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).

Rhubarb Ginger Jammers from Dorie Greenspan

I like stuff that can endure a lot of mileage: the old-man boots that never leave my feet, the Bundt pans piled up in my kitchen, my relationship with my best friend, not my stupid ol’ smartphone (arguably the newest thing I own, let it be noted). These are all trusty things, sure, but they’re also versatile things that have been reliable and awesome forever and always through all sorts of stresses and contexts—they stand up over time. And this might not be revelatory, but that’s a quality I seek in most of what I consume, from clothes and books to podcasts and recipes. Especially recipes. Don’t get me wrong: I’m like a mockingbird to the shine of labor-intensive, one-time-only baking—birthday cakes are one of my favorite things to create, after all—but it’s the dependable, blank-canvass baked goods toward which I gravitate.

Which brings me, obviously, to these cookies. Dorie Greenspan calls them Jammers, and they’re part of her menu at Beurre and Sel, one of the many gluttonous reasons why a trip to New York is in order. I’ve made them before with apricot preserves and cardamom, with blueberry lemon verbena jam, and I’ll surely make them again with whatever summer throws my way. Round out the streusel with ground nuts, oats, or cornmeal, work some zest into the dough, swap in bourbon for the vanilla extract, brown the butter for either the cookie or the topping: this recipe can traipse through all sorts of treatments and will live up to its excellence each time. The version here is made with some more of that rhubarb ginger jam from last week’s brioche doughnut experience, and we polished off a solid 40 in a shameful two days. They were particularly delicious mid-afternoon on day two, with an iced creamy coffee and a sunny porch break. So use whatever sort of jam you’ve got on hand, or cook up a quick, thick compote if you’re so inclined, and mix it up with the toppings too—ground pistachios, buckwheat streusel, almond extract. You’ve got a lifetime of miles to look forward to with these babies, so hop to it!

Rhubarb Ginger Jammers

Recipe adapted from Dorie Greenspan, via Bon Appétit

Cookie Dough

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup powdered sugar, sifted

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt

2 large egg yolks, room temperature

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

2 cups all-purpose flour

Streusel and Filling

3/4 cup all-purpose flour

1/3 cup granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt

5 1/2 tablespoons chilled unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

3/4 cup thick jam or compote, such as rhubarb ginger (recipe below)

1.  Using an electric mixer at medium speed, beat butter in a large bowl until smooth and creamy, about three minutes. Add both sugars and salt; beat until well blended, about one minute. Reduce speed to low; beat in egg yolks and vanilla. Add flour and mix just to combine. Dough will be soft and slightly sticky.

2.  Divide dough in half. Place each half between sheets of parchment or waxed paper. Flatten dough into disks. Working with one disk at a time, roll out dough, occasionally lifting paper on both sides for easy rolling, until 1/4 inches thick. Freeze dough in paper until firm, at least two hours. Do ahead: Dough can be made two days ahead. Cover and keep frozen.

3.  Meanwhile, make the streusel. Mix flour, sugar, and salt in a small mixing bowl. Using your fingertips, rub butter and vanilla into dry ingredients until no large lumps remain and butter is well incorporated. Streusel will be sandy and hold its shape when pressed between your fingers. Cover and chill. Do ahead: Streusel can be made two days ahead. Keep chilled.

4.  Arrange a rack in middle of oven; preheat to 350 degrees F. Using two-inch cookie cutter, cut out rounds of frozen dough from freezer. Place rounds in bottom of muffin cups and gently pat to flatten. Continue cutting frozen dough into rounds; gather scraps and repeat process of rolling out and cutting to make 34 rounds (I got more than 40). Cover muffin tins with foil and chill in freezer until dough is firm, about 30 minutes or up to two days.

5.  Spoon about one teaspoon jam into the center of each round of dough. Using your fingers or a small spoon, sprinkle one to 1.5 tablespoons streusel around edges of each cookie, trying not to get any in the jam.

6.  Bake cookies, in batches if needed, until sides and streusel are golden, 20-22 minutes. Let cool in tins for 15 minutes. Run a small knife around edges of muffin cups; gently remove cookies and let cool completely on a wire rack. Store in airtight container at room temperature; will keep crisped texture for about three days. 

