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Hoosier Sugar Cream Pie

04.27.2016 by J. Doe // Leave a Comment

Income taxes are due, so my almost-divorced friend throws a poverty party; I am assigned to bring a dessert. I remember seeing something somewhere about pies of the Great Depression, and a little bit of googling leads me to Paula Haney’s Hoosier Mama Book of Pie. I check it out of the library, read the chapter titled Desperation Pies, and have all the ingredients ready to make a pie on Friday evening for her Saturday party.

Friday evening, a text arrives, from a phone number with a San Francisco area code: Hey sweetie it’s Dwayne. How is your day going so far?

I don’t have a sweetie named Dwayne, in San Francisco or elsewhere, so I keep my reply brief: Wrong person.

He doesn’t believe me: U just sent me your number.

Nope, I reply. I’m Seattle, you’re San Francisco.

He agrees he’s in San Francisco, but wants to be sure: Did u just talk to me on the Sugar Daddy website?

I didn’t even know there was such a thing. Now I want to know more. No, I text back. I could use a Sugar Daddy, but I’d need one in Seattle.

Why.

Because that’s where I live.

Are you hot?

That’s a hard question to answer, I think, so I don’t. I qualify for Mensa, I tell him.

I like a smart girl, he says: Send a pic.

First, explain why you are a Sugar Daddy, I say.

I’m looking for a Sugar Baby, he says. I ask why and he tells me about his last sugar baby, the one who ended things after four years, so now he needs a new sugar baby, a sweet sugar baby.

I will spoil u rotten and give u a weekly allowance.

The last time I got an allowance, I was twelve, but I assume we’re talking about more than the five dollars a week I got then. What do you do for a living? I ask.

I own a construction company. What do you do?

I’m a Vice President at a global investment bank.

Why do you need a Sugar Daddy? he asks.

I don’t, but it sounds like a pretty good gig, and banking is tough these days, I tell him.

We chat for a bit longer, but eventually it occurs to him that I am not the person he’s looking for, or perhaps he just loses interest, but either way he stops replying.

I may or may not be hot by his definition, but my oven is not hot by any definition, so given the late hour, I abandon my plan to bake a pie. I’ll do it in the morning. I still have plenty of time.

Saturday morning, I sit and relax with a cup of coffee, and drive The Child to her appointment, and then – finally – go pick up our new microwave. By this time, I discover that Saturday afternoon has somehow arrived, and I have a pie to make. I assemble the ingredients, and turn on the oven, and only then, on my final read-through of the recipe, do I notice that a Hoosier Sugar Cream Pie is supposed to be chilled for at least four hours before serving.

This is a bit of a wrench in my plan to deliver a pie to the party that is still warm from the oven, but I will not be deterred: Desperation Pie will be served. I have taken one shortcut already, using a purchased pie shell, which  I pre-bake in the oven as I mix up the filling.

The pie itself is a simple affair, two kinds of sugar, a bit of flour for body, heavy cream, and vanilla. The recipe calls for a teaspoon of vanilla paste, but from what I’ve learned, vanilla paste is basically just the seeds from a vanilla bean, so I scraped out the seeds from two vanilla pods I already had, and used them. It worked out to about three-quarters of a teaspoon, but tasted just right.

The pie is not set when it comes out of the oven, but a little bit of internet research presented a plausible solution. I set the pie in an ice water bath to cool it rapidly, and hoped it would do the same for 1930’s recipe pie filling as it supposedly does for Jell-O molds – chill and set it quickly.

It worked!

Within an hour, the pie was nicely chilled and set and on its way to a party.

The food at the party was abundant, and all of it perfectly themed – tater tot casseroles, bean dishes, and hot dogs aplenty. The pie was a standout in the crowd, though – a custard pie richly scented of vanilla and notes of caramel. One of the guests called it Crack Pie, and that’s not far off. It’s so rich, though, that I was content to savor just one small, perfectly set, slice.

A few days later, another text arrives, but this time, I know the sender well: I cannot get over how good that pie was!

Hoosier Sugar Cream Pie

 

