Apple Dumplings!

I only make them once a year–any more frequently and they would be a serious health hazard. Eating an entire apple dumpling must be one of the seven deadly sins–each one is about a week’s worth of dessert.

Yesterday was the annual dumpling-fest. I loosely use the apple dumpling recipe from the 1997 edition of Joy of Cooking. The recipe involves what you would expect–peel and core your apples, stuff them with a butter/sugar/spice mixture, and wrap them in pastry dough–but the coup de grace of this recipe is the basting syrup.

Yes, these apple bombs are basted as they bake, giving them a crusty glaze on top. The syrup is a mix of sugar, water, butter, and spices, as you might expect. But boiled along with these is a whole lemon, sliced thinly.

The lemon lends a wonderful tang to a dish that could easily end up too sweet.

Add a generous dollop of whipped cream, drizzle the extra basting syrup on top, and you have the best apple dumpling ever.

A Tale of Two Walnuts

We have two walnut trees, both of them young. The older of the two gave us a few walnuts last year and one the year before. This year it gave us several good handfuls of nuts.

That’s not anywhere close to satisfying our annual walnut consumption. We put walnuts in granola, baked goods, burgers, tofu meatballs, and rice pilaf, among other things. We eat them as snacks, too, and I buy them in kilo-sized bags.

But walnuts here are all the mild English walnut (Juglans regia). They’re a good staple, but somewhat tame. Not something to feature in a dish.

Not like American walnuts (Juglans nigra). To me, these are the true walnuts–piney-flavoured and bitter, difficult to shell, with thick green husks that leave your fingers black. There aren’t many foods from the US that I miss anymore, but American walnuts are one of them.

When I was a kid, every Christmas my mother made walnut crescents–moon-shaped shortbread cookies packed with American walnuts and rolled in confectioner’s sugar. They melted on the tongue, and burst with nutty flavour. I made the mistake of making these with English walnuts once. They were vapid little sugar bombs. Not at all like real walnut crescents.

I have looked high and low for American walnuts here in New Zealand, with no luck. One time I saw a label in the grocery story saying “American walnuts”, and I was thrilled. Then I looked at what they were selling. The nuts weren’t American walnuts, they were English walnuts grown in America.

So I buy the cultured, mild-mannered English variety and dream of the wild, brash variety of my homeland.

Rich in Mushrooms

I come to the computer under the delightful glow of my third meal of wild mushrooms in the past two days. As I mentioned a few days ago, the recent deluge has brought all the fungi out to play.

Agaricus arvensis and Boletus edulis are this week’s two wild additions to our meals. Their rich, earthy flavours have topped burgers and adorned home made pasta (because how can you possibly serve such wonderful mushrooms on store-bought pasta?)

There’s no doubt I love these wild mushrooms for their flavours, but I also appreciate them for their provenance. There’s something satisfying and primal about foraging for dinner. And it becomes even more satisfying when you consider these mushrooms can retail for $40/lb ($88/kg) in the US, if you can get them at all.

I smile to think that the dinner we’ve just eaten might have easily cost $30 to $40 a plate in a restaurant. But with wild-picked mushrooms, vegetables from the garden, and home made pasta (made with eggs from our own chickens), we spent well under $1 per person (and we all had seconds, and there are leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch). It’s no wonder we feel far wealthier than we actually are.

Indeed, you’d be hard-pressed to buy such a meal at any price, with vegetables just minutes out of the garden, eggs laid today, and obscene quantities of gourmet mushrooms. I almost feel sorry for rich people. All they have is money.

 

Apple Ring Pancakes

My husband mentioned he’d seen apple ring pancakes on the internet the other day, so I had to try them. I’m sorry I can’t attribute this idea to someone in particular, because I never actually saw the page. It’s a great idea, though.

To make mine, I started with a double batch of my usual World Famous Pancake Recipe, and added a teaspoon of cinnamon and half a teaspoon of cloves to the batter. You want a thick batter, to cling to the apples.

I peeled, cored, and sliced into rings four apples.

To make the pancakes, I dipped each apple ring into the batter and laid it on the hot skillet. My skillet was too hot at first, and I was having trouble getting them cooked through without burning on the outside–they’re thicker than normal pancakes. But even the dark ones were delicious.

Fun to make and fun to eat. I’ll definitely be making these again.

Apple Season

This year’s apple harvest was small, but unlike last year’s, it ripened on the tree instead of being blown off before it was ready, so the quality is good, even if the volume isn’t.

Truthfully, I’m thankful there aren’t too many apples to deal with. We’ve run out of canning jars and freezer space, so I’m not sure what I’d do with them if I had more.

So I’ve been considering how to process the fruits to encourage us to eat a lot of apples.

Naturally, apple pie is near the top of my list. Last year, with vast quantities of apples, I came across a particularly nice apple pie recipe that allows you to pack more fruit into a pie by pre-cooking the apples slightly. The recipe indicated it was a good way to avoid the empty space between fruit and upper crust that’s so common in apple pie, but I took it as an invitation to add more apples. And who could resist a thick, dense apple pie? Maybe with a little whipped cream?

Here’s the recipe, paraphrased from the 1997 edition of Joy of Cooking:

Make your favourite pie crust–enough for a double crust pie.

Roll out half the dough and fit it into a 9-inch (23 cm) pie pan. Roll out the other half of the dough. Refrigerate both until you’re ready to use them.