Rhubarb + Ginger Jam

Makes about a pint

1 pound rhubarb stalks (pink if you got ‘em)

1 to 1 1/4 cups granulated sugar

2-inch knob of ginger, peeled and grated (about two heaping tablespoons)

Zest and juice of half a lemon

1. Trim the rhubarb and chop it into one-inch pieces. In a medium bowl, toss rhubarb with the lesser amount of sugar, grated ginger, and lemon juice and zest. Let sit for at least two hours, stirring two or three times, until rhubarb has let off its juices; you can also cover and let the rhubarb do its thing in the fridge overnight. Ultimately, the mixture should get really juicy.

2. Pour the rhubarb mixture and juices into a medium saucepan. Bring to boil to and stir to dissolve the sugar, then allow to rapid-boil for about 15 minutes; the stalks will completely break down and the mixture will thicken up quite a bit. Keep an eye on it though so as not to burn. Taste, and if you prefer a slightly sweeter jam, add the remaining quarter-cup sugar and stir to dissolve. Remove jam from heat and allow to cool—it will thicken as it does—or fill sterilized jars and process accordingly. We just filled one big ol’ jar and are keeping it in the fridge instead of storing.

Cinnamon and Sugar Brioche Doughnuts + Rhubarb Ginger Jam

On the subject of the Down East breakfast, Maine poet and professor Robert P. T. Coffin wrote in 1949 that “weather, mother of good poetry, is also mother of good breakfasts.” The bitter cold necessitated the bulletproof morning meals that helped farmers and fishermen sustain themselves through the day so that they never “blew away.” It was a six- or seven-part spread, overwhelmed by chunks of salt pork and sandwiched by red-hot, scalding tea—“the whisky of the north”—that put “whiskers on the soles of your feet.” A proper breakfast must, he repeated, “stay put and generate heat. It must have rich, fattened, and oiled doughnuts to it, heavy pies, and pancakes, to keep the stomach busy, to keep the blood away from a man’s brain, where it can only do mischief, to keep his blood in his arms and thighs where a good woodchopper’s or smelt-fisherman’s blood belongs...The Maine breakfast is a hefty meal for hefty he-men.”*

