"Tender & Flaky"...a Tutorial on Short Crust Pastry

From the early days of my blog I have been planning on writing a post on how to make short crust pastry. I have posted many tarts and just given the recipe for the crust...knowing that someday I would get around to explaining the details. Since I recently taught a class on pies and tarts...and we're heading toward the holidays (the one time of year people seem inclined to make homemade pie)...now seemed to be an appropriate moment.

Before I begin, I should tell you that I realize this is a really long post. I thought about dividing the contents up into 2 or 3 separate posts, but kept feeling like it all belonged together...so I just left it as one post. I have inserted some subtitles. Hopefully this will make the post a bit easier to navigate and read in short stretches.

Preliminaries—gluten, etc.

First, a definition. Most Americans are more likely to recognize the term "pie dough" than "short crust pastry". In France, the same dough is called "pâte brisée". I use these three terms interchangeably. Basically, short crust pastry is the dough that is used to make pies, tarts and turnovers (among other things). It can be made with a wide range of fats ("shortening")—butter, solid vegetable shortening and lard are the best—but I will be focusing solely on crusts made with all butter.

In order to consistently produce good pâte brisée, it helps to understand a little bit about gluten. Gluten is an elastic sheet-like substance (sometimes compared to bubblegum) that forms when wheat flour is mixed with a liquid via a mechanical action (like kneading or stirring). The more you stir or knead, the more gluten you will develop. Gluten gives strength and structure to a dough. Well-developed gluten makes yeast-raised breads light and crusty. On the other hand, too much gluten will produce tough and hard pie crusts and tart shells. Although you need a little bit of gluten development to keep a pie crust from falling apart, not enough gluten is almost never a problem. After all, the dough must be mixed after the liquid has been added so some gluten development is inevitable. In practice, learning to make pie dough is about learning how to minimize gluten development.

Wheat flour contains two kinds of proteins—gliadins and glutenins. It is these proteins that combine to form gluten. So one obvious way to minimize gluten development is to use a low protein flour like cake flour, pastry flour or a soft wheat flour like White Lily. But if all you have on hand is a national brand all-purpose flour—which has a moderate level of protein...low enough to make tender cakes and pastries....yet high enough to make a decent loaf of bread...hence "all-purpose"—you can still make a fine pâte brisée. When I make short crust pastry, I almost always use unbleached all-purpose flour.

The reason you can use an all-purpose flour to make pie dough is that there are many other ways to control gluten development. Certain ingredients can be added that inhibit the ability of the gliadins and glutenins to grab on to one another and form gluten. I will mention these briefly, but to me of much greater interest and importance are the techniques that will enable you to produce a pie dough that isn't tough or hard. If you understand the how's and why's of the right techniques, and what the dough should look and feel like at each stage in the process, you can make beautiful short crust pastry with the most basic of ingredients...flour, butter, water and salt...ingredients that everyone has in their kitchen. And since my goal is to encourage people to actually make pastry, I'm much more interested in teaching something that is simple and stream-lined.

You will find some recipes for short crust pastry that include lemon juice, vinegar, sour cream, buttermilk, or some other acidic ingredient. This is because acids are tenderizers. I mention this mainly to answer the question I am sometimes asked in class about why someone's Grandmother's prized recipe might include one of these ingredients. I never add an acidic ingredient to my pâte brisée because I have never needed to. Shirley Corriher is a great fan of this addition and her book Bakewise includes several crusts that include acidic ingredients.

The "tenderizers" that I am mostly interested in are sugar and fat. Sugar attaches itself to the aforementioned gliadins and glutenins, keeping them from bonding to one another for the formation of gluten. If you need a crust for a dessert, this is a handy thing to know. The more sugar you add, the less flour proteins that are available to make gluten. You can of course add so much sugar that there is little or no gluten development, in which case you end up with a crust that is crumbly and quite difficult to roll out.

Fats tenderize by coating the proteins—literally making them too greasy to be able to effectively join together to make gluten. This fat coating on the proteins also inhibits the ability of the dough to absorb water (which is necessary for gluten formation).

