AM Northwest and Apples, Apples and More Apples

I can't tell you how it makes me jump with glee knowing how many of you have already run out and bought apples to make apple sauce.  I have already had to buy 20 MORE because I can't even get the batch off the stove before it's been devoured. Maybe we should plan a day where we all make apple sauce on the same day. Just think how sweet our city would smell. Then again, maybe not.

Now, just in case you grow tired of making apple sauce but still have apples left, here's my little segment on AM Northwest yesterday where I give a quick demonstration on how to make an Apple Crostata (that is AMAZING....if I do say so myself) and I discuss my children's possible therapy needs in the future. To which my daughter commented after viewing it, "Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot." Ah well, I can never be certain what might come out of my mouth when I think I'm funny.


If you do not see a video screen above this line, click here to be taken directly to the website.

A few of you have asked me where I purchased the apple peeler I used on the show. I happened to "impulse buy" mine at the New Seasons in Cedar Hills. For those of you who aren't in the Portland area and are interested in owning one, here's the link to it on Amazon.

Cheers!
Carrie




Editor's Correction: There was a mistake in the last posting by La Pomme de Portland. She incorrectly stated that her daughter received a text message from heartless teenagers, when in actuality that text message came from her father, entitled "Hanging with my Hommies", in an effort to be funny. La Pomme had to explain to her sweetie that his message was in no way funny to a 13-year old girl who already felt left out and now knows that her father was hanging out with her friends at the football game she wanted to be at. "Love ya, babe!"


All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010

Home Cooked Apple Sauce for a Fall Weekend at Home

I was coming off of three glorious days and evenings spent with my dear sweet cousin, Michele, and her darling husband, Phil, who were visiting from the East Coast. I had taken them around to a sampling of my favorite "eateries" here in the Rose City. Some of my favorite window shopping haunts. I had prepared (what I hope were) scrumptious dinners. We had talked into the wee hours of the night catching up on anything and everything. With my cousin right by my side, we had arisen by 6:30 am each morning to prepare school lunches for the kiddos and send them on their way. We had ended the week wine tasting in the Yamhill Valley and sharing a final lunch at my "always upbeat" friend Kendall's restaurant, Farm to Fork. (Which, by the way, I highly recommend.) Right in the middle of Dundee, I hugged them both good-bye, sent them on to their next "West Coast" stop and steered the car north, with a bit of sadness, not knowing when I might see them again. Once home, I plopped down on the couch, put my feet up and promptly went to sleep...that is until the littlest one needed to be whisked off to soccer.

Returning an hour later with the littlest one chattering behind me, trying to explain that when he swings his arms round and round windmill style on the soccer field that that actually makes him run faster, I threw my keys on the counter and hollered out for my daughter, the only one who had been at home. I found her curled up in bed....at 6:30pm. As I approached, I could see the she was smiling and blinking back tears at the same time....a decidedly female trait. "What's up?" "Well...everyone is either at "the dance" or at the football game and since I don't have anyone to do anything with...I'm just here." Then she showed me a "text photo" of some friends at the football game with the message, "Hanging with my friends!" And some more tears slipped down her cheek. Since I don't always have the most patience in these situations, my first reaction was, "Oh for godsake's.....the drama. Trust me girlie, you have a lot more Friday nights to come in your life. So snap out of it." Then I thought, "Do these parents not teach their children any text messaging manners?!" But what I actually said was, "I'm so sorry sweetie. I know situations like these can feel a little lonely and I wish I could get in the car and take you down to that game...but I'm exhausted." And I spent the rest of the evening trying to relax while being completely riddled with guilt.

Saturday was absolutely glorious. One of those days in which you are grateful for every moment you are alive. The perfect fall day. The sun glittering. The weather in the mid-70s. The leaves just starting to turn. My sweetie and I kept saying to each other, "We don't want this day to end." When Sleeping Beauty finally arose, I could still feel her disappointment emanating through the air. I thought, "To appease my guilt, I should take her to the mall." But I've shared before how I feel about malls and no amount of parental guilt would get me there on that gorgeous day. I was going to the farmer's market. I called out a half-hearted, "Going to the farmer's market. Anyone want to come with me?" The boys all politely declined but to my surprise, my daughter said "Yes."