Pronoun troubles aside, Coffin was right: big, rib-sticking breakfasts are a staple up here. Even at dawn, everything tastes better with links of maple sausage on the side, and a hunk of toast with butter-fried eggs is never far behind. We don't wrap our breakfasts in seven flapjacks, eat sinewy, jellied hog’s-head cheese, or chase the meal with five quarters of sweet pie, as Coffin contends that strong Maine farmers do, but we do cook up great big pans of hash browns, drink steins of bitter black coffee, and fry handfuls of “fattened” doughnuts rather often. The weather is responsible? Then so be it. Whether you're Down East or not, don’t miss out on either this jam or these doughnuts. The jam, now one of my favorites ever made or eaten—what genius first put ginger with rhubarb anyway!?—is a cheery complement to these ludicrously buttery but barely sweetened brioche doughnuts. I shook them in cinnamon and sugar to add an extra element of warmth, but plain old-fashioned or a dusting of cardamom wouldn’t be at all out of place. We ended up having them with sausage, granola, and yogurt, so not quite Coffin’s lumberjack and lobsterman prescription, but certainly a mighty-fine and rightly affirming way to start the day. And a quick note to thank everyone for the kind feedback on last week’s baby goat midwife post! I've sneaked in a few photos of them enjoying their own Down East breakfast below. Brioche Doughnuts Adapted from Karen DeMasco, The Craft of Baking Makes about 12 doughnuts and 20 holes Doughnuts, previously: Another Karen DeMasco classic. This is the most buttery doughnut dough I've ever used, and it has a super excellent flavor. To make the frying process as smooth as can be, have your cooking station set up before you fry: timer, paper towels, cinnamon-sugar bowl, and serving tray. 2 1/2 cups high-gluten bread flour 1/4 cup granulated sugar 1 tablespoon Kosher salt (I used Diamond; use less if using Morton) 2 1/4 teaspoons (1/4 ounce or 1 packet) active dry yeast 6 large eggs 3 sticks (12 ounces) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into one-inch pieces Peanut oil for frying 1/2 cup granulated sugar + 1 teaspoon cinnamon + pinch salt for tossing, optional 1. Sift flour, sugar, and salt into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook attachment. Mix a few times to blend. 2. Set a saucepan of water to boil on the stove. In a heat-proof bowl, whisk the six eggs with the yeast, and place over the boiling water, whisking continuously for about a minute, or until the eggs are just warm to the touch. Add the egg-yeast mixture to the flour bowl, and mix on medium for about four minutes, until the mixture starts to resemble more of a dough. 3. With the mixer still running, add the pieces of butter quickly, but one at a time, then allow machine to run until no visible pieces of butter remain. (This took our old-ish mixer about eight minutes.) Turn dough out onto a lightly floured counter, and knead for about five minutes, until dough is tighter. A word of caution that the dough will be very sticky and loose. Try to resist the temptation to add more flour. 4. Place dough in a clean, well-oiled bowl, cover with plastic or a damp dishtowel and allow to rise for two hours. Fold the dough over itself, cover again, and allow to rise in the fridge at least six hours or overnight. 5. The next morning, toss dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and roll into a rectangle about three-fourths of an inch thick. Using a three-inch round and one-inch center, cut doughnuts out of the dough; cut holes out of remaining dough, and do not reroll scraps. Place cut doughnuts on cookie sheet or cutting board lined with parchment, cover, and allow to puff up over the next 30 minutes. 6. In a wide, shallow pan, heat peanut oil to 350 degrees F; do your best to maintain this oil temperature throughout. Cook one test doughnut about 1.5 minutes per side, then drain on paper towels. Cut it open to ensure the center is cooked, and adjust your fry time accordingly; it works well to fry three at a time. Doughnut holes take about a minute to cook through; it worked fine to fry five or six at a time. Blot the doughnuts and toss in the cinnamon-sugar mixture while they're still warm. Serve with a few spoonfuls of rhubarb-ginger jam. Doughnuts are best the morning they’re made! Rhubarb + Ginger Jam Makes about a pint Good on toast, great in yogurt, mighty-fine served alongside a doughnut. What's not to love?! 1 pound rhubarb stalks (pink if you got ‘em) 1 to 1 1/4 cups granulated sugar 2-inch knob of ginger, peeled and grated (about two heaping tablespoons) Zest and juice of half a lemon 1. Trim the rhubarb and chop it into one-inch pieces. In a medium bowl, toss rhubarb with the lesser amount of sugar, grated ginger, and lemon juice and zest. Let sit for at least two hours, stirring two or three times, until rhubarb has let off its juices; you can also cover and let the rhubarb do its thing in the fridge overnight. Ultimately, the mixture should get really juicy. 2. Pour the rhubarb mixture and juices into a medium saucepan. Bring to boil to and stir to dissolve the sugar, then allow to rapid-boil for about 15 minutes; the stalks will completely break down and the mixture will thicken up quite a bit. Keep an eye on it though so as not to burn. Taste, and if you prefer a slightly sweeter jam, add the remaining quarter-cup sugar and stir to dissolve. Remove jam from heat and allow to cool—it will thicken as it does—or fill sterilized jars and process accordingly. We just filled one big ol’ jar and are keeping it in the fridge instead of storing. *Robert P. Coffin, "Down East Breakfast," in Endless Feasts, ed. Ruth Reichl (New York: Condé Nast Publications Inc., 2002), 123–129.

Strawberry Rhubarb Pie (Revised)

It’s practically summertime, baby. I know because there was a strawberry rhubarb pie in my life last week and because I’m headed to Maine today to splash in the lake, read books in the hammock, play Yahtzee with Joey, and obliterate my parents at Chinese checkers over lobster rolls and cola: two sure signs that the season of swimming holes and cookouts is well on its way. Even though the Internet has been ablaze with tales of rhubarb for weeks if not months now, I only just got my hands on some pieplant (check it!) to make the real-deal pie mascot of early summer. Like I mentioned last week, the food tales from ye all bloggers had me really ramped up to make fool or custard or curd, but the market strawberries and my own seasonal rituals were just too persuasive to take on anything but a classic.

