Bringing It: Rosh Hashanah Plum Tart

Dear Mouse,

Happy New Year!

Let it be known that I started writing this post as soon as I walked in the door  from the family dinner where I served the item to be discussed below. I think that's a first.

"... the late August abundance of italian prune plums, which i find better cooked than eaten out of hand."

                                    -Sarah Leah Chase, Nantucket Open House Cookbook

(Longtime readers will recall that the above words signify The Boo's unhealthy  obsession with said Chase cookbook, since she committed them to memory upon first reading Chase's "Purple Plum Crunch"   recipe (yes, republished by Ina) years ago. She now cannot mention, eat, or think  about prune plums without muttering this phrase inanely like some kind of fruit mantra. Oh, and lest she forget, The Mouse also likes to helpfully repeat it every time plums come up in conversation (surprisingly often). It's like that South Park when Cartman can't even think of the song "Sail Away" without having to sing the entire thing...? Anyway.)

As I mentioned in my last post and will probably repeat, I am Super Excited to greet Fall. And  I'm just going to keep it real for a second and say I'm maybe more excited than usual this year because, for me, the summer of 2012 .... sucked. Yep.  Winter/spring was great (work! love! income!). Then, come June, all of it, in the words of the great Eddie Izzard, "slowly collapsed, like a flan in a cupboard."
(He was talking about the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but that's basically the same thing as my life.)

Fortunately, I'm a big girl now and I recognize these droughts for what they are: droughts. End of career and personal life? Probably not. Hard? Yes. But there's always a choice. I could have spent all summer lying on my floor complaining to the fan.  Or,  I could do what I did: lie on the floor 60% of the time, and spend the rest in Spiritual Boot Camp. I read kind of every helpful Text I could get my hands on. I went on Yoga Retreat (Thanks Mom!) . I talked to various Advisors.  I - yes - cooked. And..

I re-enrolled in "Shouting Aerobics"!

...which is totally not what it's called but it makes me giggle every time I say it to myself.
And when you're sweating through 60 -75 minutes of cardio while also shouting positive statements like a New Age Cheerleader ("I GIVE! MY BEST! THE REST I LET GO!!"), you feel A) AMAZING, there's no way around it... and B) SO RIDICULOUS that it helps (at least the first time) to keep a little NYC snark on hand for balance. Whatever gets you through the squats.

                                                         Best Plum Tart (pre-cooking)

I think I really thought I was so out of shape that if I went back to class I might actually die. Like, I just flat-out couldn't and wouldn't make it. Then I did. And THEN, after not dying,  I had two Big Thoughts. One was "I am capable of more than I think"...  and,  right on its heels: "... and I should be acting like it more often."

Attention Must Be Paid: The Mother's showstopping version of  Beatty's Chocolate Cake (L), (so light and fluffy yet so deeply chocolatey!) and your take on Smitten Kitchen's Apple Charlotka ("more apples than batter") (R), both of which graced the Rosh Hashanah table. (Why don't I have a picture of The Aunt's cheesecake? Too busy eating.)

What if, I thought, I really, actually, did my best, in everything I do? What if I brought my best game to every task, no matter what, even if my best isn't that amazing on everything?  What would that be like? I decided I am going to spend this Fall finding out. Or, as I put it to Mr. Poet at our lunch the other day:

" I'm making a plum tart for Rosh Hashanah... 

and it is going to be the Best Damn Plum Tart I can possibly make! "  

                                                                   Here it is.

We clinked our (second round of) bloody marys together, and I went off to buy 14 italian prune plums...whichifindbettercoookedthaneatenoutofhandohmygodicantstop.

The experience was a great mix of improvisation and careful attention to detail. I went basically with Dorie Greenspan for both the filling (layer of jam, layer of plums, walnuts and sugar on top) and the crust (her Sweet Tart Dough). But I threw in a little cassis liqueur as homage to Chase. And I mistakenly bought an 11.5-inch pan when the recipe is meant for a 9-inch pan. ("Oh no don't burn it!" - alarmed Mouse Text.) But I decided I would just refrain from preheating too long, and then watched it like a hawk. It worked out great - I like a thin crust.  

