The Lullabye of Broadway...

Back in the spring, when the temperatures were still sub-arctic and snow was on the ground, I was busy planning my summer, checking festival dates, looking for free concerts, and writing it all down in my day-planner months in advance. What can I say? I'm organized.

One of those events that I penciled into my calendar months ago was a free concert in Millennium Park featuring Broadway music. At the time, I had no idea what would be on the program for the evening, or who I would get to go with me, but I knew it was show tunes, and that was enough for me. Just as I was starting to despair about finding friends interested in theater who would be willing to trek downtown for the show, I happened to bring it up in the presence of Mireya and Natasha when we met up for Mexican food last month, and they were just as excited as I was at the prospect of a night of free Broadway hits. Plans were made instantly, and we found ourselves in Millennium Park this very evening.

We were blessed with perfect weather for our excursion to the park: ever-so-slightly cool, dry, and sunny. Justin and I brought along several blankets, but were surprised to find the Pritzker Pavilion overflowing with fellow concert-goers a half hour before the show; clearly I had underestimated the popularity of free show tunes. We ended up selecting a well-shaded area outside the actual lawn to set up our picnic, which proved to be an idyllic setting, even if the sound quality of the performance was a little poorer where we were sitting.

Justin and Travis, expressing their muffuletta love despite their less-than-enthusiastic facial expressions.

As I mentioned yesterday, I offered to bring dessert, which consisted not only of the lemon ginger bars I made from scratch, but some Ghirardelli turtle brownies I whipped up from a mix late last night (the lemon bars were tasty, but I'll take chocolate any day.) I also made my version of muffulettas, the classic New Orleans sandwich consisting of olive salad and Italian deli meats and cheeses, which turned out well, though I think the assorted olives I assembled at the Whole Foods olive bar was a bit saltier than my usual mix. Mireya brought chips and deviled eggs, which she cleverly decided to assemble a la minute at the park using a Ziploc bag to pipe the filling as we ate them. That way, the unfilled eggs and their accompanying filling would be easier to transport to the park mess-free.

Mireya and her genius deviled egg technique.

Our out of the way location made it a little more difficult to hear, but we enjoyed the concert nonetheless. The theme for the evening was "Broadway Rocks," so the organizers had selected a lineup of more mainstream music from the past thirty years or so of Broadway productions. There were classics like "Phantom of the Opera" from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical of the same name, "Seasons of Love" from Rent, "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" from Dreamgirls, and "Defying Gravity" from Wicked.

However, some of the numbers were serious stretches that I think were chosen more because they were popular songs than for their Broadway provenance, like "Come Sail Away" which was apparently featured in an off-Broadway revue called Power Ballads that played for a handful of performances, "Total Eclipse of the Heart," which was part of a similarly short-lived musical called Dance of the Vampires that starred Michael Crawford in the early part of this decade. I'd hardly call these Broadway hits. Still, they were fun to hear, and the singing talent (actual performers from notable Broadway productions, fittingly backed by the Chicago Gay Men's Chorus) was surprisingly top-notch.

The whole crew getting our picnic on: Natasha, Mireya, me, Justin, and Travis.

Overall, it was a fun night of entertainment and delicious portable treats, and I'm glad I was able to bring together some of my favorite people to experience it with me. My only complaint (aside from the somewhat questionable song selection), was that the concert was too short. Though there were 17 numbers, the concert was less than an hour and a half long, and it felt like our evening came to an early close. I'm not sure I satisfied my annual quota for al fresco dining, so I might just have to try to organize another picnic before the summer draws to a close. Hmm...

Pucker Up...

As a general rule of thumb, I do not much enjoy being outside, especially in the summer when the weather is hot and sticky. I'm not exactly sure how people survived in the days before air conditioning, but I'm happy to have been born into the era of central air. Otherwise, I would have had to pursue science as a career track, so I could spend my life engaged in research in Antarctica.

Nevertheless, for some reason, I really enjoy picnics. I loved them when I was little, and my mom would fill up a cooler with special treats, pack up an old Native American blanket she'd purchased long before I was born, and take me to the park to eat and play. In college, my friends and I made a tradition of having a picnic every year, often in old, dilapidated cemeteries around St. Louis. I've tried to maintain that tradition on my own, and I've been moderately successful with making it to Grant Park for an annual alfresco dining experience. Justin and I even went on a picnic on our second date.

