Jiggly Bits

Back in the day (which, thanks to my non-native English speaking friend who once stopped me in mid-conversation to ask why I always talk about "bacon days", is now and forever referred to as such) I worked in the produce department at our local grocery store.  My shifts were spent sweeping up onion skins, promising customers that we honestly weren't hiding more tomatoes in storage and keeping my eye on the apples (and removing the many with toddler sized bite marks).  My best friend (The Other Hannah) worked in the bakery, conveniently located at the far end of the produce aisle (which wasn't very far, because the store was very small).  When she wasn't busy squeezing fillings into danish or spraying imitation kirsch on black forest cakes, she'd wander in to my section to see what was new and good.

Apart from the typical fresh fruits and vegetables, our produce department sometimes stocked specialty items, often some sort of confectionery, and, for a long while, we two Hannahs debated whether sharing the cost of some Aplets & Cotlets (apparently a Pacific Northwest delicacy) would merit each of us chipping in thirty minutes of wage.  The packaging promised tidbits of apples or apricots and pieces of walnuts that were magically suspended in a glistening gel candy then dredged in a powdery sugar coat.  They were totally intriguing - in a not exactly appetizing kind of way.  But still...

apples, walnuts, powdered sugar

This memory resurfaced last week as I passed by the dining room table, our fruit basket filled with apples aside an overflowing bowl of mixed nuts.  Out of sheer curiosity I returned to my laptop, Googling "Aplets" to see if they were still in existence (they are) and, to my surprise (or perhaps my demise), I also found an online recipe.  Figuring that Aplets might be a possible way to integrate a tiny taste of home into my Christmas treat baskets this year, I read through the ingredients in this posted version and, with great excitement, confirmed that I had everything on hand that I'd need to make them.  Then I got cracking...

And when I say I got cracking, I should eliminate your notion that I ran to the kitchen and whipped up a fantastic batch in the 25 minute prep time as listed.  No, when I say I got cracking, I mean I got cracking; sack of walnuts in one hand, nutcracker in the other, I extracted and chopped until I reached one cup of nuts.

cracked walnut

one cup of hand cracked walnuts

The next morning, while sipping my first cup of coffee, I re-read the recipe, consciously aware of the footnote suggesting that lemon juice, of which I have an endless supply, would be a suitable substitute for rose water, of which I have none.  My half-caffeinated brain argued otherwise. Replace roses with lemons?  While lemons and roses are both deliciously aromatic and both have quite distinct flavours, they are so far from being the same that I just wasn't buying the trade.  And so, before coffee number two, I was Googling "how to make rose water".

fresh cut red rose

I know what you're thinking.  Oh my-lanta!  She made her own rose water!  Yes, and I could let you go on believing that I'm some culinary chemist wizard, but instead I'll tell you the truth.  I learned, through a terrific tutorial at We Like Making Our Own Stuff, a blog with straight forward instructions and a helpful pictorial, that making rose water is a cinch.  Using six basic items (a pot, water, roses, ice, a bowl and a rock - it doesn't get much simpler than that), and with my lovely assistant, "honey" (to keep the lid from getting pushed off the pot), I distilled myself a batch.

pot with inverted lid, ice pack and my lovely assistant, "honey"

Now that I had my rose water, I was ready to go nuts with my Aplets.  I peeled my apples, simmered and pureed them, and continued to follow the recipe as instructed.  When all was said and done, I had a shimmering pan full of apple-walnutty goodness; I couldn't wait for it to set.

I waited...

And I waited...

And I waited some more.

Humidity and gelatin are not good playmates.

pan of apple walnutty goodness

The next day (and more than 24 hours after I'd poured my jelly to set), I decided that whatever will be, will be.  With a sharp, oiled knife I began to slice and carefully lifted the long strips of confection out of the pan.  I chopped each strip in to bite sized squares and started to roll them in sugar.

Here's when things got sticky.

After the first few pieces were rolled, they immediately soaked up the sugar.  Observing my syrupy mess of squares, I opted to leave them to set for yet another day.  Perhaps they'd firm up, or dry out... or something?  I placed them gently on a paper towel lined tray, covered them with a mesh dome and left them alone 'til tomorrow.  

sugar coating:  round one

One week (yep, you heard me) and one roll of paper towel later, my Aplets were ready (in other words, I was sick of seeing that tray).  My patience had prevailed.  They had (sort of) firmed up.  As I finally began to roll them in sugar, I rewarded my own perseverance by plucking a finished-as-it's-ever-going-to-get candy from the cup and popping it in my mouth.