Up to this point, I have only talked about a "tender" pie crust. But of course everyone knows that a good pie crust should not only be tender—it should also be flaky. Flakiness is achieved when there are discernable lumps of cold fat remaining in the final dough. In a hot oven, the dough sets quickly around these cold bits of fat. The bits of fat then melt, leaving holes and creating flaky layers. This is the reason behind the time-honored practice of keeping your ingredients as cold as possible. Some cooks chill the flour and the bowl (I usually don't bother, but if it is a hot day, this is a good thing to do). Whether or not you chill the flour and the bowl, the butter and water should both be refrigerator cold—I usually put ice in the water to make sure it is very cold.

The Basic Recipe—the ingredients

Now to the basic recipe: Classic French pâte brisée is made with half as much butter by weight as flour. This is how I learned to make it when I was in London at cooking school. When I returned to the United States, I discovered that this ratio does not produce a very good crust. I also noticed that there was a lot more fat in the American pie dough that I had been making successfully for years. The reason for this discrepancy goes back to the protein content of the flour. U.S. national brand flours have more protein than the flours used in England and France. If you want to use this lower "classic" ratio, you must use a low protein flour like cake flour or pastry flour. If you want to use American all-purpose flour, then you should use a quantity of fat equal to 75% of the weight of the all-purpose flour to obtain a good crust.

The amount of water used to make the dough will vary according to the humidity of the day, the moisture content of the flour itself, how warm or cold the ingredients are and how much the butter has been worked into the flour. Typically the amount of water will be one quarter to one half the weight of the fat. According to Madeleine Kamman, it should never be more than half the weight of the fat. Too much water can make a crust tough.

The reason that I explain the ratios is that if you know these simple ratios, you never need to have a recipe with you. If you remember that a 8- to 10-inch tart or pie shell will need about the quantity of dough produced by 3 to 4 ounces of butter, you will always be able to calculate the remaining ingredients. To calculate the salt, I figure 1/4 t. of salt for every cup (4 oz.) of flour. I always use unsalted butter, so if you are using salted butter, you probably don't need any additional salt.

So, for a quantity of pâte brisée or pie dough that is large enough to line a 9- to 10-inch removable bottom tart pan or pie plate, you will need:

1 1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour (150 grams/5 1/3 oz.)
1 stick unsalted butter (113.5 grams/4 oz.)
3/8 t. salt
2 to 4 T. ice water (28 to 56 grams/1 to 2 oz.)

The Basic Recipe—the method

Now to the techniques. To begin, gather your ingredients. Make sure your butter and water are cold and leave them in the refrigerator until you are ready to use them. Place the flour and salt in a bowl large enough to accommodate the free movement of both of your hands. Stir the flour and salt together (using your fingers, a whisk or a fork). Cut the cold butter into uniformly-sized pieces. Some chefs/cooks cut the butter into roughly 1/2-inch chunks. I find it works best if I cut a stick of butter into slices that are a scant 1/4-inch thick. Add the butter to the bowl and fluff it in so that it is coated with the flour.

The first step in the process of making a short dough is called "sablage" which means to reduce to sand. It is also referred to as "rubbing" (if you are using your hands/fingers or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment) or "cutting" (if you are using a pastry blender or the food processor) the fat into the flour. It doesn't matter too much which implement you choose for this process as long as you remember that the fat in the pastry has two functions—tenderness and flakiness. The tenderness comes from butter that coats the proteins (small..slightly warmer pieces) and the flakes come from large cold pieces. I tell people that after sablage, the contents of the bowl should look like cornmeal and peas.

If you are rubbing the fat into the flour using your hands (as I do), the inherent warmth of your fingers will naturally soften some of the butter as the pieces get smaller and smaller. It is this butter that will "coat" and result in a mixture that looks like cornmeal. If you continued long enough, all of the mixture would have the uniform look of cornmeal. Continuing even longer and the mixture would come together completely in a homogenous mass of dough that needed no water (and would have virtually no gluten development). The idea is to stop rubbing while there are still a lot of largish, cold pieces of butter that look like peas.

If you prefer to use a pastry blender for the sablage, Alice Waters in her book Chez Panisse Fruit recommends adding the butter in two stages. She adds a third of the pieces of butter first and works it in to the flour until the whole mixture looks like cornmeal. She then adds the remaining two thirds and works it just until this later addition is reduced to the size of large peas.

