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Nesselrode Pie

11/27/2011

There are two nesselrode pies being eaten tonight in NYC. These are my first attempts at this kind of pie, which I had never heard of before my rabbi inquired about it for her spouse. I did some research and then wrote about it right here. Laura from Manhattan read about it and asked if I would make one for her mother too. The rabbi's spouse wanted it filled with nibbles of marons glacee. Laura's mother recalled a smooth rum-infused filling without any bits. Most recipes I encountered called for candied fruits of one kind or another, and all of them mentioned chestnuts. So I improvised a bit, as I often do, taking a bit from this recipe and a bit of that from another. I chopped up the marons glacee (candied chestnuts), put them in a bowl and poured a bit of rum over them and let them soak. I took some of the heavy cream and mixed it with some chestnut puree to lighten it. The top of the pies would get a good dose of chocolate shavings. So I did something that is inspired by my Italian heritage, I added a bit of orange zest. We'll see how that is received by these two nesselrode connoisseurs -- Laura's mother on the Upper East Side, and my rabbi's spouse in Riverdale.
The pies have our classic Pie Country all-butter crust which are pre-baked and then filled with this creamy chestnut-rum custard that has been sprinkled with the rum-soaked marons glacee, then a good layer of freshly whipped cream and topped with a generous sprinkle of dark chocolate shavings.
Now we'll wait for their comments.

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My Mother's Birthday

11/24/2011

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My mother was the most elegant woman I have ever known. She would not like my referring to her as a woman, though, she was a lady through and through and she led quite a charmed life.

She met my father when she was 17 on her first trip to Europe – a high school graduation present from her uncle. It was 1932, not many 17-year-olds traveled to Europe in grand style in those days or in any style at all. My mother actually missed her high school graduation, leaving school early to “go abroad”.

When she was introduced to my father, a medical student at the University of Rome and an officer in the Italian Army, she was not swept off her feet, as she wasn’t fond of the way he combed his hair. I can’t imagine not being swept away by my father, for he was the most charming man I have ever known.

Three years later, he moved to America, settled in Providence, my mother’s home town, learned English while a resident at a local hospital. Once established, he courted my mother, asked her to marry him three separate times until she finally said yes when he kissed her.

Theirs was a love from storybooks. They were devoted to each other and bore eleven children together. That was some kind of love! Oh yes, can you imagine! Eleven. I’m the only one of my siblings who never saw my mother pregnant. I am their youngest.

A few weeks ago a lovely lady from the Upper East Side called me to place a pie order for Thanksgiving. I was thrilled, it was my first order. She had seen my ad in MUG (Manhattan Users Guide), this online e-newsletter and called to order a pie. As we were chatting, she mentioned that Thanksgiving this year falls on November 24.

My heart stopped. I had to hold back the tears that suddenly welled in my eyes.

Today is my mother’s birthday, she would be 97 years old. And not a day goes by that I don’t miss her.

Every time I pick up my rolling pin I can feel my mother close. And with each round of dough I rolled this past month, I saw my mother sitting in the family kitchen at the long wooden table by the window. She wore that nutmeg brown cashmere polo sweater and a camel-color A-line cashmere skirt, her hair in a bun at the nape of her neck, the diamond earrings she always wore and high heels. She sat on a stool with her legs crossed and a crisp, fresh dish towel impeccably draped over her lap. In front of her on the table was her pie board with a handful of flour.

It’s an image that is crystal clear and always makes me smile and cry at the same time.

We kids would climb up on the table or on the nearby dishwasher and sit and talk to her while she made her pies and rolling out the dough with seemingly little effort. She was known for her ultra-thin, very flaky pies, amongst many other things.

When I roll my pie dough, I usually get some on my face and somewhere else. Not my mother. I’m not sure how she managed to do that, but she never had a spot of flour or anything else on her.

For Thanksgiving she would always make 2 apples and 2 mincemeats.

It wasn’t until my mother was in her 80s that I found out her favorite pie was pumpkin. Why don’t you make that, I asked her. Oh your father never liked pumpkin, she said. From then on, I’d make her a pumpkin pie for her birthday.

Over the last two days I must have made about 97 pumpkin pies sweetened with Vermont maple syrup and spiced with freshly grated nutmeg, cinnamon, and a touch of ground cloves. In my heart I made each one of those for her.

Happy birthday, Mom.

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Pie Differences

11/17/2011

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We had to stop taking orders for Thanksgiving pies yesterday, as we've reached capacity, or I should say, I've reached capacity. I apologize to those who won't be enjoying a Pie Country pie at their Thanksgiving celebration.
At this point in Pie Country, only I roll out the dough. Each and every pie we create has been hand-rolled by me, the baker & chief. I have a couple of assistants who are great helpers, peeling the New York State organic apples, or measuring out the spice mixture for our Maker's Mark Pumpkin Pie, etc. But I hand roll each and every one of our pies. Most pies these days are made using a "sheeter", and that pretty much describes what those pies are like too. They even have "forms" now for the top crust -- a form that cuts out the steam holes and crimps the edges too, again not hand-rolled, hand-crimped, hand-cut. The "sheeter" pies all look exactly the same. Very uniform.
Hand-rolled pies never look the same. Each one has its own individuality. That's one of the main reasons our pies are so good.
Everything is handmade in small quantities using beautiful organic apples, pears and cranberries, even our flour is grown and milled in Pennsylvania. These things make a tremendous difference in flavor and texture.
Tomorrow I am going to spend my entire day rolling out pie dough. It will be a totally zen day. We have a couple of hundred orders, and each of those pies will be hand-rolled by me. I have a couple of assitants who will be measuring the spices for the pumpkin pies and peeling all those lovely apples and pears. But the dough, making it and rolling it, crimping the edges and cutting decorative steam vents in the top, that's all mine.
No two pies should ever be exactly alike.

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November 24th

11/6/2011

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The other day I received a call from a lovely lady on the Upper East Side. She had seen the Pie Country ad in MUG and called to order both a mincemeat pie and an apple walnut rum raisin (mighty fine choices!). During our conversation she said, now I don't want it delivered on Thanksgiving, I'd like it delivered on the Tuesday before.
No problem, I replied, we'll deliver it on November 22.
Is Tuesday, November 22, she asked, oh yes, it must be, she said, because Thanksgiving is November 24th.
I nearly platzed.
November 24th.
That's my mom's birthday.
And that's why I tend to ignore the dates around Thanksgiving, so I won't be reminded that she's not around anymore
It's not like I forget she's dead, it's just that there's something particularly empty about the birth dates of our loved ones who have died. So hallowed, so hollow.

My son was just in a musical performance this weekend, and it was really great fun.
My mother would have loved it. It was just her kind of musical, a throwback from the '20s ... and there was her youngest grandson up on stage singing his heart out. She would have been thrilled. And I so wanted to call her afterward and tell her all about it.

My mom was famous for her apple pie and her mincemeat pie. And in the summer, blueberry. She never made pumpkin or pecan. And it wasn't until I was an adult that I learned that my mother's favorite pie was actually pumpkin. Then why don't you ever make them, I recall asking her.
Your father likes apple, she replied.
From then on, I would make her a pumpkin pie in my NYC flat and bring it up to her in RI.

November 24th.
I miss you, Mom.
I'll make you a pumpkin pie as usual, with lots of extra love and an extra shot of Maker's Mark.

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Nesselrode Pie

My Mother's Birthday

Pie Differences

November 24th

The Baker

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