When my friend Sara from Culinerapy visited Concord, Mass. last year, she made a reader’s pilgrimage to Orchard House, the historic home of Louisa May Alcott. Since Sara and I (and half the women we know) share an abiding love for Alcott’s 1868 novel Little Women, she sent me a thoughtful souvenir: the author’s recipe for Apple Slump. It’s a homey, deliberately simple dessert, comfort cousin to fruit buckles, bettys, cobblers, grunts and pandowdys. Still, reading the calligraphy-script recipe, I could see where I might tweak it. And I thought, who am I to edit Louisa May Alcott?
Not editing, really. Finessing. Alcott may have mastered prose at the desk, but in the kitchen she was likely closer to Jo March, for whom the “bread burned black” and the “cream turned sour.” Making Apple Slump would be like cooking with Ms. Alcott’s domestically-challenged ghost, and while I cored and sliced I considered my years reading and rereading the March girls, picturing Amy’s limes, Meg’s vain high heels and lonely Jo in the attic with apples, writing and cursing scarlet fever, the villain that stole Beth. I regretted that my little tweaks – dash of vanilla, an extra apple – could not make Laurie come to his senses and dump Amy. Pecans would add crunch but they would never make Jo marry Laurie, nor bring Beth back. They’re a matter of personal taste, like my feelings about Meg wedding that dull John Brooke, and while they won’t change the story they can at least enhance Ms. Alcott’s kitchen legacy, and certainly perk up the Slump.
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.
Ribs are undoubtedly a cornerstone of American summer barbecues, especially in the South where it's practically an art form. Die-hard 'cue masters will argue there's a difference between barbecue and grilling. And there is: Barbecue is a low and slow process of cooking meat in a smoky humid environment.
I've always had a love and hate relationship with bananas. They were forced upon by my parents when I was a kid to make sure I was getting my potassium. I wish they knew then that oranges and even greens have more potassium—I would have rather eaten spinach. As an adult I eat bananas only occasionally, because I don't care for the texture or waxiness. That was until recently. I've almost become a banana addict, eating them every chance I get.
Fall is definitely in the air here in the Willamette Valley. The night temperatures have been in the mid-40's and the leaves are turning orange and brown to mark the season. The kids are already asking for flannel sheets to be put on their beds. I don't blame them, it's cold at night.