For those who have read my crostata/galette posts, you might recall that I execute the sablage using the food processor. This particular dough is made with an unusually high percentage of fat. So high that when I use my hands I find it difficult to keep it from coming together in a mass before the water is added. It works best for me to pulse the cold butter into the flour until it is in mostly pea-sized pieces (some will be smaller). I then turn the whole mixture into a bowl and complete the sablage using my hands—this effectively warms up some of the butter and I end up with a mixture that has the desired look of cornmeal and peas.

It should be clear from all of this that when rubbing the fat into the flour, you may use any technique you prefer. Simply keep the picture of "cornmeal and peas" in your mind as you work—doing whatever is necessary, given the temperature conditions in the room and your chosen equipment, to produce this result. The universals are the things that you always hear: Start with cold ingredients, work quickly, purposefully and minimally. (If at any point the mixture looks greasy or is warm, put it in the refrigerator to firm the butter up again before proceeding.)

The next step is to add the water. Make sure the water is icy-cold. (This will keep the butter cold.) Add about half of the water by drizzling it over the butter/flour mixture and then "fluffing" it in. I use my hands for this operation. Hold your hands so that your palms are facing one another and your thumbs are pointing away from you. Curve your fingers slightly. Scoop down around the contents of the bowl and lift up, tossing the mixture (sort of like tossing a salad with your hands) to distribute the water. Keep scooping and fluffing, adding more of the water as necessary until the mixture begins to form larger and larger clumps. If, when you squeeze a handful of dough it holds together, you have added enough water.

This "fluffing" step should take less than a minute for a small batch of dough. The final result is truly "clumpy"—not a homogenous mass of dough. If you prefer, you may use a fork to fluff the ingredients together. What is most important is that, whether you use your hands or a fork, you don't stir, as this will encourage excessive gluten formation.

After you have added the liquid you may simply turn the clumps of dough out onto a sheet of plastic wrap and use the plastic wrap to press the dough together and into a thick disk that is about an inch thick. In recent years, I have been incorporating one last step from the French repertoire when I make my pâte brisée. This step, called "fraisage", helps to further combine all of the ingredients without stirring or kneading. A dough that has been "fraised" has greater plasticity and the edges don't tend to crack when it is rolled out. The process develops just enough gluten so that the crust is not too fragile—but not so much that it is tough. Finally, it also effectively flattens the large pieces of cold butter remaining in the dough so that the resulting flakes in the crust are long and thin.

To fraise the dough, after the water has been fluffed in, dump the moist clumps of dough onto the counter and press into a mound.

Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps.

Continue until all of the dough has been flattened.

Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do.

Wrap the dough in plastic wrap, pressing into a thick disk.

Many chefs recommend that you repeat this process, but I find that this is not necessary...for me, this second pass would create too much gluten.

At this point the disc of dough (fraised, or not) should be chilled for at least 30 minutes, and preferably 2 hours. This is called "resting" the dough. It allows any gluten that has been formed to relax. It also allows the flour to more fully and evenly absorb the water. The dough should rest in the refrigerator so that the butter can chill and firm up again. The dough may be made up to this point a day or so ahead. It may also be frozen for a few months. Thaw frozen dough in the refrigerator. The disc of chilled dough (whether it has been frozen or not) should be allowed to warm up for a moment or two before it is rolled out. If the dough is hard when you try to roll it out, it will crack and roll unevenly.

The last step—rolling out the dough

To roll out the dough, begin by dusting the work surface and the disc of dough with flour. Place the floured disc of dough in front of you on the counter.

Remember to work quickly—particularly if the room is warm—the butter softens with increasing speed as the dough becomes thinner and thinner. If the dough gets too warm, the large solid pieces of butter in the dough will begin to melt and will in turn be absorbed by the flour. The resulting crust will be tender, but it will not be as flaky.