And I was instantly reminded of the ending to the story of us coveting those cotlets 'bacon days' at the store.  We did end up buying them.  We did end up eating them.  I did not end up liking them at all.  And why would I? Jell-O makes me gag.  Molded salads scare me.  I obviously don't. like. gelatinous. foods.  Double U Tee Eff was I thinking? ...

aplets

In all fairness, there are a plethora of people who adore Aplets & Cotlets and my personal distaste should not reflect poorly on the original product as sold.  If jiggly bits are your thing, the recipe I used is probably even adequately delightful;  but, defeated by humidity and (still!) dissolving sugar, I just could not bring myself to gift these away.  Suddenly, like the eight year old me who once begged my mom for a can of TaB, even as she insisted I wouldn't like it, and only because the can was pink, I was stuck with a tray of nutty applish jelly goo squares that, one cup of hand cracked nuts and a small bottle of homemade rose water later, I couldn't let go to waste and would need to choke back on my own.  Ugh.

At least I learned how to make rose water.  I'll be using the rest in our New Year's Eve champagne.

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Sad Apples

Last week I came down with a serious case of sad apples and, aware that the symptoms of shriveling skin and spreading soft spots would only increase if ignored, I needed a treatment - fast.  Unfortunately, two flats of applesauce are already stored in our basement (not exactly unfortunate; it is excellent applesauce, hence the two flats).  Wanting to avoid traditional medicine, I scoured the net for alternative therapy.  My attempt was in vain.  With approximately 3.14 usable apples, naturally the answer was pie.

sad apples

Let's just preface by saying (again, because I am certain I have said it before) that I am not a pastry chef.  I'll go one step farther and admit that my fear of insulting the crust goddesses in my life (and yes, I'm lucky to have a few) makes me shy away from the pie tin (unless it's full of pie, then I grab a fork). Like "look both ways before crossing the street" and "don't take what isn't yours", "pie crust isn't easy" is a rule that was deeply ingrained at an early age.  Alas, since this isn't a matter of life and death (except for the apples), and it isn't illegal (though maybe it should be), I'll use my best judgement and downgrade the rule to a guideline.  Besides, I'm old enough to know now that pie crust is actually pretty easy; it's good pie crust that eludes.

I found a lovely recipe at Food & Wine Magazine for a good sounding apple tart; ideal for people like me who don't actually own a pie tin (did I forget to mention?) The recipe seemed like it could be the cure, specifically calling for golden delicious apples (exactly what I had...when does that ever happen?) and, most importantly, was not for just any old apple tart; it was for RUSTIC apple tart.  Rustic I can do.

And you can too...

peeling apples

You'll need 4 golden delicious apples (though there are a zillion different types of apples that you could use instead, I'm sure).  Peel them (mine were so much happier once I got them out of their skins), halve them, core them and slice them (not paper thin, but not so chunky they'll never cook).  Compost your compostables if possible (yay garden!)

compostables

Now comes the hard part, which won't be so hard if you pay attention to the important parts.  The pie crust ingredients are, in fact, very simple:  1 1/2 cups of flour, a pinch of salt, 6 oz cold butter (for the love of pie, people, please use real butter) and 1/3 cup of ice water.  If I had a siren I would sound it now.  ICE WATER.

Here is the (sort of) science behind the secret of successful pastry.  As the fat (butter) increases in temperature, it releases its water content.  When flour gets wet, it develops protein strands (gluten).  While you do need a small amount of liquid to form the dough, too much wet will result in too much gluten.  Gluten is extremely elastic and makes your dough hard to roll, become stretched when you do, and shrink when it's baked.  All of this adds up to the reason why four out of five dentists¹ claim that gluten is the leading cause of tough pastry (and we've been trusting those dentists for years).   Please keep your fat from sweating; use ice water and chilled butter.

In the actual recipe, we are instructed to pulse the ingredients in a food processor for various lengths of time and intervals blah blah blah.  That didn't sound very rustic to me (and I don't own a food processer) so I substituted my hands and two knives (much easier to wash, if you ask me... which you didn't, but I'm just saying...) I mixed the flour and salt really well, then chopped the cold butter into small cubes (quickly so it didn't warm up) and cut it in to the salted flour until it resembled little peas (but not green).  The food processor people should be able to do this in about five seconds.  It took me about a minute. Next, I sprinkled my ice water (just the water, not the ice) over the pea-ish buttery salted flour and quickly mixed it with my fingertips (after holding a large block of ice to lower the body heat factor - true story) until it was just moistened, then turned it onto my lightly floured rolling board, gathered it all together into a ball and kneaded (kneaded?  kned?) it just a few times until I had a genuine solid mass of (still flaky) dough. 