Tomorrow, I'm meeting Mireya, Natasha, and Natasha's family for my annual pilgrimage to the Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park for a free concert, so it seemed only right to combine a picnic with the evening's events. Naturally, I assumed responsibility for dessert production, but with my self-imposed moratorium on Martha Stewart, I had to look elsewhere for inspiration. I settled on a recipe I'd bookmarked from one of my favorite food sites, Serious Eats. They have a seemingly ever-expanding roster of authors contributing there, and have recently launched a dessert-focused subsection called "Sweets," where I'd spotted a recipe for Lemon Ginger Bars. Since I've become a convert to the ease of baking bar cookies, I was saving this recipe for just the right occasion.

As it turns out, Natasha is a huge fan of ginger (I've used her as a guinea pig for my last two ginger-centric baking experiments), and Justin loves lemon, so I figured this picnic gathering was the perfect opportunity to test this recipe. Despite making a rookie mistake when I turned the bars out of their baking pan that resulted in them shattering into a dozen or so irregular shards, the resulting cookie shrapnel turned out delicious, if somewhat unattractive by my usual standards. Not being a fan of lemon myself, I preferred the bits that had less glaze, as the bars themselves have a subtle hint of lemon flavor from the included zest, while the majority of the lemon punch comes from the topping. The cookies are warm from the ginger, with an occasional kick from the chunks of crystallized ginger, in addition to being pleasantly soft and buttery.

Besides being quite tasty (which is hard for me to admit, as a self-identifying hater of lemon-flavored desserts), this recipe came together quickly, which I also appreciated. They'll definitely be a strong contender for the citrus cookie category in this year's Cookie Bonanza come December. Until then, consider giving them a try of your own.


Lemon Ginger Bars
adapted from Nick Malgieri

Bars
2 1/2 c. all-purpose flour
3/4 c. sugar
2 tablespoons ground ginger
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 c. (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1 large egg
1/4 c. crystallized ginger, finely chopped
2 tablespoons honey
2 teaspoons lemon zest

Lemon Glaze
2 c. powdered sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons freshly-squeezed lemon juice, plus extra if needed

Preheat oven to 375. Line a 9x13-inch jelly roll pan with foil and spray with Pam.
1. Mix the flour, sugar, ginger, and baking powder in a medium bowl.
2. Melt the butter in a glass container in the microwave, and immediately add to the dry ingredients. Use a rubber spatula to stir into a smooth, shiny dough. Add the egg, crystallized ginger, honey, and lemon zest, beating vigorously until smooth.
3. Press the dough into the prepared pan, smoothing the surface with the palms of your hands.
4. Bake the bars until well-risen, golden brown, and firm, about 20-25 minutes.
5. While the bars are baking, combine the lemon juice and powdered sugar. Add additional lemon juice to thin to a spreadable consistency, if needed.
6. As soon as the bars are baked, remove from the oven. Place a cooling rack on top of the pan and invert, removing the foil. Pour the glaze over the bars, spreading to coat, and allow to cool completely before cutting into 2-inch squares.

Beginners...

Sometimes, I think it's a miracle that I make it to see any movies at all. I frequently see previews for movies that look interesting, resolve to see them, and then either procrastinate, have trouble finding someone to accompany me, or simply lose the motivation to get out of bed early enough to catch the cheaper early morning showings, and end up missing the film's theatrical run. Even though I've managed to make it to eleven movies so far this year, when my annual goal is to see one a month, there are still several movies that I managed to miss, like Potiche, a campy French comedy starring Catherine Deneuve and Gerard Depardieu.

Still, I was glad that I was able to make time this weekend to meet up with Lauren and see Beginners, the latest Ewan McGregor movie. Though I might have had a huge crush on him circa 2001 when he appeared in Moulin Rouge (I am, after all, a sucker for musicals), my motives for catching this particular film were actually rooted in my desire to see the super-cute dog depicted in the preview I saw a couple months ago. Nowadays, adorable dog > man candy, which might just be the influence of being in love with a handsome fellow of my own.

The performance by Cosmo the Jack Russell Terrier as Arthur was, predictable, the best part of the film. In the weeks surrounding the film's initial release, I read an interview with McGregor in which he discusses the traditional Hollywood wisdom never to costar with a kid or a dog. He said he always thought it was because they were difficult to work with, but now, after seeing a cut of the film, he realized it was because they always upstage you. He was, without a doubt, correct.