To minimize gluten development as you roll, always roll from the center of the dough outward rather than back and forth from edge to edge: Place the rolling pin at the midpoint of the dough and roll away from you to the edge of the dough (using light and even pressure). Lift the rolling pin and place it back at the midpoint of the dough and roll in the opposite direction (toward you). Rotate the dough a quarter turn—always making sure that there is sufficient flour to keep the dough from sticking—and roll from the center out and away and then from the center back towards you again. Keep rolling and turning until you have a round (or square, or rectangle...depending on the intended use) of dough that is about 1/8 to 1/6–inch in thickness. As you work, periodically dust the dough, as well as the counter top, with flour to keep the dough from sticking. When you are finished, use a dry pastry brush to brush off the excess flour.

If the dough has been rolled out for a pie or tart, transfer the dough to a buttered tart pan or pie plate, being careful that you don't stretch the dough as you ease it into the pan. Dough tends to shrink as it bakes and if it has been stretched, it will shrink even more.

At this point the dough needs to rest in the refrigerator again. The action of rolling will have developed some gluten. Resting the dough will allow the gluten to relax. Chilling the crust will allow the butter to get cold and firm again. A rest of 30 minutes is the minimum, but the crust can be rolled out a day ahead too. (This is a good thing to know when preparing for a holiday dinner.)

For tips on rolling out the dough for empanadas, turnovers or small individual tartlets, check out my post from last year on Spinach Empanadas.

A few final thoughts and definitions

As you read through the recipe for pâte brisée you might have noticed that after writing about the tenderizing effects of sugar that I didn't include any sugar in the basic recipe. I am not in the habit of adding sugar to my basic pâte brisée, but it is common and perfectly acceptable to include a small amount—in roughly the same quantity as the salt. This is too small an amount to contribute a tenderizing affect. When used like this in pâte brisée, it is to assist in the browning of the crust. In quantities large enough to tenderize, the crust becomes discernibly sweet and is fit solely for using in dessert-type pies and tarts.

In the classic French repertoire, in addition to pâte brisée there are two other types of short crust pastry—and both of these include sugar. They are pâte sucrée and pâte sablé. Pâte sucrée contains enough sugar to make it slightly sweet (to be used in dessert tarts, turnovers, etc.) and it is made using the same techniques as pâte brisée (the sugar is added with the salt to the flour). Pâte sucrée is a sweet, flaky crust. Pâte sablé contains even more sugar than pâte sucrée....so much that there cannot be enough gluten development to produce a flaky crust. Instead, it has a crumbly or sandy-texture (sablé is from the same root as sablage) that is much more like a tender cookie than a pie crust. In fact, it is frequently called a "cookie crust" and the method used to make it is exactly like making a cookie dough (butter is creamed with sugar and egg before the flour is added and mixed to a homogenous dough).

If all of this seems confusing, just remember the pâte brisée is the all-purpose crust. It is the most important one to be able to make, because if you can make a good pâte brisée, you can make both savory and sweet pies, turnovers and crostatas/galettes. If you know how to make this crust, you don't really need to know how to make any others.

On the other hand, if you can make a pâte brisée, you know how to make the most difficult crust....and there is no reason not to expand to sweet crusts. In my own personal repertoire I don't really make or use a classic pâte sucrée. When I want a sweet flaky crust, it is typically for a free form galette or crostata. The dough that I use for this would probably be classified as a pâte sucrée because of the technique used to make it and because it is sweet. But, as mentioned above, it contains a very large percentage of butter—almost equal to the weight of the flour. I love this crust because it is very tender and flaky—but I don't think it has enough structure to use in a tart pan as one would be able to use a more traditional pâte sucrée. I do make a traditional pâte sablé and have posted it on more than one occasion. It is an exceptional recipe that I learned from a local pastry chef who owned The Pastry Goddess in Kansas City for many years (Thanks Kathy!!).

Now seems like an appropriate place to mention that the content of this post has been acquired over the years...obviously a lot of experience, many teachers and many chefs contributed to the things that I have written about. But I want to specifically mention the books The New Making of a Cook by Madeleine Kamman and Bakewise by Shirley Corriher. It is impossible for me to separate the practical techniques I have learned over the years from the science (as it relates to technique) as explained in these two books. They are both goldmines of information—I have barely scratched the surface. If you are interested in delving more deeply into this topic, these books would be a great place to start.

Hopefully this post has been enough to help, but not so much that it overwhelms or intimidates. Making excellent pâte brisée really is not complicated or difficult. Despite the length of this post, making it is simple and fast—much faster to make than to read about it. Once you understand the "why's", the age old advice to" keep everything cold and work quickly and purposefully" will make sense. With practice, you will learn to produce a tender and flaky crust in no time at all.



