anchoring the barn, sheltering the baby goats from the wind, and burning the shit out of our emergency ration of molasses gingerbread (dang it)--our straits are none too dire. If the power goes out here, the Victrola will go on marathon-play, and we’ll battle out Trivial Pursuit in front of the wood-fired stove. All in all a homey prospect that Dave likens to “summer camp.”

This salty honey pie from last week’s snatch of Sunday free time has little to do with the storm, though it could make a tasty hurricane snack if you’ve got the power and time. It hails from Four & Twenty Blackbirds, a pie shop in Brooklyn that I’ve long been meaning to check out (and finally will in December!). My ol’ Tartner in crime, Emily H. of Nothing-in-the-House, whipped this up in tart form a few times back in February, but it somehow eluded my fork until last week. Daniel, our latest WWOOFer, is a certifiable honey addict who eats the stuff by the heaping spoonful; I’ve never seen a person be so into honey. Couple that with Scott, a salt hobbyist with a preference for the fancy stuff, and this place houses the perfect audience (and ingredients) for this salty-sweet goodness. I was expecting a seriously gooey filling, but it bakes up like a crunchier custard with a deep honey flavor. The only thing we were missing was whipped cream!

Mood lighting.

If you’re interested in reading more about the sisters behind this recipe and the pie shop, give a gander to this interview that Emily did with them, and then go make the pie. Stay safe, y'all. The goats and I are thinking of you.

Salty Honey Pie

Adapted from Melissa and Emily Elsen, via Nothing-in-the-House

The original recipe calls for prebaking the crust, but we were all out of foil and parchment paper at the time, so I skipped that step as did Emily. It worked out great!

For Filling

1/2 cup (8 tablespoons) butter, melted

3/4 cup granulated sugar

2 tablespoons cornmeal

1/4 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt

3/4 cup good-quality honey

2 teaspoon white vinegar

1 tsp vanilla paste (I used 1 teaspoon vanilla extract instead)

3 eggs, whisked to blend

1/2 cup cream

1 to 2 tablespoons flaky sea salt for finishing (pink Himalayan!)

1.  Roll out pie dough (recipe below!) to a 12-inch circle and line a nine-inch pie plate with it. Roll edges under, crimp as you please, and toss it in the freezer while you ready the filling.

2.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a medium bowl, whisk the melted butter with the sugar, salt, and cornmeal to make a thick paste. Add the honey, vinegar, and vanilla. Whisk in the eggs, then add the cream and blend.

3.  Pour the filling into the frozen pie shell and bake at 350 degrees F for 45 to 60 minutes; rotate pie halfway through baking. The filling will puff up, and it should be wobbly in the middle and firm around the edges. Cool pie for at least an hour (I’d actually recommend longer; this pie was best at room temperature), and finish with a layer of sea salt; I found that one tablespoon was about right. Slice and serve with freshly whipped cream!

Pie Dough

By way of Apt. 2B Baking Co. and Brandi Henderson

Makes enough for two, but you’ll only need one for this recipe. Feel free to substitute in your favorite crust recipe instead!

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 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.

Honey-Caramel Peach Pie

Served alongside homemade buterscotch pudding

This is the biggest jerk post, what with it being October first and all. Especially if you’re into eating seasonally and locally, you’re probably hungrily eyeing those peaches you canned in August instead of considering fresh peach pie. We’ll have crummy peaches all autumn here in DC, but if you think about it, well, I am from California, which means I can eat California peaches all year long with diplomatic immunity to food-consciousness since those peaches are still local to my upbringing. That’s how it works, right?

Cold, cold butter and hand-mixing with forks are the tricks to crusts that flake like biscuits

Well, good, because this is the most stupendous peach pie I have ever had the absolute pleasure of baking and inhaling. Oh yes. We even used the crummiest possible peaches from Maine—they were mealy, bruised, and either hard as rocks or smooshy soft—but the baking neutralized the unsavory textures and the honey cloaked the bitter bits in a thick, sweet caramel layer. Summer? Who needs summer when you can lie to yourself about being food-conscious year-round!

Honey-Caramel Peach Pie
Adapted from Gourmet, which is also where I obtained that excellent butterscotch pudding recipe

3 lbs. ripe peaches
2 tablespoons corn starch
1 1/2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup + 1 tablespoon granulated sugar, divided
1/4 cup mild honey
2 tablespoons water
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
All-butter pastry dough
1 tablespoon whole milk

1. Cut an X in bottom of each peach, then blanch peaches in batches in boiling water for 15 seconds. Transfer with a slotted spoon to an ice bath to stop cooking. Peel peaches and cut into 1-inch-thick wedges.

2. Toss peaches well with cornstarch, flour, lemon juice, cinnamon, and salt in a large bowl.

Put a foil-lined large baking sheet in lower third of oven and preheat oven to 425°F.

3. Bring 1/2 cup sugar, honey, and water to a boil in a 1 1/2- to 2-quart heavy saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar has dissolved, then wash down any sugar crystals from side of pan with a pastry brush dipped in cold water. Boil without stirring, swirling pan occasionally so caramel colors evenly, until dark amber, about five minutes.

4. Remove from heat and add butter, swirling pan until butter is melted. Pour over fruit and toss (caramel will harden slightly but will melt in oven).

5. Roll out 1 piece of dough (keep remaining piece chilled) into a 13-inch round on a lightly floured surface with a lightly floured rolling pin. Fit into a 9-inch pie plate. Trim excess dough, leaving a 1/2-inch overhang. Chill shell while rolling out remaining dough.

Roll out remaining piece of dough into an 11-inch round on a lightly floured surface with a lightly floured rolling pin.

6. Transfer filling to pie shell, mounding it. Cover pie with pastry round. Trim with kitchen shears, leaving a 1/2-inch overhang. Press edges together, then crimp decoratively. Brush top all over with some of milk, then sprinkle with remaining tablespoon sugar. Cut steam vents in top crust with a paring knife, and use your extra crust to cut out shapes for your loved one (e.g. ponies for Dad, hearts for Joey).

7. Bake pie on hot foil-lined sheet for 20 minutes, then reduce oven temperature to 375°F. Continue to bake until crust is golden-brown and filling is bubbling, about 50 minutes more. Cool pie to room temperature, three to four hours, or eat it 15 minutes later like we did.