And although it’s a pie that I reprise every year, it’s been awhile since I updated it on this here blog. Kind of fun to see the other strawberry rhubarb pie recipe, but it’s from way back when I was using vegetable shortening in my pie crusts and taking terrible photos (not that this post’s is all that much better). This pie recipe and my blog have both grown up some since then, and this latest iteration of the pie eliminated the cinnamon, ignored vanilla, forwent the lemon, and settled for a bit of orange and a more rhubarb-heavy fruit ratio. Classic pie, classic start to summer: cheers to a long, beautiful weekend spent with good friends, family, food, and hopefully your body partially submerged in a body of water somewhere.

All-Butter Pastry Dough

Makes enough for two crusts

2 sticks unsalted butter, very cold
1 cup ice water, divided
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt

1.  Start by cubing your butter into small, half-inch pieces.  Put these in the freezer while you ready the rest of the ingredients.  Measure one cup of water, add some ice cubes and set aside to chill.

2.  I use a food processor for my dough, but was for a long time making very nice crusts with a pastry blender--which are easier to control. Do your thang. Add all of your dry ingredients to the bowl of the processor, and pulse once or twice to blend the mixture. Sprinkle the cubes of butter over the top, and blend in pulses about 15 times, or until some pieces of butter are the size of hazelnuts, and the rest resembles oatmeal.

3.  Dump the mixture into a large, shallow bowl, and drizzle just a half-cup of the ice water (minus the cubes) over the top.  Using a rubber spatula, cut the moisture quickly into the dough, gathering it together as you do. If the dough is too dry, add more water 1 tablespoon at a time until the dough comes together in a shaggy mess. (I never use more than two or three additional tablespoons of water, and generally keep it to a half-cup anyway, but this all depends on the moisture and heat in your kitchen!) Knead the dough gently a few times to make it come together more, divide into two equal pieces, and wrap in plastic wrap.  Flatten into disks about five inches in diameter, and store in the fridge for at least an hour, preferably longer.

Pie Filling
4 cups (about 1.5 pounds) rhubarb chopped into one-inch pieces if thick, or 1½-inch pieces if thin
3 cups strawberries (about 1 pound), hulled and halved
½ cup golden brown sugar
½ cup granulated sugar
¼ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
¼ cup quick-cooking tapioca pearls
1 tablespoon fresh orange juice
1 egg
1 tablespoon large-grain sugar for sprinkling

1.  Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. On a well-floured surface, roll out one pie dough to a 13-inch circle. Gently fold into quarters to transfer to and unfold in a 10-inch pie plate. Place pie plate in the fridge while you assemble the filling.

2.  In a large bowl, gently mix fruit with the sugars, salt, tapioca, and orange juice. Spoon the filling into your bottom pie crust, mounding just a bit in the center, and put back into fridge to keep the crust from softening while you roll out and prepare the top crust.

3.  On a well-floured surface, roll out top crust to a 13-inch circle. For a lattice-top pie, or checkerboard as Joey calls it, cut the dough into strips that are ¾-inch to one inch wide. I prefer fat strips, so I cut mine into 11 one-inch strips. I am a visual learner and always have to look at photos when I make lattice-top pies (no shame!), so check this out for a picture tutorial. Place six parallel strips of crust cross your pie, leaving just a smidgen of space between each. Fold every other strip back on itself, and place one strip of crust perpendicular to these guys, meeting the strips where they fold. Unfold the folded strips. Now fold back the parallel strips that are underneath the perpendicular strip and fold them back, place another perpendicular strip across, unfold the folded strips, and repeat until your pie is latticed! Okay, again, you might want to see here for that photo tutorial.

4. Trim ends of dough strips if excessively long, and fold strip ends and bottom-crust overhang under. Fold in edges with your fingers or crimp with a fork to seal. Lightly beat egg in a small bowl, brush crust all over with the egg wash, and sprinkle the large-grain sugar on top. Put pie plate on top of a cookie sheet lined with foil, and bake in oven for 20 minutes. Then, reduce oven temperature to 350, and continue baking until crust is very golden and the filling is bubbly and thickened, another 35 to 45 minutes. Transfer pie to rack and cool completely, about two hours.

