Friday, July 6, 2007
Each peach pie...
...gets better and better. Although the peach filling is scrumptious, the crust is perfection. My fluting looked like a pastry chef had done it. The quality of the crust was superb...tiny flakes all the way through. Instead of using the suggestion from the Joy of Cooking [pie crust recipe] to cover the fluting with aluminum foil after it had browned, I covered it at the beginning, then exposed it during the last half of the baking, when the oven is at a lower temperature. Not only does the flute not burn, it bakes up tender but firm. This particular crust was made two weeks ago. The book says not to refrigerate over two days, then, transfer crust dough to the freezer. I didn't read those instructions during the first and second batches. The crust was perfect, anyway.
I never, ever thought I'd ever be able to make a perfect crust, because so much of it requires kinesthetic and observational senses that can't easily be lingualized. I realized yesterday, though, mixing up my third batch of crust dough in three weeks, that I've got the hang of it. I recognized all the signs, did the proper dances and, voila, a crust even I enjoy! In case you're curious about the recipe, this recipe and direction is very similar to the Joy of Cooking one I use. The only difference in the ingredients is, per recipe, I use 1 stick sweet butter and 1/2 cup solid shortening (I use the butter flavored sticks), and, for fruit pies, 2 Tbl powdered sugar. I use 1/3 cup ice water to start, because everything is so dry, up here. If I need more, I add it by increments of a Tablespoon. As far as the directions are concerned, I hadn't considered chilling my fat pieces in ice water before cutting into the flour mixture. Not a bad idea, but I don't know, I seem to be doing okay and I'm all about no-more-fuss-than-necessary when cooking.
I'm experimenting with the peaches. I increased the sugar (dark brown) by a quarter cup, still using two and a half pounds of peaches. This batch is the ripest, yet. [I should be writing about this over at Caring. About Food. Oh well. Maybe I'll transfer it over, later.] The thing about pie fillings is that I'm eccentrically particular. I prefer fruit with the peelings on. If it's a berry pie, I want at least a few of the type of berry to be graphically distinguishable. Don't like runny pies. Don't like overly sweet pies. Used to absolutely hate crust. My mother used to use those Pillsbury pre-mixed blocks and canned fruit. I don't have a problem with canned cherries, but I don't buy pre-made filling...I buy unsweetened, packed in water or juice, canned cherries. So, with these peaches, which, even hard, were amazingly fragrant, except for the first pie, I let them sit in a paper bag for a couple of days. They were ripe, juicy and firm, falling easily easily away from the pit. I mixed 2.5 pounds unpeeled peach slices (5 peaches) with a mixture of: 1 cup dark brown sugar; 3.5 Tbl minute tapioca; 1/8th tsp salt; maybe 1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg. I added 1/4 tsp almond extract and 3 Tbl fresh squeezed lemon juice to the fruit/sugar/tapioca mixture. Stirred all that. Let it sit for 15 minutes while I was placing the bottom crust in the pie pan. Every time you're not working with the crust you are advised to refrigerate it, in order to keep the delicate layers of butter/flour from creating a glutenized mush. I do this.
This pie was wonderful. From this result, though, the next (and probably last) peach pie, which I've decided to bake and then freeze today, will have the following changes: I will add 1/2 cup sliced, pan-toasted (last night) almonds to the filling; I will add 4 Tbl minute tapioca, rather than 3.5. This filling was not terribly runny, and I'm naturally suspicious of a stand-up filling, but it could be a little thicker.
Yesterday's pie tasted and smelled (from about 15 minutes after it began baking until long after we'd eaten a slice) like it had been baked in Peach Heaven. The crust did not get in the way of the pie...it added flavor depth and texture contrast. A hefty slice of warm-from-the-oven peach pie was all we had for dinner last night. Mom asked for unwhipped whipping cream to pour over it after tasting it on it's own. I was the one who insisted that she take a bite before creaming it, for me, to tell me what she thought. She'll pour pure cream over anything before tasting it, on the assumption that it can only make it better.
Last night, as Mom and I exclaimed over yesterday's pie (most of which will be cut into pieces and frozen) we talked about taking advantage of the season and assembling and freezing a variety of fruit pies to be used when "company comes". Capital idea, especially since it will require me to divest the freezer of almost three year old stored bits of dinners! She loves watching me "make a pie". I think it may remind her of watching her mother make pies. More than once she has said, "You know, Mother (her mother) used to enjoy making pies."