Apple-Fennel Relish for the Kaw Valley Farm Tour

This was the weekend of the annual Kaw Valley Farm Tour. Once again I was asked to participate in the tour by giving a cooking demonstration and tasting at one of the stops along the way. And once again we had a picture perfect day—bright sunshine, clear blue skies, and the beginnings of the fall color. The tour is always fun to work, but it was a true privilege to participate on such a lovely day.

My cooking demonstration was at the garden at the West Middle School. If you live within driving distance of the school, you should stop by to see the garden...it is a truly special place. The students and adult sponsors from the Community Mercantile Education Foundation have created and maintained a garden that is productive (selling at the Farmers' Market and through the Community Mercantile) and beautiful. The food I cooked and served for the West Garden tour stop featured several items they are growing there (sweet potatoes, red onions and thyme). And from where I stood to give my demonstration on Saturday I had a picturesque view of well-manicured rows of chard, melons and tomatoes.

The savory sweet potato cakes that I mentioned in my last post were created for my demonstration at the West Garden. I had wanted to feature foods that were growing at the garden and I had been told that they had a bumper crop of sweet potatoes. The cakes were a perfect vehicle for the Apple-Fennel relish I made with local Jonagold apples and the red onions and thyme from the West Garden.

These simple little hors d'oeuvre were a big hit, but I was particularly pleased with the relish. It provided a nice sweet-tart accent for the sweet potato fritters and I was struck with how useful and versatile it would be for the upcoming holidays.  I think it would go particularly well with cheese--as a topping for a warm brie crostini or as part of a large cheese platter for example.  The combination of apple and fennel make the relish a natural partner for roast pork, but I think it would go equally well with turkey.  And it would of course be excellent included in a sandwich made from the leftovers of either.

Of course the recipe for this little relish is mostly an outline.  If you make it as written, I think you will like it very much--but there are many, many possible and pleasing variations.  You could substitute pears for some or all of the apples.  Perhaps you could use rosemary instead of thyme....sherry vinegar in place of (or in addition to) the lemon juice....and maybe use honey or brown sugar instead of the maple syrup.  As with any relish, the sweet-tart balance is up to you.  It should be varied to suit your palate--always keeping in mind the inherent sweetness and acidity of the vegetables and fruits that you use, as well as the flavors of whatever you will be serving it with.  If you are not in the habit of cooking "to taste", this relish could be a fun place to start. 

Apple-Fennel Relish

1 1/2 cups diced (1/4-inch) apple (something with a nice sweet/tart flavor like a Jonagold or a Braeburn)—about 2 medium apples
1 T. olive oil
1 T. sugar
1/2 c. diced (1/4-inch) fennel (about half a medium bulb)
1/4 c. diced (1/4-inch) red onion
1 T. olive oil
1 t. coarsely chopped fresh picked thyme
1/2 t. fennel seed, toasted and ground in a mortar and pestle
1/8 t. coriander seed, toasted and ground in a mortar and pestle
salt & pepper
1/2 T. lemon juice
apple cider or water
1 T. cider reduction (see below)
1/2 T. maple syrup (or to taste)

To get a beautiful and uniform dice, use a mandoline to slice the apples and fennel into 1/4-inch slabs.  Stack the slabs and cut into 1/4-inch sticks and then cut across the sticks at 1/4 inch intervals.

In a large sauté pan, heat the olive oil over high heat. Add the apples and sauté—tossing regularly—until golden (about 2 or 3 minutes). Sprinkle the sugar over the apples and continue to toss and cook until the sugar is caramelized and the apples are just tender...another minute or two. Transfer the apples to a plate; set aside.

Warm the remaining olive oil in a small sauté pan over medium heat. Add the fresh fennel and onion along with a pinch of salt and sweat until beginning to soften—about five minutes. Add the thyme, fennel and coriander and continue to cook for a minute or two more. Add the lemon juice and enough water or cider to barely cover the vegetables.