Hoosier Sugar Cream Pie
 
Print
Cook time
45 mins
Total time
45 mins
 
Author: adapted from Paula Haney, The Hoosier Mama Book of Pie
Ingredients
  • 1 single-crust pie shell of your choice
  • ½ cup sugar
  • ½ cup dark brown sugar
  • 2 tbsp all-purpose flour
  • Pinch of salt
  • 2 cups heavy cream
  • two vanilla beans
Instructions
  1. Cut vanilla beans open lengthwise, and use the tip of a sharp knife to scrape the seeds out. You will have about ¾ tsp of vanilla bean seeds, put in a small bowl and set aside. (Save the bean pods for some other purpose, like vanilla sugar.)
  2. Pre-bake the pie shell according to the directions, and set aside to cool.
  3. Heat oven to 400 degrees F.
  4. Whisk the sugar, brown sugar, flour, and salt together in a medium bowl. Use your hands to break up any clumps, if needed.
  5. Gently whisk in the heavy cream; taking care not to beat too much, as whipping the cream will prevent the pie from setting. Stir in the vanilla seeds.
  6. Pour the filling into the prepared pie shell and bake for 20 minutes. Rotate the pie, and bake another 20-25 minutes.
  7. When the pie is ready, the top surface will be beautifully browned and bubbling vigorously; it will not look set.
  8. Set the pie on a wire rack to cool to room temperature, then refrigerate for at least four hours before slicing.
Notes
If you have vanilla paste, you can substitute 1 tsp for the vanilla bean seeds.
If you are pressed for time, cool the pie for 15-20 minutes on a wire rack, then set it in a pan of icewater, as high as you can get without touching the rim, and place in the refrigerator to cool. This will reduce the time needed to cool the pie by about half. (Or, make the pie a day ahead, and save yourself some stress!)
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Categories // The Joy of Cooking Tags // dessert, pie, vanilla, vintage recipes

Sweet Rice and Ricotta Pie

11.29.2015 by J. Doe // Leave a Comment

I didn’t cook the first Thanksgiving meal I hosted. My roommate and I had my mom’s old dining table, and my grandmother’s old dishes, which meant that if enough people brought their own chairs, we were equipped to host twelve people for Thanksgiving. I handled the table setting, my roommate the cooking. He knew all about what to do, he said, speaking with such conviction about the virtues of giblet gravy, that I simply readied myself for a showstopping turkey feast.

There would be giblet gravy, and sage stuffing, and not one but two turkeys – an absolute necessity if we were to have a place to stuff all the stuffing that would be needed for our twelve guests. My mother heard about the two turkey plan and pronounced it asinine, but I saw no cause for alarm – it was her usual reaction to nearly everything she hadn’t thought of herself.

I remember we had a merry meal, though as to the meal itself, I don’t remember much. There were pumpkin pies in supermarket boxes, and probably some mashed potatoes, and there were indeed two turkeys, and they were mostly cooked through. What really sticks with me, though, was the stuffing.

My roommate made stuffing from a recipe he made up on the spot, tossing in his best guess as to ingredients, and then filling both birds. He used white bread from the local supermarket, of the sort that instantly liquefies upon coming into contact with any sort of moisture. I believe he may have tried to dry it out beforehand, but maybe not, and it wouldn’t have mattered either way: this bread was chemically engineered not to dry out.

So, my grandmother’s antique serving dishes were filled with balls of sage-scented slime. Each guest gamely took a small helping and graciously pronounced it delicious.

The next time I hosted Thanksgiving, I had long since moved into my own apartment, which came with a battered chrome table, at which I hosted my mother, my boyfriend, a coworker who would have liked to be my boyfriend, and another coworker who was temporarily without any boyfriend. I didn’t have much to guide me, except the knowledge that I probably didn’t need to make two turkeys, and that some guidelines should probably be employed when making stuffing. I bought a copy of Food and Wine magazine and followed their Thanksgiving recipes to the letter: there was turkey basted in butter, and a stuffing of prosciutto and escarole and some country bread that had been air-dried ahead of time and held up quite nicely, thank you very much. I steamed Brussels sprouts and tossed them with red grapes, a colorful dish that my boyfriend objected to, on the grounds that the grapes would compromise the integrity of the Brussels sprouts. They didn’t, of course, and in fact were quite tasty, but the  real hit of the evening was the cranberry sauce, which was spiked with Wild Turkey.

The following year, I bought a copy of Gourmet, and carefully followed the Thanksgiving recipes in that issue, and decided that was going to be my menu, so each succeeding year, until last year, my spattered magazine made its annual appearance. I’ve fine-tuned and simplified the stuffing recipe, my favorite part of the menu, and vary only the cranberry sauce – although I’ve found several recipes I like, I’ve not found one that improved upon my Wild Turkey spiked cranberrypalooza, which, due to the presence of children, has not been served since.

This was the menu I served in my next apartment, to whatever friends happened to be around, and to The Foreigner the one year I hosted Thanksgiving during our marriage. This was the meal I served to the friend who flew in to keep me company when I found myself a single parent of a small toddler, alone in a new city. I served this meal to The Departed each Thanksgiving, and to his children on alternating Thanksgivings.

After he left, I hosted one final Thanksgiving, and then I was done.

I had eaten the same meal off and on for over fifteen years, and I didn’t really care if I ate it again. The Dog was nearing the end, and having guests would be trying for him, and The Child was less interested in hosting children she only saw once a year than she was in finding out what Black Friday was all about.

