Pear and Cranberry Pie

I did it! I made a pie. I. Made. A. Pie. It wasn't pretty, but it sure was tasty. Okay, so there is a definite Frankenstein-esque look to it, but I've never made a pie before.

Stop number one on my trip to pie-discovery: L'Academie de Cuisine for a course on (obvi) pies and tarts. Man, did our instructor make it look so easy. One, two, three: pie crust. Riiiiight. No one in the class was really buying that it could be that easy either. Throughout the class, we shared stories about personal rolling pin showdowns and pie crust disasters. (Ahem.) Once upon a time, Mom might have been known to grumble, yell and even swear at pie crusts. Such behavior may or may not have caused Dad to hide in the upstairs den, pretty much as far away from the sounds of the kitchen as possible. But don't quote me on that. My instructor also told a story of a woman in one of her classes who ran crying from the kitchen in the middle of class. So don't be discouraged (or run away); commit to the pie crust, as ugly as it may be. As Mom always said, after the alleged swearing and rolling pin slamming, "Well, it doesn't matter how it looks, does it? It will taste good, right?" Absolutely, right.

Crust for a Two-Crust Pie
(from Chef Christine Ilich, c/o L'Academie de Cuisine)
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 tablespoons sugar
2 sticks of unsalted butter, cold but pliable
1 egg yolk
1/4 cup cold water

In a large bowl, mix together flour, salt and sugar. Using your hands, mix in butter until the mixture resembles a course meal. Mix egg with water and add about a tablespoon at a time, mixing after each addition, until dough is just moist enough to hold together. Shape dough into two discs, wrap in plastic and chill 30 minutes.

It goes without saying that I enjoy these classes. There is a level of know-how that each chef brings to the class that helps me learn just what all this cooking business is about, such as the relative benefits of butter or shortening when making a pie crust or the affect of adding some egg to your dough. These kinds of explanations are the difference between knowing how to make a lot of recipes and knowing how to cook.

And I get to eat pie for lunch:

(From left to right) Sweet Potato Pie with Bourbon Cream, Maple Walnut Pie, Pear and Frangipane Tart and Apple and Cranberry Crumb Pie. And yeah, the pictures are fuzzy because taking pictures with my Blackberry kinda sucks.

Stop number two: my farmers' market for some sweet, juicy pears. I was so excited to make my first pie, I headed out into the rare D.C. snowfall last Saturday to visit my farmers' market in search of fresh pears. What a wise decision. These pears were the perfect ripeness. After tossing my crust discs in the fridge for a good chill, I sat down with my pears and the new "Star Trek" movie for some peeling, coring, slicing and avenging Romulans.


Pear and Cranberry Pie
(recipe from Good Housekeeping Step by Step Cookbook)
3 tablespoon cornstarch
1/8 tsp cinnamon
3/4 cup plus 1 tbsp sugar
1 1/2 cup cranberries
6 large ripe pears (about 3 pounds), peeled, cored and sliced
2 tbsp butter

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. In a large bowl mix cornstarch, cinnamon and 3/4 cup sugar. Add cranberries and pears; toss to combine. On a lightly floured surface, using a lightly floured rolling pin, roll out one of the discs of dough. Try to roll out your dough to be a few inches wider than your pie plate. You can always do a little patching later. making sure that the dough is lightly floured so that is doesn't stick, gently roll dough around your rolling pin and transfer to pie plate. Using a butter knife, trim the excess dough from around the pie plate. Keep the scraps to patch any holes in the bottom or top crusts. Spoon pear mixture into pie crust. Place dabs of butter over mixture. Roll out second disc, and place over filling. Cut a couple of slits in the top crust to allow steam to escape. Sprinkle pie with 1 tablespoon sugar.

Place sheet of foil underneath pie plate, folding up edges of the foil to form a rim. The foil will catch any sticky drips. Bake 20 minutes. Turn oven temperature to 375 degrees. Open the oven a crack for a minute or so, (don't walk away!) to allow the oven temperature to reach 375 degrees, close oven and bake 60 to 70 minutes longer, until filling is bubbly in center. Cool pie on wire rack for 1 hour. Serve warm.

Stop number three: my belly!

I'll Julienne You, You Fuzzy Little Foreigner

Chef knife? Serrated knife? Ninja star? What, oh what, is the right tool? I'd really like to know. Solution? L'Academie de Cuisine's Basic Knife Skills class. (This class is held monthly, and sells out frequently, so reserve your spot early). What an eye-opener. I don't pretend to know the first thing about correct form or whatever. However, during the demonstration part of the class, I saw many of my "techniques" kindly explained as, "What not to do." Oh. Whoops.

ONIONS (recreated for your viewing pleasure)
I felt pretty confident on my onions, thanks to some detailed diagrams in one of my cookbooks. I knew that one cuts an onion in half lengthwise, cuts off the bottom and slices down from the root, about as far apart as you want your chop. Then slice the onion crosswise and you get lovely, little cubes. Thank you, Good Housingkeeping for preventing me from looking like a complete ass on onions.


CARROTS

I didn't really learn anything about carrots, other than when cutting up round veggies (what veggies aren't round?) cut a little off one side to create a flat side on which the veggie can rest. With a flat side, your veggie isn't rolling all over the place, forcing you to chase it with your free hand and your knife. There is always a chance that a wily veggie may hightail it out of there, leaving only your fingers and knife to duke it out amongst themselves.


RED PEPPER
Here's a memo from the Land of the Obvious. Rather than try to cut out the tops and seeds, pumpkin-style, cut down the sides. Slice the pepper down from the stem to the tip into 4 or 5 long chunks, then slice into strips. This lesson is generally helpful for all different kinds of peppers, especially when you're trying to avoid touching too many spicy chili seeds.

