Offering sentiment on a dessert plate
- Erin Stephenson
- Feb 14, 2022
- 6 min read
Updated: Feb 28, 2024
Even simple gestures, like a Dad-cooked meal or a double-duty card, can underline the love.
My mother was a valentine.
According to the family lore, she was born in a ranch house in Potter, Neb., at or around midnight on Feb. 14. After the birth, my grandmother — still in her post-partum euphoria — asked the doctor who attended the birth what time my mother, little and pink and No. 6, had made her debut. The doctor placed the tiny newcomer in her mother’s arms and said, “I think we should have a valentine.”
I don’t think my mother — maybe not even my grandmother — ever really knew what time she was actually born.
But until her very last birthday, she received cards that said, “For your Valentine’s birthday.”
When I was a little girl, I loved those cards — because they invariable were pink and had hearts and glitter, maybe gold letters. And they seemed sweet — sweeter than most average cards — and special for people to send her extra love on her birthday. But she told me once that she felt like she was kind of cheated in the card department, getting only one card when people with a more pedantic birth date would get two.
She also told me once, when Valentine’s Day became more a date night for adults and less about kids and homemade wishes, that she didn’t quite understand why so many celebrated her birthday that she, the birthday girl, couldn’t even get a table in a restaurant.
When my siblings and I were little, restaurant dining was out of reach (or not yet in fashion) for a family with four children, so my dad would make a special meal for my mother’s birthday. A traditional man, brought up at a time when most people didn’t question “gender roles” and few men cooked in their own kitchens, my dad was a good cook when he wanted to be, which was almost never. His specialties: Cream of Wheat on a Saturday morning, waffles for dinner, hot chocolate whenever my mom asked, and fried egg sandwiches. (Once he told me that when he was a young man, home from the Army and living on his own, he made fried egg sandwiches every single day for his supper. Or was it lunch? At that time, I thought that was cool and kind of quirky, but now, not so much.)
The Dad-made birthday dinner was, as far as I can recall, consistent across the years. He made steak, broiled until there was no pink because my mom didn’t like “bloody” meat; canned potatoes — or, as they were known in our house, “bald” potatoes — with lots of melted butter pooling in the bottom of the bowl; and green beans, likely the French-style ones. Sometimes, I think, he sautéed mushrooms and onions, and the kitchen smelled like the State Fair or a late-summer street festival.
And then there was the heart-shaped cake. Always a heart-shaped cake.
I’m sure he used a box mix — but then who doesn’t? — and store-bought frosting. But in my mind’s eye, filtered through the bigger-than-life gaze of a little girl in a happy home, the cake was pink and the frosting was fluffy and there were sugar roses, lacy borders, calligraphy wishes. Almost certainly, it was less than that, but there’s no doubt that “Happy Valentine’s Birthday” cake was heart-shaped and heart-felt.
And, of course, because Valentine’s Day isn’t just a birthday celebration, when we came down to dinner, there was a heart-shaped box of chocolates on everyone’s plate. It seemed a luxury beyond all reason, to be loved by people who understood the magic of glitter and gold foil and gooey caramel centers.
My mom’s been gone a long time now. We’ve spent a lot of Valentine’s Days without her; a lot of birthdays have come and gone, acknowledged if not celebrated. Those double-duty greeting cards that annoyed and delighted ceased coming years ago. I can’t remember the last time I ate a slice of heart-shaped cake with pink frosting. I don’t even know what happened to the pans.
But tonight, I’ll think about my mom and miss her; and because he isn’t quite up to making a fried egg sandwich, I’ll make a steak dinner for my dad, complete with bald potatoes and green beans, something sweet for dessert, and especially a box of chocolates on his plate.
The Pie: Raspberry-Buttermilk
(“I ♥ Raspberries, Sweetheart” Tart)
Don’t be fooled into thinking this is a Valentine’s Pie. The pretty, succulent, red berries dusted with a fluttering of powdered sugar certainly bring to mind Hallmark cards and heart-shaped candy boxes. And, sure, the zippiness of the raspberry vinegar is reminiscent of the excitement of a new love, while the homey buttermilk could — if you were so inclined — make you think about the easy comfort of a lifetime companion.
Indeed, this pie would be a great compliment to your Valentine’s Day dinner, but you can find raspberries in the grocery store all year long, so there are plenty of other days just crying out for the Raspberry-Buttermilk Pie (or as I like to call it “I ♥ Raspberries, Sweetheart” Tart.
One thing to note: the cream-buttermilk topping does not whip up like standard whipped cream. It does thicken but will not form peaks or hold its shape if squeezed through a pastry bag. It seems a little more like crème fraiche than whipped cream. However, if you make it in advance and refrigerate it overnight, the topping will keep its shape when you cut it. Whipped cream without the buttermilk would also be good on this pie.
The Recipe
Crust
1¼ cups unbleached flour
1 tablespoon sugar
½ teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons (half a stick) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces and chilled
¼ cup vegetable shortening, cut into small pieces and chilled
3 or 4 tablespoons well-shaken buttermilk, chilled (more as needed)
Combine the flour, sugar and salt. Add the butter and shortening; and using a pastry blender, cut into the dry ingredients until the mixture is crumbly with a few pieces of butter the size of small peas. Stir in 3 tablespoons of buttermilk with a fork to form large clumps that include all the dry ingredients. Pinch the dough together. If it is too dry to hold together, add some more buttermilk, a teaspoon at a time. Gather the dough together to form a ball. Wrap in plastic wrap; flatten to form a disk about ¾ inch thick. Chill for at least an hour.
Roll the dough out on a lightly-floured surface after it is well chilled. Fit into a 9-inch pie plate, leaving about a ½-inch overhang. Turn the edge under and crimp. Refrigerate and chill for about 30 minutes, until firm.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place aluminum foil over the crust and fill the pie with dry beans, pie weights or coins. Bake in the upper third of the oven for 15 minutes. Remove pie weights and foil and continue baking for another 10 minutes or until the pie shell looks dry and is just beginning to brown. Remove from oven and allow to cool to room temperature.
Filling
2 large eggs, separated
6 tablespoons unsalted butter; at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
3 tablespoons unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons raspberry vinegar
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup well-shaken buttermilk, at room temperature
Beat the egg whites in a large glass or metal bowl with a mixer on low speed until the whites are frothy. Increase to high speed and beat to soft peaks.
Beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy in a large bowl using a mixer on high speed. Beat in the egg yolks. Beat in the flour, vinegar, vanilla and salt. With the mixer on low speed, add the buttermilk in a slow, steady stream. (It’s OK for the mixture to look curdled at this point.)
Use a spatula to fold about a third of the whites into the mixture to lighten the batter. Fold in the rest of the egg whites, making sure not to overmix or deflate the egg whites.
Pour the filling into the pie shell, Place on a baking sheet and bake in the center of the oven for 45 minutes, or until the filling is lightly browned on top. The center should jiggle slightly but should not ripple. A toothpick inserted 3 inches from the center should come out clean. The pie will firm up further as it cools.
Cool to room temperature.
The topping
½ cup heavy cream, chilled
½ cup well-shaken buttermilk, chilled
2 tablespoons confectioners sugar
1 tablespoon cream of tarter
Beat the ingredients together to form peaks, using a chilled bowl with a mixer on high speed. Spread over the pie. Cover the top of the pie with raspberries. Dust with confectioners’ sugar.
Serve at room temperature or lightly chilled.
If you prefer a firmer topping, chill the pie in the refrigerator overnight before topping
with raspberries
(Pie adapted from “The Waitress Pie Book: Sugar Butter Flour” by Jenna Hunterson.)
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