Comfort Foods and Indulgences

I have a special fondness for pot pie. It's one of those all-in-one meals that always hits my comfort spot. And it's a welcome dish to eat on a cold and rainy day like the ones we're having this season. The origins of pot pies can be traced back to the English settlers who brought their love for pies to America. In the States I had never eaten a savory pie. It was always the frozen pies that scared me into believing that pies were no good. Not until my traveling in England did I finally eat my first savory pie. On first bite I fell in love with the flavorful meat and vegetable filling topped with flaky, buttery pastry.

While studying abroad in London, I came to know and appreciate the local cuisine. It was the discovery of a small eatery that really caught my attention and helped change my mind about pies. Every day on my way to class through an alley passage I couldn't help but notice a sign that read "Upstairs Pie Room" right next to an unassuming door. One day a group of us decided to find out what this room was all about. We discovered a homey little restaurant with a menu of traditional English savory pies. It was was one of the best things that could happen. That summer the Pie Room ended up becoming a regular haunt for all of us. The experience turned out to be one of my most memorable, one that I repeated many times until I had tried every pie on the menu.

There are some things in life that are so commonplace, you just assume that no matter where you live, they'll be there. Like supermarkets, gas stations, McDonald's, and pizza dough.

Every weekend of my life in Rhode Island, I went to Crugnale's Bakery to pick up 3 lbs. of pizza dough for $1. Like eggs and milk, it was a staple in our house.

Rhode Island – the state with the highest percentage of Italian-Americans – has an extraordinarily high number of bakeries, all of which sell pizza dough.

Imagine my shock when we moved to North Carolina and discovered that not only were there no Italian bakeries to be found, but people didn't even know what I meant when I asked for pizza dough.

I searched markets, delis, and bakeries:

Me: "Excuse me, do you sell pizza dough?"

Guy: "We don't sell pizza, Ma'm."

It’s just a fact.  If you don’t love these, it’s over between us.  The dialogue will stop.  Okay, it’s been sort of one-sided up until now anyway, but these potatoes are defining.  They are comforting.  They are easy.  I’ve been cooking them for years. Believe me, they taste fabulous. You will thank me later.    

I can eat these potatoes three times a day.  But they are meant for dinner.  Still, I bring this up because the potato is one of the few vegetables that people feel comfortable with in the early morning hours.   Most people hear the word eggplant and see the sunrise and feel the need to go back to bed.  Which is to say, you can make these potatoes for dinner and reheat them in the morning in a skillet with your scrambled eggs and we have what is known as a slice of heaven.  This is not something most people want to do with eggplant parm. 

Which leads me to mustard.  An underachiever.  In so many ways. 

Now we know, from experience, that the potato is simply a vehicle for a sauce, an oil, or a spice. 

This recipe takes advantage of all three propositions.

Every year about this time, Mimi and Granddaddy traipse up through Georgia’s mountains to find some of the Peach State’s greatest fruits–apples! Each autumn, the Peach State yields bushels and bushels of apples and my grandparents seem to always bring many of those bushels back to our now empty peach country. “Whatever will we do with all these apples? “ Mimi always inquires; yet her queries are always quelled once she gets to cooking and baking with the bounty from their mountain travels.

First comes Gingergold, Jonaold, and of course, Gala, with some of this Farmer’s favorites such as Pink Lady and Fuji rounding out the season. This first trip to the North Georgia Mountains brought us the former apple varieties and the apple baking season has commenced! Another trip to Highlands or even further in North Carolina will bring my grand people back with more apples and I know that we’ll be apple-rich for the season. We have already had pies, some applesauce and, with much fanfare and glee, Mimi’s Apple Cake.