Great for Children

When summer finally begins to turn to fall in New England and the evenings start to cool and you begin to catch the faint odor of wet leaves and wood fires, it's time for apple picking. So last Saturday morning we packed Sadie into the car and set out through the crisp, bright morning in high spirits and eager anticipation, the child chanting "apoo pickin'" from the back seat. We were something out of a Martha Stewart dream.

We had decided to forgo the simple apple farm we usually go to in favor of a place recommended by friends (who also have small children) as a place "great for kids". Was there a faint warning in the promise of hay rides? Or the barnyard animals? Heedless, we drove on towards our destination with fun.

Surely when we were greeted at the parking area by a platoon of parking attendants, equipped with safety-vests and walkie-talkies, directing us to the far end of a giant field, past the five empty school buses - surely then we should have known what were getting in to. Or when we realized we didn't have the $30 in cash for the two tiny bags we could fill to our hearts content. Or when we had to beg our way onto the hay ride because we had failed to buy tickets, in order to get to the ATM at the other end of the farm … surely then.

No, the totality of the theme-park nightmare that we had stumbled into didn't completely hit me until I encountered the jumbo-inflatable-kiddie-jump-o-rama; then I knew.

It took us nearly an hour and a half before we were actually in an orchard picking apples. By now we regretted not bringing Sadie's lunch (although she was blissfully overdosing on cider donuts) and I lacked the enthusiasm to even fill our two little bags. We simply evacuated before one of us had a melt-down (I was the closest.)

What's a parent to do? Why, make rustic apple tarts of course.

2 little Rustic Apple Tarts

This is about the simplest tart you can imagine and I've always had the impression it's pretty hard to screw up. I've kept it to just apples and spices, but any number of things can be added: raisins or currents, cranberries, raspberries, pears, quince. The only two caveats I would make are; keep the dough cold (refrigerate for at least an hour after mixing) and let the apples macerate for a good 10 minutes before assembling the tarts to let them throw some juice. The technique for the dough may seem a little screwy, but I think I got the basic idea from Jacques Pépin or Julia Child many years ago - so there.

Filling
5 medium-sized apples
3/4 cup of sugar
1 teaspoon cardamom
1 teaspoon allspice
pinch of salt
a few twists of black pepper
zest and juice of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons of calvados (or brandy)

Crust (a recipe and a half)
2 1/4 to 2 1/2 cups (240g) of all-purpose flour
10 - 11 tablespoons (160g) of unsalted butter - cubed
3 teaspoons of sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
enough ice-water to bind the dough

For the dough: combine the flour, salt and sugar in food processor and completely pulse in half the butter. Add the remaining butter and drizzle the ice-water, pulsing as little as possible to get the dough to just ball up (the objective being to keep the remaining butter from being completely processed). Quickly form into a ball and wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least an hour.

Meanwhile, peel and core the apples and cut them into whatever size dice you prefer. Zest and squeeze the lemon onto the diced apples. Add all the sugar, spices and calvados and stir it up good. Stir it periodically over the next 5 or 10 minutes. It should throw a fair amount of juice which I think helps to cook the apples later.

To assemble the tarts, cut the dough in half and roll out two crusts (approximately 1/8 to 1/4 inch thick - I like the crust a little on the thick side for these tarts) and one at a time place them on baking sheet lined with parchment. Spoon in a generous amount of apples and juice into the middle of the crust, leaving a couple of inches of dough on the edges. Then, quick before the juice runs all over the place, fold over the outer edge, crimping as you go. Brush with some of the remaining juice.

Pop into a 350˚ pre-heated oven for about 45 minutes or until the tops of the crust and apples are a nice, dark, golden-brown.

A Tangled Web

Let me say straight-off that is my first time planting cucumbers. Let me also add that any book about gardening will tell you, somewhere in the first few paragraphs, not to put plants too close or overcrowd. I read it and I know it, but I just chose to ignore it. But the story actually starts before the cucumbers. It begins with the tomatoes (see previous post). Do you think it would be advisable to put two cherry tomato plants per cage? It would not. Not unless your goal is to have your raised-beds resemble Vietnam or the Brazilian rain-forest. But after last year's pathetic and comic attempt at a vegetable garden (the fava beans never got more than 3 or 4 inches tall - I'll leave it at that) the galaxy of problems and disasters I was imagining did not include a picture of success run amok.

Enter the cucumbers - Parisian Pickling (a.k.a. gherkins or cornichons) and Japanese Climbing. Did I mention I'm not very good about reading user-manuals, instructions, etc. Oh, never mind - a quote from the Seed Savers Exchange catalogue should suffice:

Vigorous growth, strong grasping tendrils, the best variety we offer for trellises.

"Strong grasping tendrils" would be an understatement. I fully expect to see the cat, lifeless on the ground, with a cucumber vine lashed tightly around his throat. They wrap and strangle anything in a rather disturbing manner. And as for "vigorous growth", the things have obviously wound their way through the cherry tomatoes (who have returned in kind) and one particularly prodigal vine has traveled from one end of the bed to the other, leaped over the gravel path between the beds and into the yellow-pear tomatoes of the adjoining bed. I can't be certain where one thing begins or the other one ends. At this point they're locked in a futile wrestling contest, neither willing to give up or admit defeat, simply dragging each other to the ground in a giant, over-weight, over-wrought heap.

What's a gardener to do? Why, make pickles of course.





Nookie's Pickles
Adapted from Spice, by Ana Sortun

2 pounds of cucumbers
1/2 cup salt
1 cup white wine vinegar
2 bay leaves
1 tablespoon brown mustard seed.
2 tablespoons black peppercorns
1/2 cup whole garlic cloves, peeled and smashed (≈ 1 head)
1 large bunch of summer savory or fresh thyme, roughly chopped

If you have large cucumbers, slice them into thick sticks. Or better yet, use smaller cucumbers, and keep them whole.

In a large saucepan over high heat, combine 8 cups of water with the salt, vinegar, and all the herbs and spices and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

Cool the brine for 3 hours at room temperature before pouring over the pickles into sterilized jars and refrigerate for 1 week. At this point they are "half sours". You can replace half the brine with water and keep these "full sours" up to a month in the refrigerator.

Tomato Tart

Drowning in cherry tomatoes. Back in July, the plan had been to stick with smaller, more salad-friendly varieties because I wasn't sure how much time and energy I would have for stewing, jarring and preserving. Now, after what seems like weeks of tomato-basil-balsamic salads, it's time for something a little different.

There was some cream and ricotta in the 'fridge left over from the weekend and I thought there must be some kind of Provencal-style tart-thing in all that. So while that's all kicking around in the back of my head, I'm thumbing through my recently arrived copy of Breakfast, Lunch, Tea, and there it is:


Ricotta, Tomato and Thyme Tart
Adapted from Breakfast, Lunch, Tea by Rose Carrarini

cherry tomatoes (enough to fill a 10 inch tart tin)
salt and ground pepper
100g (1 cup) grated Cheddar or similar cheese
1 blind-baked tart shell (10 inch)

Cream Mixture
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup ricotta
4 eggs
pinch of salt and pepper
pinch of ground nutmeg
2 tablespoons of chopped fresh thyme

Preheat the oven to 350˚.

While you're blind-baking your tart crust (whatever recipe you like or use), spread the tomatoes out on a baking sheet lined with parchment and bake for about 45 min or until the tomatoes have shriveled and lost some of their liquid.

Scatter the cheese over the base of the tart crust and then spread the tomatoes on top of that. Pour the cream mixture as high as you can without spilling over the crust.

Transfer carefully to the oven and bake for about 30 minutes until the filling has set and is lightly golden.