Ideally (back to the science end of things) you would put this dough ball in the refrigerator for the night but, since my main concern was making sad apples happy and not making perfect pie crust, I sacrificed and kept on going.  Besides, who decides today that they'll feel like pie tomorrow?  If you are with me on team instant gratification, please continue.  If not, put your dough in the fridge, wash your food processor, and continue below tomorrow.

rolled dough

Okay.  On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough into a large amoeba shaped figure about 1/4 inch thick.  No, of course Food & Wine did not suggest an amoeba shape, but I'm hanging on hard to rustic (you are welcome to try it their way with a 16 - 17" round).  Regardless of what shape you choose (and it may not actually be a choice - sometimes you just get what you get), roll the whole flat around the rolling pin, then unroll it over a large, unrimmed baking pan that you've lined with parchment paper.  I know that those of you who have been following me for awhile will remember that my most reliable oven for baking does not allow room for anything large, so I just used the bottom of a 9" springform pan and proved another fine example of 'work with what you've got'.

sugar floured dough on parchment

Next, combine 2 tablespoons of flour with 1 teaspoon of sugar and sprinkle it over the dough. Arrange the sliced apples on top in an overlapping fashion.  Leave 3-ish inches of border that you will fold over them when you are done.  This will all rely on using your own judgement based on your pan choice and dough shape - but I promise, you can do it.  Rustic.

apples assembled

orderly fashion

Once your apples are all tucked in with dough edges all around, brush them (the apples) with 2 tablespoons of melted butter, then sprinkle with 1 1/2 tablespoons of sugar.  I also gave mine a few uncalled for shakes of cinnamon (I know, I'm such a rebel).  After patting yourself on the back with your floury hands, put the whole thing in the fridge to chill while you wait for your oven to heat to 400 F / 205 C. Pop that beauty in the oven and set your timer for an hour.

rustic apple tart

Since we've got an hour to kill, I'll tell you about the last time I baked rustic apple anything.  When I was about 12, we had an apple tree.  We also had a wood stove with an oven.  One day my best friend (The Other Hannah) and I decided it would be a lovely idea to bake homemade pie.  We picked all of the apples and lit a nice fire in the stove.  We didn't know anything about chilled butter or ice water back then, but we mixed and rolled and assembled and baked at whatever temperature the fire gave us. We were extremely proud of ourselves and the (big) trouble we found ourselves in for lighting the wood stove when nobody was home was well worth our efforts (sorry Mom and Dad).  It was truly the best. pie. ever.  That's rustic!  Note:  If you are reading this and happen to be at the age of 'don't light  fires without parental supervision' please do not attempt to try this at home.

Check on your pie.  When your crust is golden and your apples are tender, remove it from the oven and brush the apples with 2 tablespoons of melted apricot preserves.  If you don't have any apricot preserves, try pineapple.  If you don't have any of that, skip it.  I believe it only serves the purpose to make it shiny and beautiful (but perhaps I am wrong.. it happens).  Do NOT brush it with 2 tablespoons of melted berry preserves, which is all I had.  It won't ruin the taste, but it will look like you had a serious knife accident and bled all over your pretty tart. Anyway, brush it or don't, then slide the parchment paper (and pie) on to a wire rack (or four wide mouthed tea cups if you lack one like me) to let the tart cool slightly before serving.

tea time

That's it.  We're done!  Aside from the red preserves mishap, my apple tart was a hit.  The pastry was flaky and the filling was tasty.  My apples were happy.  Rustic works.  And pie IS the answer (to everything).

flaky pastry

¹No dentists were actually surveyed with regards to the properties of gluten for the purpose of this article.

Want to see more Sad Apples?  Feast your eyes at flickr.  Want to bake this?  Cut my babble and grab the recipe for Rustic Apple Tart from Food & Wine.  Please don't forget to share... Post your own photos and stories at The Perfect Avocado on Facebook.

Drunken Applesauce

Sometimes deciding what to make for dinner is somewhat of a backwards task.  I never seem to say, "lets have chicken" and then figure out what to make with it.  No, instead it's more like, "I feel like gravy" or "sauteed mushrooms would be nice" and then build a meal from there.  This happened the other day while staring at my overabundance of apples which, unlike my disappearing banana problem, seem to magically multiply like rabbits by some unexplained (but seriously true) phenomenon.  I am certainly not complaining; I love apples and eat them almost daily - I just have no idea why that bowl never gets empty.  Anyway, as I picked through the bowl of apples looking for a prime choice to snack on, I was struck by an incredible craving for applesauce.

