Let Them Eat Pies

It all started a few weeks ago when Margy and I were watching an episode of Good Eats where Alton Brown made a big bunch of sweet and savory pies. His dough was flexible and cooperative, and he noted that the sky's the limit in terms of fillings. Margy and I looked at each other and nodded slowly. Our next project.

I don't think Alton actually used the term empanada (though he did use the term Pop-Tarts, in the final, let's-make-all-natural-junk-food segment). But Margy and I were thinking empanadas all the way. I've always loved the idea of a self-contained meal that includes edible packaging. I was thrown from my course only briefly, when those vile Hot Pockets came along and crept quickly and insidiously into the school, the home, the workplace, and I couldn't look at anything that resembled one. But that didn't last long. My love for empanadas was never in jeopardy.

So it was settled. Saturday, I shopped; Sunday, we cooked.

Margy made the dough. She came up with a recipe online, after we couldn't find Alton's. The ingredients included vinegar, which surprised us. We vetted this with my sister the baker, though, and she said adding a bit of vinegar was a common practice, even if she'd never tried it herself. I think she wanted us to check it out so she could see if it was any good. We agreed.

This dough clearly wasn't as pliable as Alton's, but his seemed unnaturally soft. On TV, it behaved almost like warm, well-worked Play-Doh. Too bad we missed the beginning of the episode, which presumably included a scientifically illuminating explanation of why his dough was so easy to work with. But Margy's no novice, so she kneaded our golden butterball into shape in due time.

Meanwhile, I made the fillings. We were churning out a hefty batch of empanadas, with a good number destined for the freezer, so it seemed three varieties would be about right. Here's what I came up with:

* Shredded chipotle pork (a riff on the braised, vaguely Mexican pork butt I made last month)
* Chorizo, potato, shrimp, and vegetable (a combination that tumbled forth from my brain and somehow just seemed right)
* Spinach and mushroom (because we need our greens!)

It was all lots of fun. And a lot of work. The chorizo and potato empanadas felt particularly inspired, though Margy couldn't resist the pork ones. I bought the chorizo at the little gourmet cheese shop in town, and it made all the difference to have a real serious Spanish sausage rather than a timidly flavored, preservative-packed supermarket brand, which I admit I've tried a few times for convenience's sake. And I'm happy to report that, much like shrimp and bacon, shrimp and chorizo make a pretty cute couple.

This was also the most colorful filling (apologies for not cutting into one for the photo), with red half-moons of chorizo, white cubes of potato, orange circles of carrot, and flashes of pink from the chopped shrimp. Actually, the three varieties were a colorful set -- even the spinach and mushroom ones refused to be upstaged by their porkier counterparts and offered deep mushroom flavor (I used fresh baby bellas as well as dried porcini and morels) along with their deep green color.

Margy felt the dough rolled out a bit thick, but if that was the case it was just slightly thicker than would have been ideal. She handled the stuffing and folding, and she quickly learned to maximize the amount of filling without overstuffing. She pressed the edges of each empanada with the tines of a fork and brushed them all with egg wash (well, only the ones we were going to eat; the others we'd freeze uncooked). I created a system of coded air holes so we could tell which kind was which: three vertical holes for spinach-mushroom, three horizontal holes for chorizo-potato, and five holes for chipotle pork.

The empanadas baked for about 25 minutes in a 375-degree oven, and many hours after we'd begun, we were finally ready to dig in. I'd still like to try Alton's dough for the sake of comparison, but Margy picked a winner. The crust was crisp and flaky -- and tasty. I'm not sure how much impact the vinegar had, but I now consider it a worthy addition to crust for savory pies. Just not for Pop-Tarts.

Margy's Pizza

I've waxed rhapsodic over Margy's pizza many times now, but it would be irresponsible of me not to commemorate each and every appearance of this magical food.

It's always the same, yet it's always different. Temperature and humidity surely play a part in the behavior of the dough, and who knows how many other subtle factors are at work. Water salinity? Margy's body temperature? The shifting moods of fickle flour?

Tonight the crust was a little thicker and a little more pale than usual, but it cooked up perfectly and, as always, tasted fantastic. I've been experimenting with sprinkling Maldon sea salt over the white pies -- we alternate red and white -- once they come out of the oven, to great results. The large, flaky salt crystals really wake up fresh tomatoes (especially ones bought in December). The difference in flavor with and without the salt is illuminating.

Margy, you've done it again.

Leftover Pizza

Margy is a magician. Hers is not normal pizza.

Margy Labors on Labor Day Weekend

If there's one kind of grueling work that really pays off, it's pizza making. And Margy, it must be said, is becoming the master.