Peel, core and slice 3 pounds (about 1.5 kg) of apples. The recipe says you want 7 cups of slices–go for 8 cups.

Heat 3 tablespoons (40 g) unsalted butter in a wide skillet until sizzling. Add the apples and toss until glazed with butter. Reduce the heat to medium, cover, and cook, stirring frequently, until the apples are soft on the outside, but still slightly crunchy (5-7 minutes).

Stir in 3/4 cup of sugar, 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon, and 1/8 tsp salt.

Increase the heat to high and cook until the juices become thick and syrupy (about 3 minutes). Spread the apples on a baking sheet to cool to room temperature.

When cool, pour the apples into the bottom crust, add the top crust, cut steam vents, and bake 40-50 minutes at 425°F (220°C). Cool completely before serving.

Ugniberry

I’ve eaten some strange fruits over the years–sour, gritty nance; agua de manzana that tastes like a rose; the astringent cashew fruit… Few have been so delightful as Ugniberry. Ugni molinae, sometimes called New Zealand cranberry here, is native to South America where it flavours alcohol, is made into jam, and is eaten fresh.

I’ve heard it described as “rapidly addictive”, and I have to agree. Once you’ve eaten one, it’s hard to stop.

The fruit is blueberry-shaped and sized, apple-coloured, and flavoured like fruit salad. The flavour has hints of juniper, raspberry, blueberry, and strawberry. It’s a lingering flavour, changing and maturing, the juniper becoming more pronounced after you’ve swallowed.

The texture takes some getting used to–the skin is tough, with stiff little sepals, and the fruit is seedy. But by the time you’ve eaten three of the things, the odd texture is merely part of the experience.

My husband planted ugniberry a few years ago, and this year we are getting our first sizeable crop. I keep meaning to bake with them, because I think they’d make an incredible muffin, but they never last long enough…

Walking Around Town at Dinnertime

Kids on the trampoline
Windows open
Chicken, potatoes, and minted peas
waft to the street.

Apartment block
Curtains flap from
Second storey windows
Sending frying bacon
And curry
Skittering through the air.

In front of the rest home
Tinned beans
And tea
Sit heavy,
Cling to my shoes.

Past the shops
Grease from
Restaurant fryers
Coats every surface
And makes the sidewalk slick.

Beer and cigarettes
Billow from the pub.

I turn towards home
Where soup and bread
Pool in the potholes of the driveway.

Flying Saucers in the Garden!

I’ve mentioned these wee beauties before, but they deserve their own post. This is my third year planting extraterrestrials in the garden. Flying Saucers is an unusually shaped variety of scallopini (aka patty pan squash), developed in 2000. Its exaggerated ribbing gives it a spiky appearance. I’m not sure it’s particularly UFO-shaped, but it is bizarre-looking.

Like all scallopini, Flying Saucers has a lovely, nutty flavour and a firm texture. It does well in stir-fries, soups, pasta–anywhere you would use zucchini.

The ribs are most dramatic on young fruits, so pick them small (5cm/2in diameter), for maximum visual effect. If you pick them small enough, you can cut them in ’rounds’ that look like stars. I’ve also seen them used to great visual effect cut in half, hollowed out, and stuffed, creating beautiful star-like stuffed squash.

The seed catalogues say they are more green, less yellow when nighttime temperatures are high. Our nights are always chilly, so I don’t know if that’s true–mine have just a touch of green on the ends.

Flying Saucers is my scallopini of choice, since I discovered it. How could I resist such a brilliant squash?

Painted Mountain Corn

Last year, I tried planting a coloured corn, but the rats ate it all. This year, with some protection for my seedlings, I managed a crop of Painted Mountain. Though it’s popular for autumn decoration in the US, I’d never grown it myself.

I wasn’t certain it would produce well. The plants are shorter and faster-maturing than sweet corn, and they looked stunted. They were beautiful in the garden, though–deep burgundy-coloured stems and light green leaves. Dark red silk peeking out of the husks.

The beauty didn’t stop in the garden. My daughter and I sat on the porch yesterday evening and husked the harvest, exclaiming as each new cob was revealed. It was like Christmas, never knowing what surprise would be in the next package. The variety of colours and arrangements of colours was amazing. I’d seen all this before, in the “Indian corn” my mother decorated with each fall, but there was something magical about seeing the diversity emerge from one small crop I’d grown myself.

I have no intention of using this corn for decoration. It is beautiful, and I will enjoy it as it dries, but it is destined for more interesting uses. Painted mountain is a starch corn. Once it’s dry, I’ll grind it into cornmeal.

I have visions of beautiful, coloured corn chips, red cornbread, rosy polenta…mmm…can’t wait until it’s dry.

Summer Soups and Stews

One of the nicest things about the end of summer are those autumnal days that make me crave hearty soups and stews–dishes I haven’t particularly wanted to eat in the heat of summer.

To have a chill in the air, but still have a garden bursting with summer vegetables means we can make wonderful warming dishes with the very best of summer flavours.

We’re into our third day of rain, with temperatures hovering around 11°C (52°F), and enjoying the possibilities the weather has offered.

First up was a beautiful tomato soup, made with a king’s ransom of fresh, garden-ripened tomatoes, and handfuls of fresh herbs. It was amazing for dinner and made a wonderful warming lunch the following day, too.

Tonight it was black beans from this year’s harvest, cooked with more fresh tomatoes and herbs, accompanied by corn bread and our own melons.

It makes me look forward to more rainy days to come!