Because applesauce is so embarrassingly easy to make, I am actually baffled as to why anyone (including myself) bothers to buy it in cans or in jars.  Aside from easy, and even better, is the ability to tweak it specifically to your exact taste or accompanying meal by using different varieties of apples and experimenting with a countless combination of spices, juices and/or additional fruits.  Most recently I chose wine because, as with the apples, I am blessed with an ever-flowing supply.

Drunken Applesauce

First, pour a nice large glass of dry red wine.  This is (mostly) for you to enjoy, though some is for the apples, so don't drink it all in one place.  Skipping this step is not optional; if you don't have wine that is good enough to drink, this applesauce isn't for you.  So go ahead and pour; I'll wait.

peeling apples

Good.  Now that you have your glass (cheers!), select four large apples.  I'm not picky about type, but I do prefer firm, crisp apples rather than soft, mealy ones.  Peel, quarter and core the apples, then slice each quarter in to a medium saucepan.  Add about 1/3 cup (80 mL) of your wine to the apples.  It will seem like the wine disappears (actually, I meant the wine in the pot of apples, not your glass - but by all means, top yourself up.  I'll wait). Anyway, don't worry about the seeming lack of liquid; it is more than enough to make a good saucy sauce. 

Sweetness is something you will need to determine for yourself depending on the variety of apples used and what level of sweet/tart you desire.  For average's sake I will say add one level soup spoon of sugar (about 1 Tbsp); I use less (just a sprinkle of turbinado) and you may want more or maybe even none.  My advice is to aim for the lesser side of sweet - you can always increase it later.

precooked drunken applesauce

Add a bay leaf to the pot, then cover and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally.  As the apples begin to soften, mash them a bit with your spoon.  After about 20 minutes, remove the lid and the bay leaf; simmer and stir to reduce the liquid to desired consistency.  Add a small spoonful of salted butter (about 1 tsp) and stir until melted - trust me, it's worth it.  Your applesauce will be chunky (that's how I like it) but can easily be processed until smooth with a hand blender or potato masher.

after twenty minutes

Drunken Applesauce is delicious both hot and cold.  If you are like me and have planned a meal around the sauce, be sure to sneak a little bit out of the pot for later so you can try it both ways.  Better yet, double or triple the amounts of everything - just please don't forget that you've got this on the burner (or blame me for tomorrow's headache) if you also double or triple the amounts of nice large glasses of dry red wine for yourself.  Cheers!

oven crisp pork chops | drunken applesauce | green peas | garlic roasted potatoes

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Feed Back: Weird Tuna

A few weeks ago I wrote about solving my own grocery day dilemma which prompted Andrew to respond with a comment about his (self-proclaimed) weird tuna concoction involving apples and onions. I was intrigued.

half apple on cutting board

I have an odd relationship with onions.  I like them cold and raw (preferably minced very fine) or cooked, at the very least, to a completely softened state.  If they fall somewhere in between, I just can't seem to stomach them; the short cooking time for tuna melts results in warm, raw onions and this is the precise reason I avoid adding them to mine.  I decided to start with a frying pan.

sautéing onions and walnuts

As I began my onion sauté, I though about how much I love the cozy combination of apples and walnuts and wondered how they would work in this mix.  Since we were already working with weird, I crushed a few and added them to the pan.  When the onions were done to my preference point, I moved them to a mixing bowl, along with my already diced apple (skins intact for some additional colour) and a short stalk of celery that I wanted to use up.

apples, onions, walnuts, celery

This is the part where I must confess that I completely veered from the original plan and took this tuna in a whole new direction.  Already going nuts earlier, I kept building on instinct, now using the idea but making it my own.  The downside to this?  If the melts were a flop I could no longer hold Andrew responsible.  Still, I continued with confidence and worked on the dressing; a couple scoops of mayonnaise, some sea salt, fresh ground pepper, paprika, cayenne, lemon juice and a healthy dose of curry.

curried mayonnaise dressing

After stirring together the dressing, the apple mixture and one drained can of tuna, I scooped even amounts over thick beds of fresh cornbread, topping each with diced slices of cheese before popping the pan in to the oven to bake.

tuna mixture on cornbread

fresh out of the oven

The verdict?  Not weird, but wonderful.  Different flavours I would never have thought to try together, but am certainly glad I did.  Thanks to Andrew for sharing your idea; I hope you'll try my variation on your recipe.

 

curried apple tuna melts