She was rather quiet on the way down, but when I asked her if there was anything she wanted at the market, she replied, "Two Tarts." Instead of our usual routine of hitting them last, I said, "Let's go there first." And instead of the usual box of one dozen delectables, I said, "Oh please, pick out two dozen." And my sweet girl started calling out her order, "Peanut butter creams, blackberry macarons, caramel chocolate brownies, lemon bars, hazelnut tassies, graham cracker cookies dipped in chocolate, carrot cake creams, chocolate chip cookies with sea salt and a Lil' Mama on top." When the boxes were handed over to her, I saw her smile.

Truly...like a light switch being flipped off...the next day's weather couldn't have been more different. Fog. Rain. Cold. Gray. Dark. I never got out of my pajama's. Craving those warm smells of autumn, I went about turning the Honeycrisp and Reine des Reinettes apples I purchased from the lovely lady at "Old World Apples" the day before, into applesauce. Memories of my Granny, who always made applesauce from her homegrown apples, flooded my mind. Her special touch was always to add cinnamon spice candies to her recipe which lent the final product a unique pink hue that we devoured. Leaving my concoction to slowly cook on the stove, I gently pulled my melancholy girl into the living room to curl up on the couch and watch, "Letters to Juliet" with me. While an enjoyable chick-flick, the director didn't leave much to the imagination and I heard my girl laugh when she realized she had completely predicted the entire outcome of the movie.

Monday morning, I offered to drive my girl to school. I don't like to do it. The whole rigamarole, there and back, ends up being an hour out of my morning but yesterday, I was genuine in my offer. Instead of insisting that we listen to my latest book on tape in the car, "Lost on Planet China", I suggested she play me her latest iTunes downloads, all of which were songs from the series premiere of Glee. When we pulled up, she leaned over to give me a big hug, gave me a sincere, "Thank you so much for taking me to school, Mom.", flashed me one of her beautiful smiles and then, headed into school with a skip. Just one skip...she is in 8th grade after all...but I saw it and I knew the weekend of heartache had come to an end. (Now, it could have been that she was simply adjusting her back-pack but I'm going with "the skip.") I could finally pull that "guilt monkey" off my back and toss him aside. Which I did. "She's taking the bus the rest of the week."

Home Cooked Apple Sauce for Fall
Adapted from Indulge, Fall 2010

One of my favorite places to turn for food inspiration is a little "free-of-charge" magazine put out quarterly by Zupan's Markets here in Portland, called Indulge. They always highlight seasonal food. There is always a lengthy article penned by Portland's own, Sara Perry, and complete with 3 or 4 of her recipes. I believe I turned down the corner of almost every page of this quarter's issue. One recipe, obviously, that caught my eye was a simple one for apple sauce. As I mentioned above, I used a mix of the apples I had purchased at the farmer's market, Honeycrisp and Reine des Reinettes, but you could use a mix of any apples you could find that are recommended for baking. Also, the amount of cinnamon called for does give this recipe a definite cinnamon flavor which my family loved but you could reduce the amount if you'd prefer just a hint. I do suggest you make a double batch of this. My brood inhaled this in one fell swoop and I had to make a second batch of it so I would have something to photograph...just for you.

Ingredients:
10 medium apples - Honeycrisp, McIntosh or other baking apples
3/4 c water
3 tbsp loosely packed brown sugar
1 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tbsp lemon juice
a pinch of Kosher salt

Directions:
Start by peeling, coring and slicing your apples. I recently acquired a Victorio Apple Peeler which is a slick little contraption that makes this step of the recipe quite pleasurable. (My 11-year old is singing my praises since it also peels potatoes and he's always in charge of the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving.) Now, if you don't happen to have a handy dandy apple peeler, you can always get out a little paring knife, turn on some smooth music and go about it by hand. However you do it, make sure that once the apples are peeled, cored and sliced that you also cut them up into bite-sized chunks. Then, put them in a stock pot over medium-low heat along with your water, brown sugar, cinnamon, lemon juice and salt.

Over low heat, simmer the apples for 30-40 minutes, or until the apples are soft. At this point taste and adjust the seasonings if necessary. Now, my brood does not like chunky apple sauce so next, I took out my handy-dandy hand held blender and pureed my sauce into a smoother concoction. You may be okay with chunks and can forego this step. Warm or cold, it's scrumptious. Enjoy.