Actually, I think, after awhile, Mom's sister took over the pie making, as she took over the bread and pastry pantry at Latchstring Inn. But even I have one memory of Grandma making a pie, a vigorous memory of a skillful, knowledgeable, self-aware woman briskly assembling a pie, so she must have done it fairly often. I don't remember if I liked her pies. I was a difficult child when it came to desserts, so I might not have. I loved Grandma's rhubarb crisp, though, with the soft serve ice cream from the machine they had at the lunch counter inside the tourist shop at The Inn. I used to like her chocolate chip cookies better than anyone's until I contracted what was probably food poisoning from another source, but, when it hit, the last thing I'd eaten was Grandma's chocolate chip cookies, so they were the first and the most plentiful up, and, to this day...well, you know how that story goes.
So, I should probably recommence taking at least Mom's blood sugar stats, once to twice a day. I think we'll be fine during pie season on her present schedule. Her BG recovers quickly from spikes on 20mg/day of glipizide. I've been told not to worry about it unless it is above 200 several hours after a meal, so I don't. I should probably also add her blood pressure, at least in the morning. It's been a little over a month since we've been on the full 40 mg/day lisinopril dosage. I think I've got the schedule worked out, now, and she's adjusting to what was alarming slowness when I just popped 20 mg at a time at her back in April. So, let's see. It's taken about two and a half months to take her from 20mg/day to 40/mg per day, in 5mg increments. That's not too bad. I'm curious to see what her BP is now. I noticed a Medscape article about the kind of BP my mother sports: Iffy Systolic/Perennially Wonderful, Startlingly low Diastolic. I haven't read the article, yet, but I've read other articles that classify her BP as "low BP" as long as the diastolic is below 70, regardless of what this systolic is. I tend to feel, from my experience in charting her BP, that a diastolic in the 60's and low 70's and a systolic above 105 and under 130 is most effectual for Mom, at this point in her life.
Anyway, because she's not on much lisinopril, relatively speaking, it always surprises me when she responds to an up in dosage by shaking out the fogginess in sleep. But, I think we're fairly through all that, now, and I've learned a lot about how to tell if she needs the sleep upon which she's insisting and indulging. Truth is, she usually does. She's pert and spritely and usually remembers who's dead and who's not, and moves around a lot more, and usually doesn't want or need oxygen when sitting, when she gets "enough" sleep, even if that should be a 14 hour stint. I continually remind myself that throughout most of her life, Katherine Hepburn admitted to needing at least 14 hours of sleep a night. Something about lionesses, I guess. Oh well. When I insist on no more than 12 hours per night, though, and none of her, body or mind, is ready to awaken, she spends the first part of her day, pre-nap, groggy, testy and constantly trying to head back for bed, argumentative about when she can do this. Then, after a nap, she's her revived self, again.
One more batch of blueberry muffins to make, too. I make the small size. My mother blanches when she's confronted with an industrial strength muffin. Funny, she'll eat two at a sitting of the smaller ones, but isn't sure what to do with mega-muffins! She likes them, but considers them personal cakes and would rather consider them an evening dessert.
By the way, I just searched for a link to "Latchstring Inn" above and came across the page to which I linked. It supposedly has a history, somewhat tragic, of the inn. It quotes an email from a woman who states that Ms. Woodworth was the "original" owner of the inn. Not true. She bought the inn from my grandparents, although, when this girl's friend worked the inn it had long belonged to Ms. Woodworth. It's renown, not only in "The Hills" but in the area, including eastern Wyoming and various states south of South Dakota's border, was due to my grandparents owning the inn for several decades. They created an institution of Latchstring, including publishing a short, informal history; making a name for the attached chapel as "The Church by the Side of the Road". I think they may have built the chapel, actually. It was equipped with a small, old pump organ which was played by a variety of people, depending on who was visiting, or by my cousin or my aunt. During The Season guest pastors would conduct regular Sunday services. Busloads of tourists and natives would come from the surrounding towns to attend. Sunday dinner at the Inn restaurant was a weekly event. My grandparents sold in 1969, I think, although it may have been a few years later. They completely retired, at that point. This is when they moved to Prescott, AZ. Although they are not included in this above linked history of "The Inn", it's reputation was made and nourished under them. I believe it was their longest running business venture, and most successful. I don't remember much about the sale except for long talks with all adult family members about the details of it and the buyers. I can't remember whether it was before or after the sale, but I remember several family members bemoaning the fact that it was the buyer's intention to obtain a liquor license and operate a bar out of the inn. About half of the family members participating in the ongoing discussion, that summer, were alcoholics, so it was interesting to me, an older teen, to discover that not even they wanted Latchstring Inn to have a liquor license. My feeling was, and is, that any buyer, at that time, would have intended to make this upgrade to the services provided by the inn. The cocktail generation were the people with the most disposable income, at the time. Latchstring had long snubbed this profitable clientele.
