Who, what we cherish gather around our tables & define our lives.
If you ever asked him to describe his sister Carol, I think my dad would have said something like “smart as a whip” or “no bigger than a pound of soap.”
Then, as a way of illustrating their closeness and if he was feeling talkative, he might have told you how, when they were kids, he pestered their father to buy him a bicycle for Christmas. Their father, a bachelor until he was almost 50 and a man who was careful with a dollar (or as my dad would sometimes say “tighter than a drum”), finally relented and brought home three bicycles — a blue one for my dad and red ones for “the girls.” (My dad’s sisters — Dorcas and Carol — were always “the girls,” even into their 70s, 80s, 90s.) It was a sweet memory for my dad who definitely made you think the lucky, close-knit children pedaled off into the Midwestern sun.
“The girls,” however, had a twist ending to that story: My dad begged and begged for a bike; on Christmas morning he got one, maybe it was blue; they, daughters of a conservative man in the 1930s, got rocking chairs.
My dad probably would have mentioned that Carol played the piano, that she and Dorcas took lessons from a “maiden lady” named Florence Smith who was a friend of their mother’s, that they both learned a skill, or nurtured a talent, that they would take pleasure in for the rest of their lives. He would have added with characteristic self-deprecation that he, himself, played the baritone in the marching band.
If you asked, he probably would have said she went to Northwestern, became a teacher and worked at Los Alamos and, when Carol was little, their mother and/or grandmother put her thick, curly hair in ringlets (a la beloved child star Shirley Temple). Every. Single. Day.
He might tell you about her kids or her dogs or her cars, probably her cars, which were always stick shifts even though she lived in San Francisco for most of her life. He might tell you that Carol kind of liked bad boys, charming boys, and that she married one, and then he would tell you that the minister who performed the ceremony got drunk at the reception, a scandal or a joke, he was never sure which.
What he probably wouldn’t tell you — although I know he believed it — is that his sister Carol was a force.
What he probably wouldn’t tell you — although I know he believed it — is that his sister Carol was a force. A force of nature. A force to be reckoned with. An indestructible force. When her husband moved her to a new city, halfway across the country from her home and family, and then left her with three kids younger than 5, she went back to school and became a lawyer. She worked for a judge, maintained a beautiful home, took her children to protests during a time when the country in general and San Francisco in particular were roiling with change, cared for her mother in her final years, indulged her interest in Asian art by becoming a museum docent, traveled to romantic, exotic, faraway places.
Although they had very similar childhoods (summers of freedom on a farm and school years in a big house in the city), there was always kind of a country mouse / city mouse thing between my dad and his sisters. At some point, when they were all young adults with new families, both of my dad’s sisters moved to California. Their mother followed some years later. My dad set down roots in Colorado, a day’s drive away from my mother’s family in Nebraska.
Maybe that’s why we didn’t see very much of my dad’s family when we were growing up. Or maybe that was just part of the drifting apart of siblings who were once nearly inseparable. Maybe it was as simple and easily understandable as distance and money and the busy schedules of growing families. Maybe though it had something to do with the complex, often fraught dynamics of mothers and sons, brothers and sisters, and what it means to go home.
I do know this though. Even though sometimes years passed between visits, my dad never felt separate from his sisters and all they shared as they grew and evolved in tandem. In the last years of his life, he spoke of them often and, he told stories about moments they shared that earlier he might have been hoarding somewhere in the deep places in his memory.
In a poem about a dust bowl family forced to sell their farm and move out west, poet Patricia McLachlan said: “What you know first stays with you…”
I believe that’s true.
I believe it was true for my dad.
I hope it was true for Carol too. As she grew weary and frail and tiny, I hope what she knew first stayed with her. I hope what she knew first went with her.
I hope, I pray that who she knew first was there to greet her when she decided it was time to go.
The Pies: Winter Pot Pies
Johnny Cash must have been channeling Fort Collins in January when he sang: “And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when …”
Because that’s exactly how I feel.