PS: I haven't tried this because I never have any left but apparently, this recipe freezes well.

PSS: Considering that it's apple season around here, I thought I might mention that for those of you in the Portland area, I'll be on AM Northwest tomorrow morning (Wednesday, September 29) Channel Two at 9 am making this Apple Crostata which, if I do say so myself, is to die for.

PSSS: I also want to mention that I slid right past the one year anniversary of the commencement of "La Pomme de Portland" without nary a raised eyebrow. Considering that I am never on-time for anything, let's just say, this was on purpose. I have a few little surprises up my sleeve that I will be presenting you in the coming month, you kind sweet souls, as a small way to express my deep gratitude for you taking time out of your busy, hectic lives to spent some here at "La Pomme." In other words, to say, "Thank you."

PSSSS: I realize that I'm a bit long-winded today, but my baby started Kindergarten two weeks ago (more on that later) and after 13 years of having an outlet for my incessant need to talk, albeit persons under the age of 5, I'm left rattling around this empty house wondering who to talk to. For better or for worse, you're the chosen one. Cheers!


All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010

The Rosemary and Garlic Roasted Chicken Named Rosie

I roasted a chicken. With rosemary, garlic and lemon. Her name was Rosie. Or at least that's what it said on the tag. I'm not sure how I feel about that but as my 11-year old pointed out, just like they do in Avatar, we gave thanks for her life so that we might feed our family.

Already, our mornings are peppered with fog and mist.

I put some boots on this morning. And then, I quickly took them off.

Our final moments at the coast, clearly heralded the waning days of summer.

Not wanting a bit of Rosie to go unappreciated, I made chicken stock. The smell of which made me think fondly of my grandma. I felt her hug and heard her laugh. Then, I thought of the holidays.

The children are back in school. The house is so quiet. So very, very quiet. A mess, from a summer of neglect....but quiet.

The sun has clearly changed. Up there in our crisp sky. A new angle. She's all glitter and sparkles.

There are leaves falling....on my neighbor's lawn.

I lit candles last night and then, looked for them dancing in the already darkened windowpanes.

Apples are in the trees. I had my first Honeycrisp of the season. A wee bit tart but a Honeycrisp nonetheless.

With Rosie's stock, I proceeded to make soup after soup. First this veggie one, then this pancetta bean one.

I find myself pondering combinations of black and red...."Oooo black pea coat with red scarf and ooo, ooo, black converse."  so that I can appropriately show my support like any good football mama. (Nevermind that my guy is on the bench with a cast on his lower arm and I haven't even been to a game because what's the point of going to a game of 5th and 6th graders if your guy isn't playing?)

Shasta Daisies have given way to Black-Eyed Susans.

The hurricanes have been filled with coffee beans.

My sweetie arrived home just the other day with the first of the Christmas gifts to stash away.

I hear the piano calling to me. Asking me to please lift the lid and run my fingers up and down the keys. Just one little tune and if not that, "Please, at least, dust us."

But despite all of this. Despite every indication that fall is here (with the holidays right around the corner), I just can't quite believe it. We must have another month of summer tucked in here somewhere. "Why?", you ask. "Why this disbelief, Carrie?" Well, I'll tell you why. Because....my tomatoes are still green. Just look at them.

Not a single red one. Not even the little guys. Trails of green globes. But no red ones. Uh-uh. Nada. Rien. Nope. Nothin'. I even went out last spring and purchased new-fangled curly-cue tomato stakes. The ones that are supposed to give them plenty of breathing room but no. This is how they repay me. Not a single ounce of appreciation for my efforts.

I recently had the fine opportunity to be at a lunch hosted by Chef Dustin Clark of Wildwood Restaurant acclaim and he told me that he has red tomatoes but he also goes out and "blankets" his tomatoes every evening. Hmmmm....the only thing that's getting blanketed around here is my 3 children.  But then again, that's why he's a world-renowned chef and I'm just....well, I'm just me.