Moral of the story? Success! The crust did not burn or tear. The plum juice did not ooze excessively. And it was consumed - almost entirely! - by our discerning family!  And I felt GREAT for having given my all to something and done it to the best of my ability. On one level, you could say it's just a small thing that doesn't have anything to do with Big Life Issues. On another, it makes me realize again how everything, actually, IS connected ... because the feeling of Kicking Ass in one area just makes you want to Bring It in others. A good reminder to always Give Your Best ... then, the Rest You can  Let Go. 

Happy Fall (again),

Love
The Boo

The Boo's Best Plum Tart

Ingredients

Crust:

Make Dorie's "Sweet Tart Dough" (scroll to bottom of page for recipe). Follow her instructions exactly except the part about the 9-inch pan. For this recipe, you want my happily wrong proportions (11.5 - in tart pan with removable bottom). Crust-making-phobics (of which I am one) will note joyfully that you don't have to roll it out -- just press it into the pan with your fingers and chill that s*t for at least 30 minutes.

Filling

12-14 italian prune plums (ok if they're large you'll use fewer, I think I had about 10 in there. If you have extra, roast them and put them on your oatmeal, your chicken, anything.)
1/4 C plum jam (I used Sarabeth's "plum and sour cherry spreadable fruit", but my tart was quite tart. If you like things sweeter, maybe use regular sugary jam)
3 tbsp sugar
3 tbsp chopped walnuts
A splash (2 tbsp?) of cassis liqueur if you have it
1 tbsp cornstarch

Halve and pit the plums and put them into a bowl. If they're big plums, maybe slice each half again. Toss with cassis and cornstarch and set aside.

Mix walnuts and sugar in a bowl. Set aside.

Take out chilled tart shell and set on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper, or a silpat, or whatever.

Spoon jam into chilled tart shell and spread across bottom. 


Arrange plum halves or slices in concentric circles on top of the jam, starting at the outer edge of the shell and working your way in.

Scatter sugar/walnut mixture over the fruit.

Cover in plastic wrap and let sit in a warm place for 30 minutes. 

Now, maybe with like 5 minutes to go, preheat the oven to 425. 

Remove plastic wrap from tart! (I almost forgot to do this), and put baking sheet with tart on it in oven for 20 minutes. (at 10 minutes give it a glance and check speed crust is browning).

After 20 minutes, take it out, tent it loosely with foil (to keep the crust from getting too dark) and put it back in for another 10.  It's done when the crust is a lovely golden brown and the fruit is bubbling. 

Let cool for at least 45 min, then remove outer ring of pan and slide the rest (with bottom) onto platter, Serve warm or at room temp.    

The Great Outdoors

Dear Boo,

It's a well known fact that anything cooked or eaten out of doors tastes better. I'm not sure if it's the fresh air or the warm sun or the subconscious connection to our primitive roots, but whatever it is, it works.
I like to say that our family's two favorite things to talk about are food (what we're eating now and what we plan to eat next), and the quickest or shortest way to get from point A to point B. Both of these conversation points are really at a premium when you're spending any time in the Hamptons. Last weekend, we were lucky enough to get some uninterrupted time with our aunt and uncle and cousins in the relatively unspoiled splendor of East Hampton's back woods. The weather held out, the Mets won (mostly), and HO boy did we eat well.

We were greeted with cheeses, crudites and the all-american onion dip while the game played in the background and we sipped some prosecco. The grill was fired up and we bundled into our sweatshirts (it's always colder in the country, isn't it?), determined to chow down outside. Our cousin had made it clear that being the first bbq of the season, we required hamburgers and hot dogs, and I couldn't agree more. The burgers were juicy and perfect, the hot dogs charred with that satisfying snap, and the only vegetables present were covered in mayonnaise.
For dessert, s'mores on the grill and oh yeah--the aunt had a batch of cookie dough ready to go in the fridge. I stood in the kitchen and professed that I couldn't possibly eat another bite. By the time the warm cookies made it to the livingroom, I had already polished off a half.

We slept well that night. After weeks of running around, I was ready for bed by 10 and slept like a log. When I woke up the house was quiet except for our aunt, padding around in the kitchen, baking--BAKING, I TELL YOU--a black raspberry coffee cake for our breakfast. I should have known then what we were in for. Note from the Boo: It had CHOCOLATE in it, yo.

In an attempt to get food off of our minds for FIVE MINUTES, we piled into the car and headed out to the beach. It was lovely, wasn't it--lying under the blue skies, watching (but going nowhere near) the surf, smelling the salt and noodling our toes around in the hot sand? The beach was mostly empty for probably one of the last days of the impending summer before the masses descend in their marc jacobs sunglasses, malia mills bikinis, packing shrimp salad from the barefoot contessa...