It’s cold here. And gray. It’s really gray. Usually Northern Colorado, even in the winter months, has more sunny days, more blue skies, than it has clouds and leaden horizons. Usually, even when it snows or the thermometer drops precipitously, the bad or bleak weather only lasts a few days. Then we wake again to sunshine and bright blues and, if you live on the north side of the street, quick melting.
This winter, as far back as mid-December, sunshine and dry sidewalks have come at a premium. And the pretty people on the Denver news say it will be well into February before Colorado’s kinder, gentler winter returns.
I don’t like the cold days, but I hate the gray days. It’s hard for me to push through them. But I do like the way the short light and long darkness make you want to burrow in, reflect, bake. I love the aroma of earthy spices filling the kitchen, the homeliness of a root vegetable, the satisfaction of slow-cooked meat, the anticipation for something sweet from the oven.
These two pot pies put check marks in all the right boxes: buttery crusts, succulent meats, winter veggies and warm spices, plus the subtle sweetness of a surprising bite of fruit. They’re eat-the-last-bite delicious. They’re stick-to-your ribs filling. They’re comforting, like a family dinner. And most of all, they convince you that, yeah, maybe you can wait for spring after all.
The Recipes
Steak & Blackberry Pie
1 recipe for double-crust Whole Wheat Crust (recipe below)
1½ pounds bottom round roast or beef chuck roast, cut into 2-inch pieces
2 teaspoons salt, plus more as needed
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more as needed
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 large onion, chopped (about 3 cups)
2 tablespoons unbleached all-purpose flour
1-2 teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon ground allspice
¼ to ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 cups pinot noir or other dry, fruity wine
2 cups beef stock
3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 small sprig each of rosemary, sage and thyme
3 cups, peeled and cubed, butternut squash
1 cup diced parsnip
1 cup diced carrots
1 pint fresh blackberries, crushed
2 tablespoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons whole-grain Dijon mustard
Juice of 1 lemon
Blot the meat dry and season it with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Working in batches, add the meat and cook for 2-3 minutes, per side or until seared and browned. Transfer the browned pieces to a bowl.
Add the onion and a big pinch of salt to the pot and stir to coat. If the brown glaze on the bottom of the pot begins to scorch, add a couple of tablespoons of water to loosen and stir into the onions. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 8 minutes, or until tender.
Whisk together the flour, paprika, allspice and cayenne in a bowl. Sprinkle over the onions and stir to coat. Cook, stirring continuously for 2 minutes.
Add the wine and stir to loosen the glaze on the bottom of the pot. Stirring continuously, add the beef stock in a slow, steady stream. Bring to a simmer and cook, stirring, for 3 minutes or until thickened.
Return the meat and any accumulated juices to the pot. Stir in the garlic and herb sprigs. Partially cover and cook at a bare simmer for two hours. Add the squash, parsnip and carrot, and cook, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes more or until the meat and vegetables are very tender.
Discard the herb stems.
Stir in the blackberries, brown sugar, mustard and lemon juice and heat through. Season with salt and pepper. Keep warm over low heat.
Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Line 9-inch pie plate or three to four 5-inch pie plates with crust. Trim crust, leaving about an inch overhang. Fill each pie plate with stew and place top crust over the stew. Turn up the overhang of the bottom crust; crimp to seal. Prick crust with a fork or cut slits to vent.
Bake in center of oven until the top crust is golden brown, about 45-50 minutes. Let stand for about 10 minutes before serving.
(Recipe adapted from “Sugar Butter Flour: The Waitress Pie Book.)
WHOLE WHEAT CRUST
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1 cup white whole wheat flour or unbleached whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons sugar (optional in a savory dish)
¾ cup (1½ sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
4 tablespoons cold vegetable shortening
4 tablespoons cold vodka
8 tablespoons (½ cup) cold water, plus extra as needed
In a large bowl, stir together the four, salt and sugar until everything is thoroughly combined. Add the butter and shortening and cut the mixture together using a pastry cutter until it forms small pea-size crumbs coated in flour.