And then, as if to slam it home for me that yes, fall is here, a monsoon blew through our fair city last night. Littering leaves all over my newly mowed lawn and blowing down my tomato plants with such force that the new-fangled tomato stakes snapped in half. (Clearly the joke's on me.) However, despite this maddening weather and all indications that summer is over, one little red fellow rolled out from under the wreckage. Who knew?

Rosemary and Garlic Roast Chicken with Potatoes

1 whole chicken, 3-lbs or so
2-3 sprigs of rosemary
8 cloves garlic, minced
1 tsp kosher salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1 tbsp olive oil
1 lemon, halved

1 lb small boiling potatoes, red or white, cut in quarters

Additional salt, pepper and olive oil

As soon as you bring your little bird home from the grocery store, even if it's a day or two in advance, go ahead and generously sprinkle the inside and out with salt and pepper. Of course, you can only salt and pepper the inside once you've removed the little packet containing the neck and giblets which I'm sure you will put to good use later in a neck and giblet gravy. Then, you can put her back in the fridge until you're ready to roast her.

Now, depending on your time schedule, you can also do the following a day or two in advance or an hour before roasting. Whatever your schedule allows. In a small bowl, mix up your rosemary (amount depends on how much of a "rosemary" taste you like), your garlic, salt, pepper and olive oil. Now, using your own, clean hands, gently lift up the skin and carefully, "spread" your mixture between the skin and the meat. You will need to do this in a few places around the chicken so you don't pull the skin completely off the bird. If you are doing this an hour before roasting, then just loosely cover your chicken and leave her on the counter. Otherwise, loosely cover her and put her back in the fridge, taking her out again an hour before roasting.

Preheat your oven to 400 degrees.

Coat your potatoes with a tablespoon of olive oil and a sprinkling of salt and pepper. (You can choose to use a roasting rack or not. If you do use a rack, place it in your roasting pan first.) Place your potatoes on the bottom of a shallow roasting pan or "earthenware" dish.

Brush your chicken with a bit of olive oil. Give it one last sprinkle of salt and pepper and put your halved lemon inside your bird. You can tie up the legs if you'd like or just leave them hanging out there like I did for an "extra-crispy" effect.

Put your bird directly on the potatoes or on your roasting rack and then, place in the center of your oven.

Now, you can leave her in there for 1 hour and up to 1 1/2 hours or until the juices run clear (mine took 1 hour 20 minutes) and then, pull her out, let her rest for 15 minutes. After she's had her "resting period" call someone who won't mangle the job to carve her up. OR, you can follow Alice Waters advice, which is what I did, and roast her for 20 minutes, then flip her over for another 20 minutes and then, flip her back over for the remainder of the time. A simulated roasting spit. Now, I don't know if this makes any difference or if it's just complete insanity but I have a "rawther" high opinion of Alice Waters so I went with it. Then, I did the carving job myself which is to say...a mangled one.

Now, I must tell you that the chicken was delicious and the smells in our house.....oh, the smells in our house. But it was the potatoes. The potatoes, roasting there in the pan juices, that were absolutely divine. Enjoy.



All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010

Blueberry Crumble....To Share

It all started about 8 years ago with a seemingly unassuming jar of pesto. Not a ziploc bag of pesto. Or a tiny little 1/2 pint jar of pesto. But one of those generously sized Ball jars with the wire hook flip lid filled right up to the brim with homemade pesto and topped off with a thin layer of olive oil. She handed it to me without any pomp and circumstance and non-chalantly said to me, "I was making some pesto and thought you might like some." I was so moved by my neighbor's generosity, especially considering that we barely knew each other having recently moved in, that I found myself speechless. A rarity for me. I still have that jar.

Some people have the gift of giving. They just know how to choose the right thing or the perfect moment to bestow a "special something" upon another person. I, on the other hand, was not blessed with that "gift." The holidays are always fraught with anxiety for me. I never know what to get people. How much to spend. I over-think what they would like. (Remember that Batik shorts outfit I gave you one year, sister?) I do have family members, friends, neighbors who are natural "gift givers" so I can see how it's done. And I know how it feels to be the recipient of their generosity but.....while I want to be a "pesto-giver" myself, I never can seem to stop talking myself out of all the reasons why someone wouldn't like what I have to give.