So I made reservations, and we had fish for dinner, followed by a trip to the mall and an electronics store; we looked at the stuff, and mostly the crowds, and didn’t buy a thing.  This year, we had steak, and a somewhat more productive evening of shopping in a department store downtown.

I expect that at some point, we’ll feel nostalgic for Thanksgiving and return to it. At the moment, though, we don’t really miss it, with one lone exception. I miss Pie Friday. You know what I mean. The day after Thanksgiving. The one day of every year that it’s socially acceptable to eat pie for breakfast.

I don’t care much about pumpkin pie – though most pumpkin pie is simply mediocre, the fact is, when it’s good, it’s quite delicious. The truth of the matter, though, is that I simply enjoy having a lazy day that begins with a slice of slightly soggy-crusted pie from the fridge.

So, this year, on the night when I’d normally be drying out cubes of cornbread in the oven, I made ricotta cheese. If you’ve never done this, I highly recommend it – it sounds very difficult but in fact is comically easy, so for very little effort you get some very nice ricotta with an ego boost on the side. I used the recipe from Epicurious.com, and produced about 16 ounces of very creamy, mild ricotta. I let it drain longer than called for in the recipe, so the end result was a somewhat dry ricotta, which was what I wanted so as not to end up with too much moisture in the final pie.

I found this recipe on the Anson Mills website, and no, I don’t know how or why I found myself on the site. The company, if you’re not familiar with them, specializes in heirloom grains, and offers overly complicated and somewhat pretentious recipes to go with them. I attempted to print out this recipe, which would have resulted in 11 pages to navigate, so I cut-and-pasted only the pertinent parts of the recipe into a Word document, which I managed to trim down to three pages of exceedingly dense text.

I’ve trimmed the recipe down further for you, dear reader: Don’t be deterred. I didn’t create a lattice pie crust that I baked separately, then laid into place on top of the pie, and neither should you. I also didn’t use their special heirloom grains, which seems like the wrong place to skimp given the people selling the grains created the recipe for the purpose of telling you how to use them, but then again, the instructions for the recipe say you should overcook the rice, so it struck me that any decent-quality rice would work fine. I used arborio. I think it came from Costco, but I could be mistaken; certainly, it’s been in my pantry for a while, and thus might possibly qualify as an heirloom. Regardless, it was quite tasty.

The place you shouldn’t skimp is the ricotta – it’s the absolute centerpiece of this pie. Get yourself some good quality fresh ricotta, or make your own, but please avoid the supermarket stuff if you possibly can.

The crust used in this recipe is called a pasta frolla – basically a very sweet pastry crust. I had trouble working with the dough – it rolled out fine, but refused to lay nicely in the springform pan I used, or give me a nice edge. It also got overly dark on the edges when I blind-baked it. Some of these were my errors – I used a nine inch pan, rather than the eight-inch pan called for; if I’d used the correct size, the filling would have come to the top edge as it should have. I also neglected to refrigerate the dough before baking, which probably contributed to the overly-browned edge. Still, if there is one thing I’d still change about the original recipe, it’s the crust; the ricotta filling is so sweet, a sweetened crust isn’t really needed. (The recipe makes enough filling for two store-bought crusts, if you’re in a hurry, or, like me, have impaired pie-crust skills.)

The pie, though? It is lovely. It’s sort of a cross between a cheesecake (without the tang) and a rice pudding – a little custardy, a bit of bite from the rice, with a lovely milky ricotta sweetness reminiscent of the finest cannoli Little Italy has to offer, but better.

It is very filling, so you won’t need much to feel sated and spoiled.

Some tips on baking: The Anson Mills recipe says you can take the pie out of the oven after 45-50 minutes, and the center will still be a bit jiggly. The center was a lot jiggly at that point in my oven, which always requires extra baking time. I needed to add an extra twenty minutes to the baking time; your mileage may vary, too. The real tip-off is the degree of jiggliness of the center – if it’s a lot jiggly, it’s not done yet. You are looking for just a little jiggle. If we use a Charlie’s Angels jiggle scale, you’re looking for Kate Jackson, not Farrah.

I know Thanksgiving is over, but since this is technically an Easter pie recipe, you can get in plenty of practice before you serve it to guests on the correct holiday. Or not. It’s great for breakfast, too.

