Autumn begins this week, a season that is celebrated for the
bounties of late summer and of the harvest. And for many the season is
best represented by baking. Bread, pies, and tarts have become
synonymous with the season of change. Baking with fall fruit such as
apples, pears, plums, and quinces are a perfect way to celebrate. For me
the fruit that best represents fall is the pear. Even though most pear
varieties are picked unripe during the summer, the fruit can last in
cold storage all throughout autumn and winter. If picked ripe, the pear
is mushy, but when allowed to ripen on the counter or in a paper bag, a
pear can be the most flavorful fruit. Some criticize it for its grainy
texture, but I appreciate it for that uniqueness. The perfume of a
ripening pear is like no other fruit. With pears in mind, I decided to
put together one of my favorite tarts.
A French confection with
the utmost elegance, this pear and almond cream tart is great for
entertaining this season. Pears and almonds are a true match for one
another. Their flavors and textures work harmoniously in this recipe.
The almond cream base is traditionally called a frangipane and can be
used as a base in a variety of desserts, but its most common companion
is the pear.
Fall
Fall
Grab-and-Go Sweet Pumpkin Turnovers
Move over apple turnovers. Here comes pumpkin.
Begin with a can of pure pumpkin puree, and it’s amazing how some sugar and spice can make everything nice. Pie crust helps out, too.
Grab-and-Go Sweet Pumpkin Turnovers are a little bit cookie and little bit pie. When refrigerated pie crust is sprinkled with chopped walnuts and cut into rounds, then mounded with a filling that will remind you of pumpkin pie, it’s hard to know what it should be called. Most certainly, it is a turnover.
The use of refrigerated pie crust speeds up the process of creating these turnovers. Pressing chopped walnuts into the dough adds crunchy texture and gives the pastry a homemade flair.
When the turnovers are eaten on the day they are baked, your teeth will crack through a crunchy topping of cinnamon and sugar. Once the turnovers have been stored in an airtight container, that crunchy shell will become melt-in-the-mouth soft. Either way, they are delicious.
In Season - Pumpkins and Sweet Potatoes
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I've always associated the color orange with Thanksgiving. Before I moved to California, I lived in a house with a huge tree out front that turned a flaming shade of the color every autumn. And by Thanksgiving, I was so sick of raking up those dead orange leaves that I didn't care whether I ever saw that color again. Granted, that little phobia didn't do much for the color scheme on my holiday table, but back then that seemed a small trade-off. Today, of course, I live where leaves have the good sense to stay on the trees almost year-round. Now, thankfully, I can enjoy the orange colors of autumn right where they belong -- on my dinner plate. Some of the sweetest and most distinctive tastes of fall come in the color orange: pumpkins and other winter squash, sweet potatoes, persimmons, the first mandarins. |
Super Size Me Eggplant
You just never know what you're going to find at the farmers' market. This past Sunday as I was walking toward a table heavy with eggplant I noticed something strange. The closer I got to it, the bigger it got. The eggplant was expanding right in front of my own eyes.
My first thought was, "Great, I mixed up my contact lenses again and have them in the wrong eyes." (Yes, I've done that before -- it distorts your vision.)
When I reached the eggplant, I bent down, staring closely at it. It stopped growing, and it was sharp and in focus. My eyes weren't deceiving me; these eggplants were far from normal. Sure, they still had their smooth, shiny, purple skin. But they were huge. Like beached whales, they were unmovable.
The farmer noticed me ogling and scurried over. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
"Oh, no. I'm just shocked at how big they are," I said. He exhaled a sigh of relief and smiled warmly.
Yams vs. Sweet Potatoes
I fell in love on February 1, 2009. Two days later we got into our first and only fight. About root vegetables, specifically yams.
Before I continue I should say that I consider myself well versed in the subject. For six months in high school, I refused to eat anything but yams for dinner. Baked yams with butter. Baked yams with bananas. Yam fries. Boiled yams. Mashed yams. My mom could have thought my behavior toddler-esque the kind of thing my three-year-old cousin does “I no eat green things.” But my mom doesn’t know how to cook. So for her, my phase turned out to be pretty convenient. Poke some holes in it. Pop it in the oven. Forty minutes later, kid’s fed.
I grew out of the yam craze around the time I started making out with younger boys and failing AP Calculus exams. I have no idea if the two are related.
The point is. Yams and I have a history.
Cut to five years later.
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