To my absolute thrill over the years, my sweet neighbor did not stop with the pesto. "You have to try this chocolate cake." "A chocolate truffle." "We brought you back some halibut from Alaska." "Thought you might like a 'homemade' vanilla latte." "I brought over these smoked Kokane for you to try along with this rosemary cheddar." Even her kind daughter started bringing "gifts" over....cookies, fancifully decorated cupcakes. And each time, I was as genuinely grateful as the first time and simply enjoyed basking in the glow of "gift receivers" delight. That is...until my daughter happened to non-chalantly toss out the comment, "Mom, we never give them anything."....and broke the spell.

I have to admit that after she said that declarative statement to me, I pondered long and hard on it. First, I considered the basic truth that I'm not much of a baker. To say, "Here's a few strips of our flank steak leftover from dinner." just doesn't have the same ring as, "I brought you a slice of my cranberry chocolate tart with homemade caramel sauce drizzled on top." But, secondly, if I'm completely honest I believe the over-thinking always seems to win out. "They wouldn't want this. Why would they want this? I don't want to bother them. I'm sure I'll be bothering them. They probably don't even like this kind of food. Maybe they have food allergies. I could've made these better. As a matter-of-fact, these aren't even that good." And on and on I go until I hear myself say to myself, "Gads...enough already. No one wants to hear it especially me."

The other day I happened to pop by my dear neighbor's house for a quick chat and as I turned to go she said to me, "Oh, I almost forgot..." and disappeared around the corner. A second later she was back, "We brought you a bag of blueberries from Hood River." Walking home, cradling my bag of berries, I remembered a blueberry recipe that I had recently flagged and I knew what I was going to do.

Later, I watched as my daughter headed out the front door with the still warm blueberry crumble. I heard myself say to myself, "Oh, I wish the crumble had more oats. Next time I'm putting more oats in the crumble. Wait a minute....crumble....didn't they say a few years ago they didn't like crumble." But as my daughter passed by the kitchen window, I heard my wiser, kinder-self say, "Enough. Why must you always be so hard on yourself? Let it be what it will be."

That afternoon, my neighbor's daughter was over "hanging out" as teenagers often do and she said to me, "Oh, Carrie, I had some of your blueberry dish. It was really good. My Mom only let me have a little bit though. She's making cinnamon gelato right now and she said we're going to have that with the crumble tonight for dessert." My single solitary thought after she said all of this was simply, "Where's my share of the cinnamon gelato?" Still waiting...


Blueberry Crumble
Adapted from Cook's Illustrated 2010

Our Oregon blueberries are amazing right now. If you can get your hands on some, you simply must bring them home by the "flat-full" and either just pop them in your mouth, sprinkle them over yogurt and granola or freeze them later for smoothies or as a topper over vanilla ice cream (the latter being my sweetie's favorite way to consume blueberries.) Or...make this scrumptious blueberry crumble.

Ingredients:
1/2 c granulated sugar
4 tsp cornstarch
1/4 tsp salt (divided)
5 c fresh blueberries
2/3 c unbleached, all-purpose flour
1/3 c old-fashioned oats
1/3 c packed light brown sugar
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
6 tbsp unsalted butter, cut into 6 pieces and chilled

Directions:
With your rack on the lower-middle position, preheat your oven to 375 degrees.

Mix your granulated sugar, cornstarch and 1/8 tsp salt in a large bowl. Add your blueberries and gently toss them to coat evenly with the mixture. Pour out into an 8-inch square baking dish and set aside.

Put your flour, oats, brown sugar, cinnamon and remaining salt in the bowl of a food processor and process until dime sized clumps form. Now, I never really reached the "dime sized" clumps status and ended up using my fingers to clump the crumble into dime-sized clumps. Speaking of fingers, you can also make the crumble without a food processor and instead, use a pastry blender or two knives. Make sure to pinch together all of the powdery parts and then, sprinkle crumble evenly over the berries.

Pop your dish in the oven and bake for 30 minutes or until the filling is bubbling around the edges and the topping is golden brown. Cool on wire rack for at least 30 minutes. My personal preference was eating this at room temperature with a scoop of vanilla ice cream....for breakfast. Enjoy.

Yield: 6 servings.....




All original text and photographs copyright: Carrie Minns 2009-2010