Cover and simmer until tender. Uncover and add the reserved apples. Increase the heat and cook until all the moisture has evaporated. Add the cider reduction and maple syrup and cook a few minutes more. Taste and correct the seasoning with salt & pepper and the sweet/tart balance with lemon juice (or sherry vinegar), cider reduction and maple syrup. Cool. Chill until ready to use. Makes about 1 cup relish. 


Cider Reduction: Place a quart of apple cider in a saucepan. If you like, you may add a piece of cinnamon stick, a clove and a few black peppercorns (or any combination of spices you prefer). Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and cook at a bare simmer until the cider is thick and syrupy—you will have about a half cup of reduction. As the reduction gets thicker, reduce the heat even more to keep from scorching it.

Printable Recipe

An Impromptu Meal for Early Fall—Sweet Potato Pancakes served with a Medley of Corn, Sweet Potatoes & Black Beans



For the past couple of weeks I have been testing recipes for "savory sweet potato cakes".  When I promised to make some for an upcoming job, I didn't have a specific type of cake in mind.  Consequently, my days have been interspersed with the making and tasting of a variety of versions of sweet potato latkes, sweet potato pancakes and sweet potato fritters/croquettes. You would think I would be tired of sweet potatoes, but I'm not. I love sweet potatoes. The "savory sweet potato cakes" that I will be serving for my event will be a fritter/croquette-type of cake, but I was so pleased with the sweet potato pancakes that I came up with while working on this job that I thought I would share the recipe here.

We had them for dinner this evening topped with a quick sauté of corn and sweet potatoes. My sauté was inspired by a salad I noticed a couple of weeks ago in the deli case at The Community Mercantile in Lawrence. The salad, which also included black beans, appealed to me because of the pairing of corn and sweet potatoes. I think these two vegetables are fantastic together. (Last year I posted a version of Corn Chowder that includes some sweet potatoes in addition to white potatoes.) 

Unfortunately the window during which you can enjoy this combination made with sweet corn that has been freshly cut from the cob is narrow....and it is now. Sweet potatoes have just begun to make their way to the market and the farmers that I buy my corn from told me that last Saturday was their final visit for the year. We have been savoring these final ears all week...and tonight there were only two left. I know I will be able to make this dish in the coming months with frozen corn, but it won't be quite the same.

I don't have a detailed recipe for my corn and sweet potato medley...just a general method—which is really all you need for a dish like this. To begin, cut a medium sized sweet potato into a 1/3-inch dice—you should have about 2 cups of diced sweet potatoes. Sauté the sweet potatoes in some olive oil over moderately high heat until golden and beginning to soften. (Choose a sauté pan that is large enough to hold the sweet potatoes in a snug single layer.) Transfer to a plate and season with salt and pepper.

Return the pan to the heat and add some more oil. Add a medium red onion that has been thinly sliced to the pan and cook over moderate heat until tender and lightly caramelized. When the onion is tender, add a teaspoon or so of cumin and a quarter teaspoon of chipotle chili powder (more or less to taste) along with a pinch of salt. Cook briefly until fragrant. If the pan seems dry, add a bit more oil. Add a couple of cups of sweet corn (if using fresh, add the "scrapings" of the cob as well). Season with salt and continue to cook until the corn begins to sizzle—a minute or two. Add a splash of water and scrape up any brown, caramelized bits sticking to the bottom of the pan. Return the sweet potatoes to the pan along with a can of drained and rinsed black beans. Season with salt, cover and cook over low heat until the corn and sweet potatoes are just tender. Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper.

At this point you may add a variety of different things to the pan to "finish" the dish. I added a scant tablespoon of sherry vinegar and about as much maple syrup. A squeeze of lime juice would have been nice in addition to, or in place of, the sherry vinegar. A finely minced canned chipotle in adobo would be an excellent addition. too.

Set the finished sauté to the side and keep warm while you prepare the pancakes.  Just before serving, add some coarslely chopped flat leaf parsley or cilantro to the vegetables.  I used parsley...which was good...but if I had had any cilantro on hand, that would have been a better choice.

To serve, place three pancakes on each plate and mound some of the corn-sweet potato medley in the center. Finish the plate with a thin drizzle of maple syrup (not too much!--this is a savory dish) and a dollop of crème fraiche. Sour cream would be a perfectly fine substitute for the crème fraiche.