Pour the vodka evenly over the dry ingredients, a few tablespoons at a time, using a rubber spatula to press the dough together. Add the water, a tablespoon or two at a time, and continue to press the dough together to form a large ball. If the dough doesn’t come together or seems dry, add a little extra ice water a tablespoon at a time until everything comes together easily. (Be careful to work the dough as little as possible; otherwise the crust may be tough.)
Divide the dough into two equal balls; press each into a disk, wrap each in plastic wrap; and refrigerate for at least an hour or up to two days before rolling out. If you only need a bottom crust, you can freeze one of the disks for up to three months and use it later.
Sausage & Apple Pot Pie
With Scarborough Faire Crust
1 recipe Scarborough double-crust pie dough (see recipe below)
¾ pound turkey (or pork) sausage, bulk or removed from casings
4 tart Granny Smith or other tart pie apples, cored and cut into ½-inch cubes (about 4 cups)
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon chopped rosemary
Pinch of salt
3 tablespoons flour
2 tablespoons chilled, unsalted butter, cut into pieces
Coarse salt
Make the dough (recipe below) and refrigerate it for at least an hour, or overnight. Roll out the bottom crust and place in a 9-inch pie plate or into three to four 5-inch pie plates. Trim the edge of the crust, leaving a 1-inch overhang. Refrigerate the crust while you prepare the filling.
Prepare the oven to 425 degrees.
In a medium skillet over medium-high heat, brown the sausage, breaking it up with a spatula and stirring only occasionally until it is cooked through. Remove the pan from the heat, pour off any excess fat, and put the sausage in a large bowl. Stir in the apples, sugar, rosemary, salt and flour. Set the filling aside and allow it to cool before rolling out the top crust, about 20 minutes in the refrigerator.
Roll out the top crust and retrieve the bottom crust from the refrigerator.
Pile the filling into the bottom crust, pressing down gently to pack it into the pie, and dot it with the butter. Place the top crust over it and trim, fold and crimp the edges. Cut steam vents or prick with a fork. Sprinkle with coarse salt.
Bake the pie in the middle of the oven for 15-20 minutes, until the crust is blond and blistered. Rotate the pie front to back and reduce the heat to 375 degrees. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes more, until the crust is deeply golden and the juices bubble at the pie’s edge.
Cool on a wire rack for half an hour and serve warm.
(Adapted from “Pie School: Lessons in Fruit, Flour and Butter” by Kate Lebo.)
SCARBOROUGH FAIRE CRUST
1½ cups all-purpose flour
1 cup white whole wheat flour or unbleached whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons salt
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon chopped sage, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon chopped rosemary, plus more to taste
1 teaspoon chopped thyme, plus more to taste
¾ cup (1½ sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
4 tablespoons cold vegetable shortening
4 tablespoons cold vodka
8 tablespoons (½ cup) cold water, plus extra as needed
In a large bowl, stir together the flour, salt, sugar, sage, rosemary and thyme until everything is thoroughly combined. Add the butter and shortening and cut the mixture together using a pastry cutter until it forms small pea-size crumbs coated in flour.
Pour the vodka evenly over the dry ingredients, a few tablespoons at a time, using a rubber spatula to press the dough together. Add the water, a tablespoon or two at a time, and continue to press the dough together to form a large ball. If the dough doesn’t come together or seems dry, add a little extra ice water a tablespoon at a time until everything comes together easily. (Be careful to work the dough as little as possible; otherwise the crust may be tough.)
Divide the dough into two equal balls; press each into a disk, wrap each in plastic wrap; and refrigerate for at least an hour or up to two days before rolling out. If you only need a bottom crust, you can freeze one of the disks for up to three months and use it later.
Erin that's such a lovely essay about Carol. Thanks, and I hope to see you again soon. And the dynasty is just beginning.