Think I'll check on Mom, see how she looks and sounds. She was up until 0230 this morning. Can't remember what we were doing, but it was apparently involving.
Maybe I can get a little more reading in.
Later.
I never, ever thought I'd ever be able to make a perfect crust, because so much of it requires kinesthetic and observational senses that can't easily be lingualized. I realized yesterday, though, mixing up my third batch of crust dough in three weeks, that I've got the hang of it. I recognized all the signs, did the proper dances and, voila, a crust even I enjoy! In case you're curious about the recipe, this recipe and direction is very similar to the Joy of Cooking one I use. The only difference in the ingredients is, per recipe, I use 1 stick sweet butter and 1/2 cup solid shortening (I use the butter flavored sticks), and, for fruit pies, 2 Tbl powdered sugar. I use 1/3 cup ice water to start, because everything is so dry, up here. If I need more, I add it by increments of a Tablespoon. As far as the directions are concerned, I hadn't considered chilling my fat pieces in ice water before cutting into the flour mixture. Not a bad idea, but I don't know, I seem to be doing okay and I'm all about no-more-fuss-than-necessary when cooking.
I'm experimenting with the peaches. I increased the sugar (dark brown) by a quarter cup, still using two and a half pounds of peaches. This batch is the ripest, yet. [I should be writing about this over at Caring. About Food. Oh well. Maybe I'll transfer it over, later.] The thing about pie fillings is that I'm eccentrically particular. I prefer fruit with the peelings on. If it's a berry pie, I want at least a few of the type of berry to be graphically distinguishable. Don't like runny pies. Don't like overly sweet pies. Used to absolutely hate crust. My mother used to use those Pillsbury pre-mixed blocks and canned fruit. I don't have a problem with canned cherries, but I don't buy pre-made filling...I buy unsweetened, packed in water or juice, canned cherries. So, with these peaches, which, even hard, were amazingly fragrant, except for the first pie, I let them sit in a paper bag for a couple of days. They were ripe, juicy and firm, falling easily easily away from the pit. I mixed 2.5 pounds unpeeled peach slices (5 peaches) with a mixture of: 1 cup dark brown sugar; 3.5 Tbl minute tapioca; 1/8th tsp salt; maybe 1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg. I added 1/4 tsp almond extract and 3 Tbl fresh squeezed lemon juice to the fruit/sugar/tapioca mixture. Stirred all that. Let it sit for 15 minutes while I was placing the bottom crust in the pie pan. Every time you're not working with the crust you are advised to refrigerate it, in order to keep the delicate layers of butter/flour from creating a glutenized mush. I do this.
This pie was wonderful. From this result, though, the next (and probably last) peach pie, which I've decided to bake and then freeze today, will have the following changes: I will add 1/2 cup sliced, pan-toasted (last night) almonds to the filling; I will add 4 Tbl minute tapioca, rather than 3.5. This filling was not terribly runny, and I'm naturally suspicious of a stand-up filling, but it could be a little thicker.
Yesterday's pie tasted and smelled (from about 15 minutes after it began baking until long after we'd eaten a slice) like it had been baked in Peach Heaven. The crust did not get in the way of the pie...it added flavor depth and texture contrast. A hefty slice of warm-from-the-oven peach pie was all we had for dinner last night. Mom asked for unwhipped whipping cream to pour over it after tasting it on it's own. I was the one who insisted that she take a bite before creaming it, for me, to tell me what she thought. She'll pour pure cream over anything before tasting it, on the assumption that it can only make it better.
Last night, as Mom and I exclaimed over yesterday's pie (most of which will be cut into pieces and frozen) we talked about taking advantage of the season and assembling and freezing a variety of fruit pies to be used when "company comes". Capital idea, especially since it will require me to divest the freezer of almost three year old stored bits of dinners! She loves watching me "make a pie". I think it may remind her of watching her mother make pies. More than once she has said, "You know, Mother (her mother) used to enjoy making pies."
Actually, I think, after awhile, Mom's sister took over the pie making, as she took over the bread and pastry pantry at Latchstring Inn. But even I have one memory of Grandma making a pie, a vigorous memory of a skillful, knowledgeable, self-aware woman briskly assembling a pie, so she must have done it fairly often. I don't remember if I liked her pies. I was a difficult child when it came to desserts, so I might not have. I loved Grandma's rhubarb crisp, though, with the soft serve ice cream from the machine they had at the lunch counter inside the tourist shop at The Inn. I used to like her chocolate chip cookies better than anyone's until I contracted what was probably food poisoning from another source, but, when it hit, the last thing I'd eaten was Grandma's chocolate chip cookies, so they were the first and the most plentiful up, and, to this day...well, you know how that story goes.