The pancake recipe makes enough for four servings of three cakes each.  The quantities of vegetables that I have given for the corn and sweet potato sauté will make enough to serve four generously with some left over.  Just enough, as it happens, to serve with a cheese quesadilla for a nice weekend lunch....  

Savory Sweet Potato-Cornmeal Pancakes

3/4 c. all-purpose flour (85 grams)
1/2 c. stone ground cornmeal (65 grams)
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1 t. kosher salt
1 t. sugar
6 T. mashed roasted sweet potatoes (100 grams)
1 egg, beaten
2 T. melted unsalted butter
1 to 1 1/4 c. buttermilk
2 green onions, thinly sliced

Place the dry ingredients in a bowl and mix together. In another bowl, whisk together the sweet potatoes, egg and melted butter. Add 1 cup of the buttermilk and whisk until smooth. Pour the wet ingredients over the dry ingredients and add the green onions. Fold together. The batter will be thick enough to scoop with an ice cream scoop, but if it is too thick, add more of the buttermilk.

Melt some butter in a nonstick or cast iron pan over medium heat. Scoop in the batter, spreading slightly to form 3 inch cakes. Cook until golden (about 2 1/2 minutes on each side). Keep the pancakes warm in a low oven until all of the cakes have been cooked. Makes about 12 pancakes.

(Adapted from Mark Miller's Corn Cakes from the Coyote Café Cookbook)

Ratatouille..... a love story

I have not always loved vegetables. I went to cooking school with the intention of becoming a pastry chef (I have always loved sweets) and it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to anyone who knew me that I ended up working on the savory side of the kitchen. Of course my change of heart towards vegetables was a gradual process that only began during my time in London. But as I look back on my stay there, I can pinpoint two seminal moments in my transformation. One of those moments involved a dish called ratatouille.

Ratatouille is a classic Provençal vegetable stew made of eggplant, zucchini, tomatoes, peppers and onions. When I started cooking school it would be fair to say that tomatoes—and onions if they were cooked long enough—were the only vegetables on that list that I liked well enough to prepare for myself. As for the other three, I would say that I tolerated peppers—but they were not something I would have gone out of my way to eat. Eggplant and zucchini on the other hand were not vegetables that I was willing to eat at all.

I believe I only had one experience with eggplant while growing up and it was not a good one. My mother, possibly in an attempt to stretch our food horizons—or maybe to satisfy her own desire to try something new and interesting for dinner—prepared a dish that featured eggplant. I have no memory of the dish other than my reaction. I was revolted. It is quite likely that the dish was pretty good, but for some reason I had a preconceived notion that eggplant was nasty. My thoughts on zucchini were similar....the only difference being that I had more experience of it. I remember that it appeared now and then on our table. And I have to say that there was one dish in particular—a canned concoction of zucchini stewed in tomato sauce—that was pretty awful.

With all of this in mind, imagine my dismay on one particular day at the Cordon Bleu as I looked over the recipes for the upcoming demonstration and saw ratatouille among them. I was old enough at that point to not let out an audible "blecchhh" (I'm sure I thought it). Instead, I quietly resigned myself to having to go out for lunch after class. Of course, this is not how things turned out.

As always, I was seated on the front row. As a person who's last name begins with "V" I had to sit at the back of the classroom all through grade school and high school. So when I got to college and then cooking school—where I got to choose my seat—I was always front and center. This put me in the perfect position, not only to see what was going on on top of the stove and on the cutting board, but also to catch the aromas as they came off of all of the tasty things sizzling and simmering away during class.

The ratatouille the chef was preparing that day was a traditional, rustic version. In this version the vegetables are simply added to the pan in succession as they are cut. First, the oil and onions are set to cook over a gentle heat. Next the eggplant and zucchini are cut, salted, rinsed and dried. These are then added to the pan where they begin to cook and soften while the tomatoes and peppers are cut. The final addition of vegetables is made along with some smashed garlic and a bundle of herbs. With each addition, the lid of the pan is lifted and a wave of fragrant steam comes out of the pan.