The plot of the film tells the story of Oliver, who copes with the death of his father who only recently came out of the closet at the age of 75 following the death of Oliver's mother, while falling in love himself and integrating his father's dog into his life, and it is by turns heartbreaking and hysterical. The performances are nuanced and believable, though at times the entire film feels like it's trying too hard to capture a hipster aesthetic, from the characters' overly quirky hobbies to their relentlessly trendy wardrobes. The film is enjoyable though, and presents a unique story that is worth experiencing, but in the end, the movie is really all about the dog.

Arthur communicates with McGregor's character in subtitles that cut to the heart of what the film is trying to portray. Arthur's one-liners are, by-far, the most memorial lines of the entire film, and inspire some "Awwww!" moments that are almost unbearably cute. I've never seen such a scruffy Jack Russell in my life, but his eccentric look only serves to further capture the vibe of the movie, and somehow makes him even more adorable. Jack Russells are way too hyper for me, and I'd never want to own one in real-life, but Beginners sorely tempted my resolve.

Seriously, Beginners is an interesting study of one man's unusual life circumstances, but if you are at all a dog person, I suggest you see it if only for the moments of canine brilliance. You won't regret it.

Think Pink...

I've said it before, but I will say it again: I am surrounded by incredible people. Each of my friends has their own unique strengths, talents, and passions, and I am fortunate to have each and every one of them in my life. For example, tonight I found myself in the burbs once again (for the fourth consecutive weekend in a row!) to attend a fund-raising party being held by my friend Taryn, whom I have known since we were in middle school.

Taryn's family lost their grandfather to breast cancer (yes, it affects men too), and the disease has also afflicted other members of her family. As a result, she is passionate about raising awareness as well as money for breast cancer research. For the past few years, she has participated in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day For the Cure, in which participants walk over 60 miles in the name of raising money for research. Personally, I can't even conceive of walking for three consecutive days for any reason short of finding myself in a post-apocalyptic world where there was no other means of transportation, so I'm amazed by Taryn's dedication to her favorite cause.

Tonight, to raise money for this year's 3-Day, Taryn held a flippy cup fundraiser in her parents' backyard. Since I went to a private university and never once attended a frat party, I'd managed to make it to the ripe old age of 26 without so much as even seeing other people play a game of flippy cup, but I wanted to be on hand to support my friend and contribute to the cause. More surprisingly to me, Justin had never played flippy cup either despite attending state universities for both his undergraduate and graduate degrees, but as it turned out, our mutual lack of experience proved to be of little consequence.

Sarah's boyfriend Zach made this stunning creation from Chex Mix and candy. I'm pretty sure most heterosexual men share that sentiment.

In fact, we made it through the entire evening without playing a single game. We made our donation, but focused mostly on the company of my other high school friends who were in attendance. In my flurry of recent social activity, I'd actually seen most of them within the span of a couple weeks, but it was nice to see them again, and weather-wise it was a perfect evening for spending time outdoors, though we did get assailed by hordes of mosquitoes.

Stephanie, Ashley, me, Sarah, and Jessica. Apparently Sarah was the only one who didn't read the "wear pink" part of the invite...

It was great to see everyone again, and even better that I could donate to a worthy cause in the process. If you'd like to sponsor Taryn on her 3-Day journey, click here for her fund-raising page.

Hell Is Other People...

I have a bit of a confession to make: to save time and avoid falling behind, I sometimes write portions of my posts in advance. I've written here before about how my practice of blogging about my life causes me to frame the events I experience in terms of the narratives I hope to tell about them, so I tend to write as much as possible about an event before it actually occurs, then fill in the details later. In some regards, this can be a good thing, as it causes me to view experiences in terms of the positive narrative I've already created in my mind, but it can also be a source of disappointment when things don't turn out the way I had anticipated. Tonight was one of those times.

At this point, we all know about my dumpling obsession, and I've unofficially deemed July the "Month of the Dumpling," because I've not only made concrete plans to finally make it to the Pierogi Festival this year, but I also ran across a Groupon a couple months back for a dumpling-making class through the Chicago Chinese Cultural Institute in Chinatown. I'd been looking for a way to take another cooking class with Justin ever since we had such a fun, educational evening at the knife skills class I got him for Christmas, because another session at the Chopping Block is a little beyond our current budget. Given my love of dumplings and the reasonable price of $35 for two people, purchasing the Groupon seemed like a no-brainer.