So, I should probably recommence taking at least Mom's blood sugar stats, once to twice a day. I think we'll be fine during pie season on her present schedule. Her BG recovers quickly from spikes on 20mg/day of glipizide. I've been told not to worry about it unless it is above 200 several hours after a meal, so I don't. I should probably also add her blood pressure, at least in the morning. It's been a little over a month since we've been on the full 40 mg/day lisinopril dosage. I think I've got the schedule worked out, now, and she's adjusting to what was alarming slowness when I just popped 20 mg at a time at her back in April. So, let's see. It's taken about two and a half months to take her from 20mg/day to 40/mg per day, in 5mg increments. That's not too bad. I'm curious to see what her BP is now. I noticed a Medscape article about the kind of BP my mother sports: Iffy Systolic/Perennially Wonderful, Startlingly low Diastolic. I haven't read the article, yet, but I've read other articles that classify her BP as "low BP" as long as the diastolic is below 70, regardless of what this systolic is. I tend to feel, from my experience in charting her BP, that a diastolic in the 60's and low 70's and a systolic above 105 and under 130 is most effectual for Mom, at this point in her life.
Anyway, because she's not on much lisinopril, relatively speaking, it always surprises me when she responds to an up in dosage by shaking out the fogginess in sleep. But, I think we're fairly through all that, now, and I've learned a lot about how to tell if she needs the sleep upon which she's insisting and indulging. Truth is, she usually does. She's pert and spritely and usually remembers who's dead and who's not, and moves around a lot more, and usually doesn't want or need oxygen when sitting, when she gets "enough" sleep, even if that should be a 14 hour stint. I continually remind myself that throughout most of her life, Katherine Hepburn admitted to needing at least 14 hours of sleep a night. Something about lionesses, I guess. Oh well. When I insist on no more than 12 hours per night, though, and none of her, body or mind, is ready to awaken, she spends the first part of her day, pre-nap, groggy, testy and constantly trying to head back for bed, argumentative about when she can do this. Then, after a nap, she's her revived self, again.
One more batch of blueberry muffins to make, too. I make the small size. My mother blanches when she's confronted with an industrial strength muffin. Funny, she'll eat two at a sitting of the smaller ones, but isn't sure what to do with mega-muffins! She likes them, but considers them personal cakes and would rather consider them an evening dessert.
By the way, I just searched for a link to "Latchstring Inn" above and came across the page to which I linked. It supposedly has a history, somewhat tragic, of the inn. It quotes an email from a woman who states that Ms. Woodworth was the "original" owner of the inn. Not true. She bought the inn from my grandparents, although, when this girl's friend worked the inn it had long belonged to Ms. Woodworth. It's renown, not only in "The Hills" but in the area, including eastern Wyoming and various states south of South Dakota's border, was due to my grandparents owning the inn for several decades. They created an institution of Latchstring, including publishing a short, informal history; making a name for the attached chapel as "The Church by the Side of the Road". I think they may have built the chapel, actually. It was equipped with a small, old pump organ which was played by a variety of people, depending on who was visiting, or by my cousin or my aunt. During The Season guest pastors would conduct regular Sunday services. Busloads of tourists and natives would come from the surrounding towns to attend. Sunday dinner at the Inn restaurant was a weekly event. My grandparents sold in 1969, I think, although it may have been a few years later. They completely retired, at that point. This is when they moved to Prescott, AZ. Although they are not included in this above linked history of "The Inn", it's reputation was made and nourished under them. I believe it was their longest running business venture, and most successful. I don't remember much about the sale except for long talks with all adult family members about the details of it and the buyers. I can't remember whether it was before or after the sale, but I remember several family members bemoaning the fact that it was the buyer's intention to obtain a liquor license and operate a bar out of the inn. About half of the family members participating in the ongoing discussion, that summer, were alcoholics, so it was interesting to me, an older teen, to discover that not even they wanted Latchstring Inn to have a liquor license. My feeling was, and is, that any buyer, at that time, would have intended to make this upgrade to the services provided by the inn. The cocktail generation were the people with the most disposable income, at the time. Latchstring had long snubbed this profitable clientele.
Think I'll check on Mom, see how she looks and sounds. She was up until 0230 this morning. Can't remember what we were doing, but it was apparently involving.
Maybe I can get a little more reading in.
Later.