On that day, the first time the lid came off after all of the vegetables had been cooking for a while, I about fell out of my chair. I had never smelled anything like it. Since the lid had to come off several more times as the class continued—to give the stew a stir, check its progress and maybe stir in a touch more olive oil—by the time class was over, I couldn't wait to taste that stew. It did not disappoint. It was one of the best things I have ever put in my mouth. Rich with concentrated vegetable flavors and olive oil, it had the consistency of a thick jam. I have been in love with eggplant and zucchini ever since.

To this day, ratatouille is one of my favorite things to eat. From late summer into fall, I always try and take advantage of the season and make at least a batch or two of ratatouille. There is no one method for preparing this dish—it is the combination of ingredients that defines it. It can be prepared as a simple stew, like the one we had at the Cordon Bleu. But it can also be elaborately deconstructed and reconstructed like Thomas Keller's version—the one that was so elegantly animated in the movie Ratatouille. The version I make lies somewhere between these two. From the book Lulu's Provençal Table, it involves cooking each vegetable separately before combining them all for a long slow simmer. This method gives the soft texture and long-stewed, well-amalgamated flavor of the one I first tasted so long ago, but at the same time allows each vegetable to remain visually identifiable in the final dish. It is good on pasta, or with eggs,

as a vegetable side to grilled or roasted meats,

or on a crostini.



It is not glamorous...   or particularly beautiful...    but I love this dish.

Ratatouille

About 2/3 c. olive oil
1 lb. onions, cut into ½-inch dice
1 lb. zucchini, cut into ¾-inch cubes
1 lb. eggplant, unpeeled and cut into ¾-inch cubes
6 cloves of garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
1 lb. tomatoes, peeled, seeded & cut into large chunks, juices reserved
3 large bell peppers, roasted, peeled, seeded (juices reserved) and cut into ½-inch squares
Several sprigs of fresh thyme
Salt & freshly ground pepper

In a large, heavy, wide pan, warm 3 T. of olive oil. Add the onions and cook covered over low heat, stirring occasionally, until the onions are very tender and are simmering in their own juices—this will take about 30 minutes. Uncover, increase the heat slightly, and cook until they begin to take on a light golden color.

While the onions cook, sauté the zucchini in a large frying pan until golden and beginning to be tender.

Set the zucchini aside and season lightly with salt. Repeat this process with the eggplant.

Do not overcrowd the frying pan or the zucchini & eggplant will steam and not caramelize. If necessary, do each vegetable in batches (just large enough to cover the bottom of the pan with a single layer of eggplant or zucchini). It is not necessary to clean the pan between batches—simply add more oil if necessary and then add the next batch. Be careful not to add too much oil—there should be just enough to lightly coat the bottom of the pan. Each batch will take about 5 minutes.

When the onions are ready, season with salt and add the garlic along with the eggplant and the zucchini.

Meanwhile, in the same frying pan used to sauté the eggplant and zucchini, sauté the tomatoes (adding more oil if necessary) over high heat—shaking and tossing constantly until the tomatoes are softened, but not disintegrating, and their liquid has reduced to a syrup.

Remove from the pan and set aside. Add the reserved tomato juices to the same pan and reduce until slightly thickened.  (For late season tomatoes, which may not be as juicy as mid-summer tomatoes, the tomatoes and their juices can all be cooked at once rather than in two steps.)

To the pan of eggplant, zucchini & onions, add the tomatoes and tomato juices along with the peppers and their juices. Immerse the thyme in the vegetables and simmer the vegetables, stirring occasionally and being careful not to break the vegetables up too much, until the vegetables are tender and coated in a reduced, syrupy, vegetal liquid--about an hour to an hour and a half (longer, if the heat is very low).  If at first the stew seems a bit dry, cover the pan until the vegetables begin to give up their juices, then uncover and continue to simmer until the juices are reduced. If the stew has sufficient liquid at the beginning, simply leave the pan uncovered as it simmers.

When the ratatouille is finished, correct the seasoning with salt & pepper. The ratatouille may be served immediately, but it tastes better if allowed to “ripen” overnight. Let cool to room temperature and then cover and refrigerate. Bring the ratatouille back to room temperature or reheat it before serving. In any case, just before serving, stir in a couple of tablespoons of olive oil.  Makes about 5 cups.

(Recipe adapted from  Lulu's Provençal Table, by Richard Olney)

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