However, after our two-hour experience this evening, I found myself apologizing to Justin for dragging him to the class, and questioning the value of the entire Groupon experience as a whole. Every time you purchase a Groupon (unless it's for a venue that you've already been to,) you're taking a risk on an unknown vendor, a risk that is somewhat moderated by receiving a discount. Most of my Groupon experiences so far have shown that you get what you pay for, however, and this one was no exception.

We should have realized we were in for our own personal recreation of Sartre's No Exit when we turned out to be the only couple in attendance who hadn't brought along a bottle of wine, but initially we were blinded by our excitement over the prospect of learning how to make Chinese dumplings. The class began when the earnest, but not particularly informative instructor (who turned out to be the director of the Chicago Chinese Cultural Institute, and not a trained culinary professional), gave us a lengthy overview of the CCCI's other offerings, which include tours, concerts, performances, and a monthly dinner club. Things immediately started going downhill when one particularly obnoxious woman kept interrupting and cutting off the instructor to either ask repetitive and shockingly ignorant questions, or offer up stories relating to her own personal experiences.

For example, when the teacher began to talk about his involvement in bringing Chinese artists to the U.S. as a cultural exchange, Ms. "My Life Is More Important" felt the need to share with us all that her teenage daughter might get to go on a trip to China next year for school. I couldn't have cared less about her or her life, and there was more than one time when I was torn between my impulse to whirl around and ask her point-blank to shut up and fantasizing about punching her in the face.

Eventually, the instructor got around to sharing some information about the festivities and traditions associated with Chinese New Year, but very little of the presentation had much to do with food. In fact, I think we learned far more about alcohol this evening than anything to do with Chinese culture, as another painfully obnoxious and overly talkative guest in the class worked as an sales rep for an alcohol distributor in the south suburbs, and the other guests felt compelled to constantly pick her brain about what the best brands of alcohol are, and what kind of mixers she would suggest for them. For some reason, the conversation kept drifting towards a new product she's currently hawking, cake-flavored vodka, which more or less sounds like the embodiment of everything that is wrong with America today.

When it came time to make the dumplings, the teacher sat down at the giant table with us and proceeded to fold two tiny dumplings while offering us some rather unclear verbal instructions. His main qualifications for teaching this class seemed to be that he was a) Chinese, and b) had made dumplings before with his family. There was no information about what kinds of filling go into dumplings (or, for that matter, what was in the filling we were going to use to make our own dumplings), no recipes, and only two different techniques for folding the dumplings when I know from my experience in eating dim-sum that there are many ways to fold and seal a dumpling. Cooking methods were also not discussed, other than the teacher's suggestion that his family usually boils theirs. It was actually less informative than most of the shows I've seen about dumpling making on television.

Justin folding a dumpling. Note the bottles of wine in the upper right hand corner that, to me at least, indicated that our fellow attendees were more interested in partying than learning.

After completing his brief demonstration, the instructor passed around some wet wipes and set us free to fold our own dumplings. It would have been helpful had he walked around the table, observed our progress, and given us some correction or at least helpful pointers to folding success, but instead, he was content to sit in one spot and watched us bemusedly, as the majority of the class laughingly fumbled their way through the task. I had no idea if the technique I'd extrapolated from his lesson was even remotely close to correct, and my dumplings were embarrassingly unattractive, though they looked better than the half-assed attempts made by the other students.

A waitress came by to take our dumplings off to the steamer, after which we were treated to the dinner that was included in the price of the class. We were presented with the "greatest hits" of Chinese-American food -- sweet and sour chicken, fried rice, walnut shrimp, eggrolls, egg drop soup, and other dishes that scarcely seemed authentic. Given that the dishes were selected by the head of the CCCI, I had expected them to be a bit more challenging and educational about traditional Chinese cuisine, but it was clear that he picked the dishes with which he thought an American audience would be most comfortable. The food was acceptable, but it certainly didn't inspire me to want to come back to the restaurant that had hosted the class.

As for our dumplings, they turned out to be fairly tasty, if nothing special. I couldn't help but feel that they would have been tastier as potstickers instead of merely steamed, but it ultimately didn't matter much how they tasted, since we had no idea what was in them and will be unable to recreate them.

The seemingly endless parade of dishes wore on interminably, as a pair of guests who turned out to be Groupon employees conducted an informal marketing survey on the instructor's experience with the company, as well as the other guests' experiences in using Groupons. I found myself checking my watch constantly, wondering when things would draw to a close, but as soon as we'd finished our fortune cookies, I leaned over to Justin and asked if he wanted to leave. His response? "God yes!"