Raspberry Rhubarb Crostata

When I was approximately seven, my grandmother's tipsy humor had us in stitches when she took a jab at her sister (not present) during a game of Balderdash. The word in question sounded something like “pompelsnell,” and grandma joked that it was “the sound you make after eating Eloise’s rhubarb cobbler.” She was not wrong! This is both my first memory of snark and my first memory of rhubarb, which I seem to recall being stewed without sugar and slumping under a deflated layer of cooked oatmeal.* I have a friend now who has never had rhubarb because it was verboten at his dinner table as his grandfather had grown up in orphanage eating rhubarb pie every day, and another friend who avoids it because her parents used to boil rhubarb (without sugar!) and serve it alongside rutabagas -- so very World War II. I cannot imagine a more un-Tanglewood way to spend a meal. 

People go on about rhubarb being tart and sassy, but until recently, I really wouldn’t have known because my tendency was to sweeten the shit out of it, add strawberries, and bake it inside of buttery pastry dough. It is so good that way, but then my sister’s main dude made her a rhubarb-only birthday pie a couple of weeks ago -- the first pie he has ever made! -- and it was so tasty and new. Maybe Eloise was on the right track. I’m not quite interested in going bare-bones with the ‘barb yet, but having it on its own helped me divorce it from strawberries -- and right on time because I was growing bored of it that way and thinking I would just forget about rhubarb this season. But this tart is so good, and it will revive your rhubarb pie repertoire for certain. And if you’re looking for a spin on rhubarb that isn’t at all “pompelsnell,” well you should start right here. Now quick, quick! Get some rhubarb before it disappears until next season.

Raspberry Rhubarb Crostata

Spotted on Lottie + Doof, adapted from Karen Demasco in Bon Appetit

The only major change I made to this was swapping out the cornstarch in favor of tapioca starch. I once read that some people detect a gritty mouth feel when eating filling made with cornstarch. This has never been a problem for me, but

Crust

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour 

1/2 cup whole-wheat flour 

1 1/2 tablespoons sugar 

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cubed 

1 large egg

1 tablespoon whole milk

Filling

1/4 cup tapioca starch
4 cups 1/2″-thick slices rhubarb (about 1 1/4 lb.)
6 oz. fresh raspberries
2/3 cup sugar
1 large egg, beaten
Raw sugar
Sweetened whipped cream or vanilla ice cream (for serving)

1.  For crust:  Pulse flours, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a food processor to blend. Drop cubed butter over the top, and pulse a few times until butter is the size of peas. In a separate bowl, whisk milk and egg to combine, then pulse into the flour-butter mixture until it creates moist crumbs. Dump mixture into a shallow bowl, and quickly press into a ball with your hands; flatten into a thick disk. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 1 1/2 hours and up to two days. 

2.  For filling:  Mix tapioca starch and 3 tablespoons water in a small bowl to dissolve; set aside. Combine rhubarb, raspberries, and sugar in a large, heavy saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring often, until sugar is dissolved and fruit starts releasing its juices, about four minutes. Stir in tapioca mixture and bring to a boil; rhubarb slices will still be in tact. Transfer to a bowl and chill filling until cool, about 30 minutes.

3.  For crostata:  Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Roll out dough on floured parchment to a 12-inch diameter; brush with beaten egg. Mound filling in the center, then spread out evenly, leaving a 1 1/2-inch border. Gently fold edges of dough over filling, pleating as needed; brush border with egg and sprinkle with raw sugar. Slide parchment paper onto a large rimmed baking sheet and bake until crust is golden brown, about 45 minutes. You might choose to line pan with aluminum foil as well to catch seeping juices. Transfer crostata to a baking rack, and serve with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream if so desired. Will keep covered for a few days, but truly is best eaten the day of or from the fridge.

* Well, my mom, sister, and I all have a different memory about this night. Sister insists that it was a mincemeat pie and that Eloise made them all the time. My mother is certain that it was pumpkin pie. They both say that it was Thanksgiving, which means that my memory of it being rhubarb is likely wrong, and my memory of it being cobbler even more so, but still! The point is that this crostata will never cause anyone to ridicule you during Balderdash.