There's something about the beach air that even if you've had eggs and toast and cheese and jam and coffeecake a few short hours before, makes you hungry. We had planned to hold out until dinner but after an hour on the sand our stomachs were grumbling and we just had to stop at the deli where they make the best italian hoagies this side of...wherever italian hoagies were born. We cut them up into little bite sized pieces (since everyone knows that releases the calories into the air) and nibbled out on the deck. Let me say that whoever thought to put artichokes on a roast beef sandwich is a genius and I'd like to shake his hand.
And then it was time to start dinner.
Ribs from Esposito's, perfectly done spice-rubbed chicken, all made by our uncle the Pit Master, salad with vinaigrette, roasted potatoes, and garlic bread. Oh, and one of the best blueberry crisps ever. Don't you agree?
After bagels and lox the next morning ('neath the sun, naturally), the Aunt announced we had to do SOME kind of activity lest we spend the entire weekend lying on the floor, groaning 'pass me just one more of those ribs'. So off we set to take a nature walk on a trail next to the duck pond we used to go to all the time when we were little. It took about fifteen seconds of watching the overfed birds paddle around before conversation turned to duck. As in--"How hard do you think it would be to catch that fat one over there?" and "I bet grilled duck would be good." "Peking duck is still my favorite." "I have this great recipe for duck with port sauce and sour cherries," "How about fried baby duckling? Nice and crispy...." It's an illness, Boo. And we have clearly inherited it.

Home we went to start the pizza process.

I don't want to go into too much detail since I think this deserves it's own entry in the near future, but suffice it to say that our cousin D, an honorary Italian after all the years he's spent living there, initiated a 24 hour process of dough-making and then grilling and topping like you wouldn't believe. Or you would, since you witnessed it.
There was mixing, and resting, and rising, then kneading (it's all in the wrist):
then this, to create air pockets:
Then the window pane test, to make sure the glutens have developed and the dough is elastic enough:
Then the grill was fired up and the tastebuds began to salivate. Unfortunately, we were aiming for 600 degrees but the grill refused to go above about 450. The oven might have been faster, but, as I mentioned, there's just something about cooking and eating outside, that we were willing to wait, wafting the charcoal scent, watching the sun make it's lazy arc, listening to the dog barking and the birds rustling in the trees.



A bowl of addictive corn salad, two focaccias with speck and arugula, 10--count em, TEN-- margherita pizzas with charred crispy crusts and creamy mozzarella, and a fluffy coconut cake later, fat-bellied and well-fed, we reluctantly packed up and headed for the train.

A beautiful weekend of good food, great family, fresh salt air, and precious sun. There really is nothing like it. I always laugh when I see New Yorkers, desperate for a little outdoor space, squeeze into tables under scaffolding, just feet away from idling cars and construction sites, eating their dinners. But you can't blame them for trying. Spring air makes jokes funnier, stories more exciting, your date better looking, and food, well, just BETTER.

Love,

The Mouse

Memorial Day Blueberry Crisp
(adapted from Martha Stewart by our gorgeous Aunt)

For the filling:

6 cups (3 pints) blueberries

1/2 cup sugar

1.5 tablespoon cornstarch

1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

1/4 teaspoon coarse salt

For the topping:
(This recipe yields 3 cups, enough for 2 crisps. Good to have extra on hand to turn any fruit into a crisp.)

1-1/4 cups flour

6 Tablespoons brown sugar

2 Tablespoons sugar

1/4 teaspoons salt

2/3 cup ground pecans

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

12 Tablespoons chilled butter

Directions:

Preheat oven to 375°. Make the filling: Mix blueberries, sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, and salt in a bowl. Transfer to an 8-inch square baking dish.

Make the topping: Stir together flour, sugars, salt, cinnamon and pecans in a mixing bowl. Cut butter into small pieces and work into flour mixture with fingers, until crumbly.

Sprinkle topping evenly over filling. Bake until bubbling in center and brown on top, about 1 hour. Transfer to a wire rack, and let cool for 30 minutes before serving.

NOTE: If your brown sugar is hard as a rock, don't throw it out! Put in a bowl and lay a damp paper towel over the sugar. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and leave overnight. It'll soften up perfectly.