Justin's facial expression in this post-dumpling dinner photo pretty much says it all.

Justin likened the experience to attending an awkward dinner party and paying for the privilege, but I would go further to say that it was like going to the dinner party of a new friend and discovering that all their other friends were assholes. Those were definitely not the kind of people we'd ever choose to socialize with, and I was kind of annoyed that I had paid to subject myself to them. However, even though I initially apologized to Justin for planning such a miserable evening, I'm actually kind of glad we went. If nothing else, the adversity brought us together and generated a whole new slew of inside jokes. "Cake vodka," we've agreed, will now be a new synonym for a heinous abomination.

Although I like the notion, in theory, of joining a supper club, meeting new people, and checking out a variety of new restaurants, this experience has put me off the idea for a while. For now, I'll be perfectly content to dine out with friends, the people whose stories I want to hear and actually find interesting. And next time I want to learn a new cooking technique, I'll suck it up and pay more, because at least people who are paying $75 per person to learn a new skill will be more serious about actually acquiring that knowledge. Lesson learned.

Happy 235th Birthday America...

Although I had originally planned to finally have another 4th of July party this year, Justin and I both received invitations to other events, so we decided to spend our day out in the burbs and leave the planning of festivities to other people.

We spent the first part of our day with my parents and their good friends Mike and JoAnn at Arlington Race Track. Dad likes to go to the horse races once every summer, and his friends, whom I view somewhat as grandparent-like figures, had been clamoring to meet this boy who I've been getting so serious about, so he figured the 4th of July holiday would be a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.


In the past, we've always gotten outdoor box seats for the races, but given the more delicate health of our elderly guests, we decided to get a reservation for the track's Million Room, their most upscale dining option. Tables there are set in tiers facing a huge glass wall that overlooks the track. The room was bright and pleasant, if perhaps a bit too assertively air conditioned, and the food was marginal but not terrible.


Dad, as always, employed a very elaborate system for selecting his bets. In the past, he's referred to four different sources of advice and predictions, but this year he upped the ante and and consulted no less than six. He was somewhat disappointed in the efficacy of his system this year, as his winnings were not as high as they have been in years prior, but I think there's still something to be said for his methodology, because he still came out on top as the biggest winner for the day. I managed to leave the track up $10 for the day, and Justin more or less broke even, which isn't bad considering this was his first foray into betting the ponies. I think he had a fun time learning about all the different kinds of bets, and studying up on the various horses to try to predict a winner.


Justin spent a brief period of his life living on a horse farm, so I made sure to take him down to the paddock area so he could get a better look at the animals. I think he had a better appreciation for their athleticism than I did; I was mostly amused by how well-groomed the beasts were, and how silly their jockeys looked, all tiny and clad in ridiculous outfits. Not to mention their uncomfortable-looking riding stance.


Overall, I believe a good time was had by everyone in attendance, and I was happy to introduce Justin to another part of my "family." It was pretty clear that Mike and JoAnn thought our "young love" was adorable, though in true Italian fashion they warned Justin not to take me for granted, because he's landed himself a nice girl in me. Considering they've got nearly fifty years of marriage under their belt, I think they know a thing or two about making things work over the long haul, but I think it's safe to say that neither Justin nor I have forgotten for a second how lucky we are to have found each other.

For a more traditional Independence Day celebration, we parted ways with my family and traveled down to Evanston, where we attended a 4th of July party with Justin's parents at the condo of some of their friends. Located on the 24th floor and overlooking basically the entire lakefront, we were treated not only to an amazing view of the Evanston fireworks, which were more or less at eye level, but we could also see pyrotechnic displays being launched all along the North Shore over the lake, and all along the city's west side. It was very impressive, I must say, and Justin took a prolific amount of photos to capture the experience, not that I can blame him. It was definitely a special opportunity, and I'm glad we got to share it.

One of Justin's photos. Happy Independence Day everyone!

As American As Apple Pie...

As you may or may not have noticed, if there is one thing I do not bake with any frequency, it is pies. I was going to attempt to make one for Pi Day, but got waylaid by illness, and was therefore prevented from baking the first pie in the history of "The State I Am In." Ladies and gentlemen, the time of the pie has come.