Sweet Rice and Ricotta Pie

Sweet Rice and Ricotta Pie
 
Print
Author: adapted from Anson Mills
Ingredients
Filling:
  • 3.5 ounces arborio rice
  • 16 ounces whole-milk ricotta
  • 3 ounces heavy cream
  • Finely grated zest of 2 lemons
  • ¼ teaspoon fine sea salt
  • 2 large eggs, room temperature
  • 4 large egg yolks, room temperature
  • 7.5 ounces granulated sugar
  • 1 ounce cream sherry
Pastry:
  • 2 large egg yolks
  • 1 ounce heavy cream
  • 1½ teaspoons vanilla extract
  • 15 ounces pastry flour, plus additional for rolling out the dough
  • 4 ounces granulated sugar
  • ½ teaspoon fine sea salt
  • 8 ounces cold unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch cubes
Instructions
  1. Make the pastry crust: Whisk together the egg yolk, cream, and vanilla in a small bowl. In the bowl of a food processor, pulse together the flour, sugar, and salt. Scatter the cubes of butter on the top, and pulse everything together until the mixture resembles coarse meal. With the machine running, pour the egg mixture through the feed tube, and continue to process until the mixture forms a ball. Remove the dough from the processor, and divide into two equal portions (each will weigh about 14.5 ounces). Wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least a half hour and up to two hours.
  2. Unwrap one piece of dough and put it on a floured piece of parchment. Using a floured rolling pin, roll out the dough into a round large enough to line the sides of an eight-inch springform pan. Fit a piece of aluminum foil into the dough, and line with dried beans or pie weights. Refrigerate about 45 minutes.
  3. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Bake the crust about 20 minutes; don't let it get too brown.
  4. Cook the arborio in about two cups of water, until it is softer than you'd normally eat it,then set aside to cool.
  5. Stir the ricotta, cream, lemon zest, and salt together in a medium bowl, set aside. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk, beat the eggs and egg yolks until they begin to thicken, then slowly pour in the sugar in a thin stream. When the mixture has thickened and increased in volume, reduce speed to low and add the ricotta and cooled rice, blending thoroughly.
  6. Pour the filling into the prepared pastry; it should come up to the rim.
  7. Reduce the oven temperature to 350 degrees. Bake the pie about 45-50 minutes, until just the center still jiggles slightly.
  8. Let the pie cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least an hour before removing the pie to a platter. Dust with confectioner's sugar, if you like; the pie is plenty sweet without it.
Notes
Ingredients are measured by weight in this recipe - you'll get the best results if you use a digital kitchen scale. The recipe for the pastry makes enough for a pie base and top crust, so you will have extra pie crust at the end - enjoy it, or go ahead and cut the ingredients in half. Finally, if you don't have pastry flour on hand, go ahead and substitute all-purpose flour cut with corn starch - you will use about 2¾ cups of AP flour and 6 tbsps corn starch. Make sure to check the weight - 15 ounces - so that the overall proportions are correct.
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Categories // The Joy of Cooking Tags // baking, pie, rice

Oatmeal Pie, Because I Love You

02.14.2013 by J. Doe // 1 Comment

I originally found this recipe on a blog called Spellbound Cafe. I have no idea what I was looking for at the time, but this recipe promised me that I would taste the pie and be amazed, so I printed it out. I’m glad I did, because the Spellbound Cafe blog, sadly, no longer seems to be there. And I’ve made this pie several times since I found it, always to rave reviews.

Part of the reason I make this pie so often: I always have the ingredients I need for it on hand in my pantry. I guess not everyone keeps Karo syrup and coconut around, but if you do, then you are always ready to show up with a fresh-made pie that will knock people’s socks off. And you can just shrug and say, Oh, you know, it’s just a little something I whipped up at the last minute. You won’t be lying.

People have to decide whether to love you or hate you at that moment. If they want the recipe, though, and you agree to share it*, they’ll opt for love.

I don’t even bother to make my own pie crust. Nobody cares about the crust on this pie. The filling is just that good: Sweet and silky-smooth contrasting with the slightly crunchy/slightly chewy oatmeal and coconut. Think pecan pie, but better.

No, it doesn’t look like much. The Wow just kind of sneaks up on you.

That’s how love works, sometimes.

Oatmeal Pie, Because I Love You
 
Print
Prep time
15 mins
Cook time
40 mins
Total time
55 mins
 
Author: Sprung At Last
Serves: 8
Ingredients
  • ⅔ cup White Karo Syrup
  • ⅔ cup sugar
  • ¼ tsp salt
  • ⅔ cup melted butter
  • 3 beaten eggs
  • 1 tsp vanilla
  • ⅔ cup oatmeal
  • ⅔ cup coconut
  • 9 inch pie shell
Instructions
  1. Mix it all up in order. Pour into pie shell.
  2. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes. Center should spring back when touched lightly. If it's wibbly-wobbly, it's not done, and needs more time in the oven.
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*You don’t have to. I won’t tell.

Categories // The Joy of Cooking Tags // baking, oatmeal, pie, recipes

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