While we usually schedule pizza in advance and give ourselves something to look forward to -- or in my case, to obsess about -- today it was a late-breaking inspiration. Suddenly energized by our plan, we ran to the market to grab some fresh mozzarella and some San Marzano tomatoes, and we summoned our pal Yoz to come share the wealth.

While Margy made the dough and the San Marzano sauce, I worked on prepping the toppings. I sliced pancetta, sautéed mushrooms, and cooked spinach and garlic, and of course I halved a bunch of our homegrown cherry tomatoes. I couldn't contain my excitement over the idea of matching Margy's pizza with our flavorful little tomatoes.

It's wild how the crust always turns out a little different, probably owing to the weather and perhaps some more subtle factors, like water salinity and Margy's relaxation versus agitation levels as she kneads the dough. She claims I say this every time, but tonight might have been her best pizza ever. Yoz said it was the best pizza he'd ever had, and he later commented -- before the ice cream cone -- that he usually doesn't eat that much in three days. Attaboy. He will be invited back, perhaps even with an open invitation, regardless of whether his presence means fewer leftovers for Margy and me.

And the cherry tomatoes made one hell of an addition to pizza night. I scattered them on a white pie, along with olive oil, anchovies, chilies, mozzarella, and Parmesan. I sprinkled a few flakes of sea salt on the finished pizza to bring out the flavor a little more. Yup, best ever.

Margy Cooks! Beans and Greens

Margy's not an Italian, but she plays one in the kitchen.

It's true -- she's our resident pizzaiola, after all. And tonight, while I returned home from my periodic office stint, she prepared one of our household staples, the grilled sausage sampler. That's two Italian sausages and two bratwurst, which make a good combo when put together. But the side dish is what nudged the meal toward Italy, and Margy whipped it up like an old pro.

Naturally, that means she used plenty of garlic in her spinach and white beans. A good pinch of red pepper too. My mother, maker of countless versions of beans and greens, will be very proud of her favorite daughter-in-law.

The Supply Begins to Dwindle

We're still pulling pieces of Margy's quiche out of the freezer, and the quiche is still fantastic. But soon we'll need more.

Filling the Freezer

Before it gets too hot, Margy and I wanted to spend a day cooking a few things to stuff in our empty freezer for those busy weeknights. So we both got to work.

She made her increasingly renowned Italian quiche with sausage, mushrooms, spinach, and three cheeses (ricotta, Parmesan, Gruyère), and I made a ragu with beef and pork. Ragu takes a bit of prep time -- lots of chopping and sautéing -- but once it's on the stove it just sits there simmering for hours, and then it's done.

Not so with quiche. Margy and I always marvel at how much work those things take. She makes the dough, preps the filling while the dough rests, and then has to bake the crust for a few minutes, pull it out of the oven, and let it cool. Once the filling is finally in there, the real waiting game begins, as baking takes a while too, and by that point we're starving. But we got a great dinner out of it tonight, with many more, much easier dinners to follow with the frozen leftovers. We'll try my ragu in a day or two.

Margy's Mother's Day Tart

Clearly Margy is a woman of many talents.

Her fruit tart was a big hit with our Mother's Day crowd, which was my family minus sister #3. (That mother...) The weather was a bit chilly and overcast, so we stayed inside all afternoon, but we had fun. My mom brought a wonderful dip made of edamame, and I made rigatoni all'amatriciana, which turned out pretty well.

I also made a salad with baby spinach, Boston lettuce, carrot, cucumber, and apple. The dressing was a honey mustard vinaigrette. I had a bit of a heavy hand with the honey, which led to a strange and unusual turn of events. My father, the man who eats everything, couldn't deal with a sweet dressing and pushed his half-eaten salad away as everyone else finished theirs. I mean, an hour before dinner the guy was boasting about being willing to consume any animal part, and now he was setting aside his usual "don't waste a BITE!" attitude because of some honey and a drop of balsamic? I couldn't believe it. You think you know a guy... Yet of course he's allowed. If you don't like it, you don't like it!

I think he did like Margy's tart. Long before the guests arrived, as she put the sandy, crumbly shortbread crust (damn short) in the oven, neither of us could quite imagine that it would turn out solid, but it did. The fruit came next. And then Margy glazed the tart with "Tortenguss," a German import that her mom gave her. (The photo is pre-glaze.) It set the fruit nicely, causing me to make many naughty comments about hooves.

It was our first time hosting on a holiday, and despite a hint of the inevitable anxiety, we enjoyed ourselves. We're looking forward to the next one.

One Last Slice...

We hate to see that pizza go, but it served us well.

Margy Brings the Magic

After I begged for months and months, Margy finally agreed to make pizza.

I'm not telling the truth. Fact is, she has fun reveling in her special pizza-making gift. After all, what better way to spend a few hours in the kitchen? And with all the oohing and aahing over the results, there's no way she could think her efforts go unappreciated.