After all, there is no dessert as intrinsically associated with pure Americana as apple pie. Interestingly, apple pie was one of the very first desserts I ever tackled on my own: when I was in high school, my friend Taryn and I got the idea that we needed to start learning how to cook, and that the appropriate first project to accomplish this task would be learning to make apple pie. I have no idea how we arrived at this conclusion, but we did. So I invited her over one day, and a box of pre-made pie dough and several pounds of apples later, we had made a mess in the kitchen, and a passable, if not spectacular pie. It was the first, and last dessert pie I ever made, and after that, I gave up on cooking all together for several years until necessity drove me to teach myself how to cook in college.

Now that my baking skills are considerably more advanced, and I'm making a conscious effort to try new recipes and take a break from Martha Stewart and her cookies, I thought it was time to tackle a pie that I found on my favorite food photography aggregation site, Tastespotting.com, a couple months ago. It combined salted caramel, which has quickly risen to hallowed status in my pantheon of favorite things since discovering it a few years ago in Normandy, with apples, and the pairing was too much to resist. Even though the recipe looked daunting, I wanted to give it my best effort.

I actually ended up taking some liberties with the recipe as it was presented online, choosing to view it as more of a ideological jumping off point. I swapped out the crust entirely for a recipe given by Alton Brown. I remembered seeing it ages ago on Good Eats, and I appreciated the fact that I could incorporate lard into it, as I've always heard that lard makes the best pie crust, and it's currently undergoing a culinary revival after years of negative press for being unhealthy. Furthermore, Alton's recipe called for apple brandy, which, as it turns out, I just purchased last week in preparation for another recipe I've got in the works. Using Alton's recipe just seemed to make more sense for me.

I also borrowed part of the methodology from Alton's recipe: he recommends mixing the apples with sugar and to draw out some of the moisture from the apples, then placing them over a colander to drain so that the pie doesn't become soggy and overly juicy from all the liquid present in the raw apples. The baker behind the site where I found the original recipe said she didn't have any trouble with using raw apples, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry, given my inexperience with pie making.

Finally, I eschewed the inspiration pie's recipe for the salted caramel sauce itself. The original blogger had liberally adapted her recipe for the pie itself from one she'd seen on the Cooking Channel from Four and Twenty Blackbirds, the famous Brooklyn pie shop, so I felt free to ignore her exact proportions. Whereas she'd omitted butter from her caramel sauce, I wanted mine to recall the salted butter caramel I'd eaten in France, so I went hunting on the interwebs and quickly found some advice on the subject from David Leibowitz, my favorite author on the subject of ice cream, and general dessert guru. I trusted him more than some random lady blogger, and with good reason. Although my sauce turned out a bit lumpy (I've only caramelized sugar once that I can remember before), once I'd strained it per David's instructions, it was so delicious I may or may not have licked the sieve. Even if the pie had turned out to be an utter failure, obtaining this salted caramel sauce recipe would have made the entire recipe worthwhile on its own.


Basically, the only things I kept from the original recipe was the amount of sugar and apples in the pie, the assembly method, the bake time, and her method for topping the pie. Instead of creating a lattice crust for the top, as suggested by Four and Twenty Blackbirds, she had created a collage of pie crust hearts on the top of her pie. I liked that idea, but wanted to do stars in honor of the Fourth of July. Somewhat ridiculously, however, when I rummaged through my comically enormous box of cookie cutters, I discovered that I had a Star of David cookie cutter that I'd purchased with the intent of making Hannukah cookies for my Jewish friends at some point, but no ordinary five-pointed stars. I did, however, have a petite apple-shaped cookie cutter, so I decided that would have to suffice, and in the end, I think the results were pretty charming.

Baking this pie was definitely a labor of love. In total, I spent about eight hours on it yesterday (though I took a few television and cleaning breaks here and there), and dirtied an entire dishwasher and sink full of utensils and bowls, but it was totally worth it.

I brought it up to the suburbs today to share with my parents as a surprise. Though I'd told them yesterday to pick up some vanilla ice cream to go with my dessert, neither of them could guess what I had made. Dad was convinced that it was some sort of patriotic cake, along the lines of the flag cake I made last year for the Fourth, whereas Mom predicted a peach cobbler, since I'd mentioned to her that I'd bought a ton of peaches on sale at Jewel on Friday. A pie was so far out of the realm of expectation from me that nobody could have predicted it. I think that both of them were pleasantly surprised.