GARLIC PASTE
This was just cool. I am constantly putting minced garlic in sauces and dressings. I mince as finely as I can, but I am always a little worried that one of my guests will get a chunk of raw garlic to bite down on. Because I have an irrational hatred of the garlic press, this little trick made my day. (Yes, I lead a simple life). Mince the garlic a finely as you can; squish and pull the garlic with the flat of your knife, a little bit at a time, continuing to squish and pull the garlic from right to left across your cutting board. Voila! Garlic Paste. So Obvious. (However, does not photograph well).

BASIL
Finally, I picked up this handy trick for slicing basil. I usually stack up a bunch of basil leaves, largest to smallest, and attempt to slice vertically from the tip to stem. However, if you take your little stack of leaves, roll them up, and slice across your little basil rollie, presto! sexy, basil slices. Who would have thought?

I also learned to de-bone a chicken, but it is a little too complicated to recreate here. It was wicked cool. These are just a few of the things we learned. And we got to make lunch!

My table partners were both chatty and friendly; we easily talked in small groups about our favorite kinds of cooking styles and interests. It was a little like begin in science lab on the first day of sophomore year. You have to share your space and tools, but you don't want to encroach or be grabby. After the demonstration part of the class, we were set free to wreak havoc on our own platters of unsuspecting veggies, which we turned into a stir fry. Our stir fry came out well, although I may have been a little generous with the chili oil. As we have all learned, when it comes to the spicy, I am wicked heavy handed. I even tried to hold back a bit this time, but I was so proud of my brunoise jalapeno (which, I learned, it was you call julienne strips if you dice them into cubes), that I dumped the whole thing in there. Sue me.

Despite the fact that I was exceedingly nervous about cooking in front of a room full of strangers (not among, mind you, but in front of, because in my mind all eyes are on me, right? Why else would I have started a blog?), I really enjoyed this class. Even if you are a little farther along in your culinary training, I am sure you'll enjoy yourself and learn something, too!

Dessert Before Breakfast?

Saturday, I rolled out of bed around seven, which was impressive since I usually can't muster that much forward momentum until closer to eight on weekdays. Somehow I managed to get showered, dressed and down to my farmers' market around eight. Sadly, my favorite growers had not arrived or were still setting up, so I made my way down to Jasper sans delicious apple and freshly baked bread.

L'Academie de Cuisine is in Bethesda, so I had a beautiful drive up through the Palisades neighborhood. Man, those houses are gorgeous. I bet their kitchens are huge and sun-filled.

From the outside L'Acadmie looks like a corner bistro with a yellow-trimmed, many-paned bay window. Since I attended the demonstration class, we were set up in a room on the first floor, which was decorated in what I think of as a French countryside palette of soft blues, yellows, and greens, not unlike my mother's kitchen. (Sadly, like myself, my mother has felt the frustration of being constrained by the limited confines of a tiny kitchen). The three-hour class breezed by while our instructor Chef Nichole Ferrigno taught us how to candy oranges, make a flawless caramel sauce and peppered us with helpful hints about baking and entertaining. Most of the prep work and measuring had been done ahead of time by the lovely three assistants, who would have looked more at home at a church bake sale rather than in a teaching kitchen. Frankly, their feathery, white-gray hair and plump grandmotherly appearances were at odds with everything I associate with grandmothers and cooking. Instead of being culinary and cultural experts, waiting to impart generations or knowhow and can-do in the kitchen, these ladies seemed a little uneasy finishing up for our chef as she demonstrated the first few servings of any one dish. I realize my preconceived notions may be unfair and a tall order to make of all grandmothers, but it is what it is. (My grandmothers both hated to cook. Go figure).

The menu was: Mini Cheesecakes with Raspberry Sauce, Apple Spice Cakes with Maple Glaze and Candied Walnuts, Chocolate Brioche Pudding with Warm Orange Marmalade, and Warm Banana-Chocolate Wontons with Caramel Sauce.

The spice cake, I must say, was far superior to my recipe, which is a) not really mine, and b) a total disaster. I'm looking forward to making it on my own.

The cheesecake truffles weren't really doing it for me. Plain cheesecake really has to be something special to get my interested. I must prefer flavored cheesecakes, like key lime, ginger or chocolate. However, I did go to the famous Junior's once in high school. I don't know whether it was having cheesecake with my bacon and eggs that did it, but I seem to remember that experience being pretty kick-ass.

The Brioche pudding - oh my - was so delicious. I have never met a bread pudding I didn't like. It was a little denser than what I usually make, but I invariably substitute croissants for whatever bread is listed in recipes I try. And I have never made a chocolate one before.

The real winner of the day was the Banana-Chocolate Wontons, which were deep fried, covered in a cinnamon-sugar mix, dipped in caramel sauce and embarrassingly elicited a mumbled, but audible, sigh of deliciousness from me. I didn't realize that you could purchase wonton wrappers in packages that look not unlike Kraft Singles cheese slices. This recipe couldn't be easier. Slice up some bananas, bust up some chocolate, stuff it into a little crab-rangoon-looking purse and deep fry for a couple of minutes. (Fry Fest III menu addition?) I think I actually felt the back of my knees tingle on these ones, folks. Whew.

All in all, it was a great class. I'm sure I will benefit from all the little tips and hints the chef added along the way. I think I'll try a few more demonstrations before I go all-in and commit myself to an evening of potential kitchen catastrophe in front of a room full of strangers.