Perfect Pie Crust ...p89

Perfecting pie crust is no easy task, but the critic mastered this years ago. 

One day after 9/11, a stroke severely limited the use of the left side of her body, and I thought she'd never make pies again.  Not so.  It is now one of my greatest joys to watch her toss the dough and determine the point at which it is just the right consistency to roll out.  She uses her hands and what a delight it is to see her use both her hands; her brain doesn't instruct her to use her left, so we've dubbed it "Mr. Lonely," in order to isolate those instructions.  "Tell Mr. Lonely to hold the bowl."  And he does, but he must be told.  She refuses to use a fork like I do to toss the dough, insisting her fingers tell her when it is just right, "that's your problem making dough - you're afraid to touch it!" and I am - I've always heard you don't touch the dough.  But hers is the golden touch and every crust she makes is delectable and flaky.  She says the secret is she doesn't "press" the dough, she just tosses it. 

The recipe was contributed by my sister, who runs a very close second to my mom in pie-crust making! So this Perfect Pie Crust was my attempt to, well, make it perfect. 

And it was excellent, no doubt, but I still prefer my mama's no measure, touch technique! 

Hardy Appetit!

Butter Tarts ...p108

Aside from meat pies, the week between Christmas and New Year's wouldn't be, well, the holiday culinary delight it is without baking tarts - butter, raisin, or pecan.

When we lived on the farm in Northern Ontario, our kitchen closet served as a refrigerator for the leftover turkey carcass and the tins of treats mom would prepare for just that one week of the year.  Freezing temperatures outside turned an uninsulated indoor closet into perfect cold storage.  I'm not sure what it was about the kitchen on the farm - so much of our growth happened there, not physically but spiritually, evident in the dynamic balance of joy and sorrow, love and hate, discussion and outbursts, fun and work. The uniqueness of that time for my family from 1969-1980 can't be overstated, though we've been told it greatly impacted many caught in the ebb and flow of the turning tide.  I remember feeling like Neil Young wrote the song  Helpless just for us: our own time of helplessness that sprung forth eternal hope.

There is a town in North Ontario
Dream comfort memory to spare
And in my mind I still need a place to go
All my changes were there....

...in that kitchen, toasty and warm from all the cooking going on, windows frosted over from the subzero temperature outdoors, a mature cattail left on the sink window ledge to explode into indoor snowflakes, cupboards festively painted red and white, people communicating, arguing, playing cards, eating....all my changes were there.

A wine glass ensured the perfect diameter for my little tart shells.

 I've always worked endlessly to flute tart edges, often resulting in tears that would cause the filling to seep underneath and make the tart difficult to get out.  But now,  I've discovered this perfect little edge maker from Pampered Chef which, trust me, makes the job so...much...easier! 

Another little trick I pulled this year, was to put the raisins and walnuts in the shell separately from the butter filling....that, too, made the preparation cleaner.

Remember to remove the brown sugar, butter combo from the heat before adding the beaten egg, which will quickly cook instead of blend with the combo.





...et VOILA!

 So if there's one food that affords me a flashback, it's mom's delicious raisin tarts.  I can pop one in my mouth and the taste unleashes a morsel of memory.  Years later, I discovered butter tarts through my sister Lisa.  When I asked her the recipe, she exclaimed they were just mom's raisin tarts minus the raisins!  While I'd like to state mine are good, hers are delightful.  I hope she'll comment on her secret!

Hardy Appetit!