It's wild to note the changing moods of a batch of pizza dough. Margy always uses the same method, yet there are always subtle differences in the final product. One day the dough won't stop rising. One day the crust comes out chewier than most. Is it the weather? The tides? Margy's disposition?

This time I noticed the crust didn't brown as easily at its thickest points as it usually does. So in some spots it was almost pale. But it was crispy, often crunchy, and it was as savory and delicious as ever.

Tonight we had two kinds of pies, a few of each, with enough leftovers for two or three more meals: a red pie with pancetta, mushrooms, fresh mozzarella, and fresh basil; and a white pie with olive oil, spinach and garlic, anchovies, fresh mozzarella, and Parmesan. Both of us ate far more than we needed to, but we couldn't help ourselves. This pizza is magic.

Real Quiche Does Get Eaten

Do people still talk about that book Real Men Don't Eat Quiche?

Probably not. They probably don't talk about the companion volume, Real Women Don't Pump Gas, much either. Why? Because these concepts are ridiculous. I'm pretty sure I understood this even way back in '82, when Quiche appeared one day on the kitchen counter at a friend's house. I remember looking at the cover and, without being able to articulate it of course, knowing some smug author was trying desperately to be clever. But still, I thought, Why not? Why don't real men eat quiche?

And gosh, why don't real women pump gas? Hey, wait -- what is a "real" man, or a "real" woman?

I don't know. All I can say is this: Margy's Italian quiche is so good that it appeals equally to both sexes, and, in fact, would surely appeal to both real and unreal members of both sexes. There's one more piece in the freezer -- we might have to stage a battle of the sexes to determine who gets to eat it.

Margy Bakes! Poppy Seed Angel Food Cakes

My parents were about to move out of the house they'd been living in since I was a year old, but first we had one more dinner in the almost empty space. Sister #1 brought a whole mess of pizza from the famous Star Tavern. It was pretty good, and I ate too many slices to be counted. For dessert Margy made her special angel food cakes with poppy seeds and lemon. She served the little cakes with strawberries in lemon syrup.

It was family day, as we'd had lunch at our place with Margy's parents. The chicken cutlet sandwiches went over well. Both Margy and I felt guilty that we couldn't offer angel food to her parents, but her cake output was limited -- and we needed to be sure to have extra for my brother-in-law, who's real skinny but packs it away like Andre the Giant.

Quiche to the Rescue

Both Margy and I have entered the lots-of-plans zone, so there'll be no time to cook for a few days. Luckily she spent all those hours baking quiche a few weeks ago.

Margy Cooks! Striped Bass with Artichokes

The Asian market not too far from our house has the most beautiful fish, and today the striped bass looked best. Normally I might lobby for a red snapper, but their eyes were slightly clouded over while the bass looked like they wanted to leap off the ice and into our arms.

The dish is a Marcella Hazan recipe that Margy dusts off when she's really ready to rock. It's not for the faint hearted, or at least not for those who are afraid of getting speared a few times while cleaning artichokes. I stood around, making a sort of shrimp cocktail appetizer (I'd be foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity to buy a few heads-on shrimp), while Margy whittled four very expensive artichokes down to almost nothing.

It was worth it. Margy scattered the trimmed and sliced artichokes around and inside the bass, added a sprig of rosemary, and poured olive oil and lemon juice over it all. The fish was then baked in the oven. Some of the artichokes got browned and crispy, while others remained green and tender. And the artichokes and lemon gave the dish a pleasing acidity that worked nicely against the mild, slightly fatty bass. Before I washed the dishes, I was the guy who stood by the stove scraping the pan in search of burnt bits. Mmm!

Margy Cooks! Main Line Quiche

One of Margy's first cooking texts was a gift from her mom, Main Line Classics: A Cookbook from Historic Philadelphia Suburbs. It has served her well, providing recipes for what are now two of her own classics -- honey whole wheat bread and Italian spinach quiche.

I don't know that Gruyère and Dijon mustard are Italian, but this quiche rocks (and does contain Parmesan, ricotta, and Italian sausage).

Making it was good old-fashioned teamwork. I grated cheese, chopped onions, sliced mushrooms, and drained and squeezed frozen spinach while Margy browned the sausage and made the pastry. Once she stirred everything together and filled the pie pans (she made two quiches, so we could have frozen leftovers), the real work began: waiting, the hardest part.

Here's where I beg to differ with Main Line Classics. I've spent hours of my life waiting for this quiche to come out of the oven, whether Margy's making two at once or one at a time, and the 25 to 30 minutes of baking time the book advises is so far off that it's just a tease. As I type I am noting in the margin of the book "almost 1 hour!" Thank goodness the leftovers don't take that long.

