Pie School Lessons in Fruit, Flour & Butte PDF
Preview Pie School Lessons in Fruit, Flour & Butte
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Copyright © 2014 by Kate Lebo All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Published by Sasquatch Books Trade paperback editor: Gary Luke Trade paperback project editor: Michelle Hope Anderson Design: Anna Goldstein Photographs: Rina Jordan Food styling: Jean Galton Prop styling: Jenn Elliott Blake Copy editor: Diane Sepanski Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available. eBook ISBN: 978-1-57061-911-3 Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-57061-910-6 Sasquatch Books 1904 Third Avenue, Suite 710 Seattle, WA 98101 (206) 467-4300 www.sasquatchbooks.com [email protected] v3.1 ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ contents Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Introductions THE ART AND SCIENCE OF PIE How to Make Piecrust by Hand How to Choose Your Best Tools How to Make a Double-Crust Fruit Pie How to Make a Galette How to Be a Pie Roller How to Be Fruitful How to Keep Your Cool How to Bake How to Bake Blind How to Weave a Classic Lattice How to Put a Bird on It How to Be Scrappy How to Multiply WHAT MAKES A PIE A PIE (or, Recipes for Piecrust) Extra-Flaky Piecrust All-Butter Piecrust Purple-Ribbon Piecrust Cheese Crust Galette Dough Gluten-Free Buckwheat Piecrust Gluten-Free Almond Flour Piecrust Any-Cookie-Crumb Crust A HUBBUB OF RHUBARB Rhubarb Custard Pie Rhubarb Ginger Pie Raspberry Rhubarb Pie Bluebarb Pie BLUEBERRY BEAUREGARDE Blueberry Lemon Verbena Galette Maple Blueberry Pie Blue Peach Pie Blue Goose Pie SHE’S MY CHERRY PIE (She’s My) Sour Cherry Pie Cherry Jack Pie Apricot and Sour Cherry Pie Cardamom Cherry-Apple Pie THE PERFECT PEACH Peach Potpie Peach Whiskey Pie Peach Ginger Pie White Peach and Raspberry Galette A TYRANNY OF PLUMS Plum Thyme Pie Pluot and Elderflower Galette Lavender Aprium Pie Apricot, Plum, and Raspberry Galette with Chambord Glaze BLACKBERRY, BLACKBERRY, BLACKBERRY Blackberry Pie Marionberry Pie with Hazelnut Crumble Mumbleberry (Mixed Berry) Pie Free-Form Gravenstein and Blackberry Galette Gluten-Free Blackberry and Honeyed Mascapone Pie with Almond Flour Crust Huckleberry Pie AN EVERLASTING APPLE PIE Apple Pie Brandied Apple and Cracked Cardamom Pie Cheddar-Crusted Apple Pie Whiskey Crumble Apple Pie Ginger-Honey Apple Pie Three Pear and Gouda Pie Apple Pear Cranberry Pie Apple, Pork Sausage, and Rosemary Pie Crab/Apple Pie Rose Family Pie SNOW CUPBOARD PIES Banana Cream Pie Shaker Lemon Pie Coconut Chess Pie Whiskey Maple Pecan Pie Cherry Cranberry Pie CHIFFON PIE CHIC Strawberry Chiffon Pie with Vanilla Crumb Crust Raspberry Chiffon Pie with Chocolate Cookie Crust Lemon Chiffon Pie with Gingersnap Crust Black Cherry Chiffon Pie with Chocolate Cookie Crust Gluten-Free Pumpkin Chiffon Pie with Almond Flour Crust The Gift of Pie Acknowledgments Suggested Reading Index Conversions About the Author introduction ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ Thanks for joining me, fellow pie lover. Let’s get acquainted. I am a writer, teacher, and baker. I founded this school when I was about to graduate from the MFA program at the University of Washington. As a flip answer to the question, “What are you going to do with a creative writing degree?” I said, “Start a pie school,” diverting attention from the fact that I wasn’t exactly entering a booming job market, and no, I didn’t have a plan. With enough repetition, the idea started to seem like a good one. It stuck. I applied for a business license, made a website, and rented a bakery kitchen in Seattle. My students and I tied our aprons and learned together how to make what we could with what we had. They went home with a pie; I went home with plenty to write about. My crazy idea was looking saner by the day. But the story begins long before that first class. I was raised in the Pacific Northwest by Iowans. If we’re talking in broad generalizations, that means I come from friendly people who’d rather eat than argue. We lived in a small city just north of Portland, Oregon, that people often mistake for a much larger Canadian city, sometimes so badly they wander to the wrong side of the state and wonder why they don’t need their passports to cross the Columbia River. By trading fireflies and snow for volcanoes and rain, my parents gave me a personal topography that is damp, moody, exaggerated, and rich, with the conquered beauty of the Discovery Channel and the lurking wildness of the West. I learned the geography of my region at the grocery store. Sweet apples from Wenatchee, pie apples from Skagit Valley. Cherries from Hood River, peaches from Yakima. Strawberries from Cornelius, plums from the neighbors’, blueberries from my own backyard. And, of course, blackberries. On mountainsides, on roadsides, in the last bit of forest left in the housing development. Poet Mary Oliver calls them “the black honey of summer.” I called them lunch. My first apartment in Seattle had a view of the Space Needle and the busiest chunk of I-5 in Washington State. I joked that except for the air brakes and car horns, it sounded like the ocean (it sounded like exactly what it was: a 24/7 traffic jam). On Thursday nights, with 90.3 KEXP’s hard-core honky-tonk show blaring on my radio, my parents on speed dial, and Joy of Cooking cracked on the kitchen counter, I taught myself how to bake. My culinary romance started with a hunger for making things—I couldn’t afford to buy DIY supplies, but I did have to eat. Flour and sugar stood in for fabric and glass, peaches and blueberries for thread and yarn. That’s the best explanation I have for what happened when, after baking my way through cookies and cakes and bread, I made my first pie: love. Not with eating it—like Star Trek and cats, I can’t remember a time I wasn’t a big fan of pie. I fell in love with the materials, in love with the process. I was at home. A natural. Easy as pie. Soon, baking became hopelessly intertwined with writing. I baked to procrastinate on a poem; I baked to have something to blog about; I baked because, unlike writing, I knew when the pie was done and I knew if it was good. I didn’t get irritated with pie for being anything but what it was. When I gave it to people, they knew exactly how to respond: with delight, appetite, and thanks. Poems are harder. They should be. I needed baking to comfort myself through the hard parts (i.e., almost every
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