Dad lauded the crust, which I thought had turned out appropriately tender and flaky, with a nice hint of apple flavor from the inclusion of the apple brandy. Plus, as predicted, Alton's technique for drawing the liquid out of the apples before baking kept the bottom crust from becoming soggy and made the pie easier to remove from the pan. Mom similarly enjoyed the crust; even though she's not a crust person and usually leaves it on the plate, she ate every bite of this one. She also liked the blend of apples I'd selected, which were neither too tart nor too sweet.

For my part, I was very pleased with how the pie turned out, with only one exception -- I felt that the caramel could have had a slightly higher profile in the overall taste. It really came through in some bites, whereas others tasted more of the apples and spices, but given how delicious the caramel was on it's own, I really wanted to get a wallop of caramel in each and every bite. In the future, I might make twice as much caramel in order to put more in the pie itself, and to have some leftover to drizzle on top with some ice cream. Still, I'm going to consider this second pie of my entire baking career to be a overwhelming success. I don't know when I'll get around to trying my hand at another apple pie project, but I'll definitely be making this again, albeit with a couple more tweaks.


Salted Caramel Apple Pie
inspired by If You Give a Girl a Cookie

Salted Caramel Sauce
1 c. white sugar
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3/4 c. heavy cream
1 1/2 teaspoons fleur de sel

Pour the sugar into the bottom of a heavy 2-3 quart pot. Heat over medium-high to high heat, stirring occasionally, until sugar melts and caramelizes to a deep amber, about the color of an old copper penny. Remove from the heat, and stir in the butter until melted, then the cream. The caramel will seize when the butter and cream are added, but keep stirring until smooth. Add the salt and stir until dissolved. Store in the refrigerator until needed.

Pie Crust (adapted from Alton Brown)
6 oz. unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces and frozen
2 oz. lard, cut into 1/2-inch pieces and frozen
5 to 7 tablespoons apple brandy, stored in the freezer
12 oz. all-purpose flour, plus extra for dusting, refrigerated
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar

Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Using a pastry blender, quickly cut the lard and butter into the flour, until the fat is in roughly pea-size pieces. Sprinkle the cold apple brandy over the flour, and continue to cut the mixture together just until the mixture holds together when squeezed, adding more liquid as necessary. There should still be large chunks of butter and lard visible. Divide the dough in half, shape into flat disks and wrap in plastic. Refrigerate at least 1 hour to overnight.

Pie Spices (adapted from Four and Twenty Black Birds)
1/3 raw turbinado sugar
2 1/2 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/8 teaspoon cloves
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg

Pie Filling
5-6 medium to large apples (I used 2 Granny Smiths, 2 Golden Delicious, and 2 Galas)
Juice of three lemons

Assembly
1 egg, beaten
Turbinado sugar, for sprinkling
Fleur de sel, for sprinkling

Preheat the oven to 400.
1. Combine the apple pie spices in a bowl and set aside.
2. Put the lemon juice in a large bowl. One at a time, peel and core the apples, using a mandoline to slice the apples into 1/8 inch pieces. Toss the slices into the lemon juice and toss to coat, to prevent browning.
3. When all the apples are sliced, toss them with the apple pie spices, then place them in a large colander over the bowl to drain. Let sit approximately one hour.
4. Meanwhile, roll out half of the pie crust into a 9-inch circle and press into the bottom of the pie pan, fluting the edge. Return to refrigerator until needed.
5. After an hour has elapsed, squeeze any additional liquid from the apples, and layer 1/3 of the apples on top of the crust, compacting gently. Pour 1/3 of the salted caramel sauce over the apples. Repeat with two additional layers of apple and caramel sauce.
6. Roll out the remaining half of the pie dough and cut with the decorative cookie cutter of your choosing. Collage the crust pieces over the surface of the pie, overlapping the shapes slightly while allowing a few hints of the apples to peak through.
7. Brush the surface of the pie with the beaten egg, then sprinkle liberally with the raw sugar, and sparingly with the fleur de sel.
8. Place the pie on top of a sheet pan to catch drips (it will happen, and it will be messy; trust me, you don't want melted caramel all over the bottom of your oven), and bake for 25 minutes. Reduce the heat to 350 and bake approximately 35 minutes more, until the crust is golden brown. Let cool at least 30 minutes before eating.

(Since the crust is my favorite part of any pie, I always make sure to save some for the last bite.)