Margy and Sister #3 Bake Sticky Buns!

All week leading up to our Vermont trip, Margy was in a quandary: Does she or doesn't she make sticky buns for the gang while we're up there? On one hand, she really wanted to try her mom's recipe for quick and easy buns using frozen bread dough. On the other hand, my sister is a trained pastry chef, and we'd be on her turf.

In the end, while everyone else but my early-rising sis slept off a long evening of heroic rock and roll excess, Margy awoke after three and a half measly hours of shut-eye and went to work. Bless her heart. Like the fabulous sisters-in-law that they are, Margy and sister #3 collaborated beautifully and turned out two kinds of baked goods, which I like to call (from left to right) the psychedelic and the merely groovy.

The merely groovy are cinnamon rolls, while the sticky buns are truly psychedelic, as is any "breakfast" that contains more sugar than a bowl of Ben & Jerry's.

Margy Cooks! And Bakes! Pizza!

This was the moment I'd been waiting for.

I'd eat other pizzas and wish I were eating this one right here. Margy's pizza. She really is ridiculously good at making the stuff. From scratch -- no store-bought dough for her.

You know, now that I think of it, pizza making is a male-dominated pursuit. Maybe Margy will change all that. My mom, Margy's pizza muse and mentor, would have changed all that herself had she responded to just one of my dad's thousands of entreaties over the years: "If we opened a pizzeria we'd make a fortune."

But alas, my family likes to save its best food for itself. And the occasional guest. (We are not barbarians.)

I guess if you don't like thin, crispy pizza you wouldn't like Margy's. But you'd have to be really vehement about this, because one crust-shattering bite can go a long way toward converting those of the floppy-slice ilk.

Tonight's toppings were, as usual, simple, to let the magic of the dough shine through. Sushi is about rice; pizza is about dough -- period. What is added should never distract us from these essentials, but should rather enhance. So on the red pies, which Margy assembled with a simple uncooked tomato sauce seasoned with herbs and spices, we had fresh mozzarella, pancetta, mushrooms, and fresh basil. I did the honors in putting together white pies with mozzarella, spinach and garlic, anchovies, and grated Parmesan. Just writing about this now I'm having a hard time not walking over to the fridge for a leftover slice. And I'm really full.

This may be easy for me to say since I've never actually made pizza myself, but the one indispensable item here is a baking stone for the oven. Using a stone is the only way for the home cook to achieve a temperature high enough to turn out a gorgeous pie. (Commercial pizza ovens can reach temperatures of 800 degrees or more.) You slide the stone onto the oven rack -- or just leave it there all the time, like we do -- crank up the heat to 500 or 550 or whatever your highest setting is, and in 40 minutes or so it's ready to get to work and will cook a pizza to crisp perfection in around 8 minutes.

Just be sure to disable your smoke alarm.

Margy Cooks! German Apple Pancakes

Mmm... apple pancakes.

Again we had a big late lunch, so we needed to take it easy for dinner (those pork chops, now fully defrosted, are still sitting in the fridge, waiting for an appetite that's hearty enough to dispose of them). Margy's solution was a great one. We ate her incredible apple pancakes with a few strips of bacon and a salad.

Yes, we sprinkled the powdered sugar with our fingers. Why not. We didn't feel like washing a sieve.

Margy Bakes! Her Famous Ginger Cookies

I'm not really cheating, since this was pretty much our dinner. And Margy deserves a big hand for making her amazing ginger cookies again this year. They're crispy on the edges and chewy in the middle, and they offer a nice hit of spice. The icing is lemon juice mixed with confectioners sugar (as my sister said, you can't beat the combo of ginger and lemon).

We made the mistake of baking the cookies around 6:30pm -- by the time we had each sampled three or four, we were no longer in the mood for the pork chops I'd defrosted for dinner.

So we ate a few more cookies.

Margy Cooks! Kidney Bean Stew

For her turn at the stove, Margy chose a recipe from Peter Berley's book The Modern Vegetarian Kitchen.

Her sous chef put an end to the vegetarian part.

"Sounds like a great dish," I said, "but I bet it would be even better if you started it with some bacon or pancetta." No stranger to the almighty power of pork products, Margy saw my point, and opted for pancetta. In the end we agreed that it added a depth of flavor but that the stew would be just as good in its meatless version.

Making the dish was a lot of fun -- Margy, bossing me around the kitchen, soaked and then simmered some beans, added plenty of red wine and tomato paste, along with carrot, celery, onion, garlic, and fresh herbs, and threw the whole thing in a 275-degree oven for an hour and a half. She mixed in some cooked shell-shaped pasta at the end, and there was more than enough to feed us all week. You'll be seeing this stuff again...