S'mores Pie

/
S'mores Pie

S'mores Pie

The end of summer is sneaking up on me. I've been spending my days working as a camp counselor. It's been a fast summer. The time flies by rather quickly when working with nearly 70 elementary school aged children; there's never a dull moment with dozens of questions, flurry, and distractions thrown at you all at once. Every night I come home starving, exhausted, and in need of a dose of peace and quiet.

Even so, I wouldn't trade my job for anything in the world.

The final week of camp begins on Monday. I've grown attached to these kids and it will be hard to say goodbye. Many of them have spent most of their summer with me, too. I'll miss them when camp ends—the quiet ones, the silly ones, the troublemakers... Well, maybe not the troublemakers as much (though I suppose we do spend the most time together).

S'mores Pie

Throughout the summer, I've learned the importance of using Silly Bandz when making a fashion statement. I've been taught that Taylor Swift has song lyrics that can truly speak to the heartache and woes of 8 year old girls ("Love Story is like the story of my life."). 7 year olds can go through a mid-life crisis ("Oh, I think I need to rethink my life"), most girls are hesitant to proclaim their love for Justin Bieber until someone else does first, and it's perfectly reasonable to get into a fist fight over Pokemon cards.

Also, it is possible to lose your underwear and not notice.

I still haven't figured that one out.

S'mores Pie

Yet, the one thing that holds true about camp, no matter your age or where you are, is that s'mores will always be the number one food to make and eat. After consuming more than my fair share of s'mores over the last few months (I'll have a hard time facing marshmallows again after this summer), I decided I wanted a less messy, more "grown-up" way to enjoy one of my favorite summer treats. Now, tell me, what could be more perfect than S'mores Pie?

I originally made this pie for the sweet finale of a dinner party. Not only was it a hit, but the entire pie was demolished in only a few minutes. My sister and I were both disappointed it disappeared before we got seconds (and you will wish for seconds). When I made it again, I suggested she bring a couple friends over to enjoy the pie. She shot down that idea faster than the first pie vanished—"Share this pie? Are you joking? There's no way I'm going to share this pie."

And so we didn't share the pie. We were selfish and ate it all by ourselves. I don't even feel the least bit guilty.

The moral of the story is that some food is too good to share. This S'more Pie is one of them.

Have you ever found a food so delicious you became greedy and absolutely refused to share?

S'mores Pie

This S'mores Pie takes the classic s'more and turns it into something so much more than just a pie—it's a graham cracker, chocolate, marshmallow revelation. I actually had tears come to my eyes when I took my first bite. A buttery graham cracker crust is filled with a thick chocolate custard and topped with a layer of toasted marshmallows before being drizzled in warm chocolate sauce. The marshmallow to chocolate layer is just right—you won't overdose on sugar before you finish your slice.

Now, since I know you are going to want to make this, I'm going to let you in on a little secret. The pie is easiest to cut when chilled, but tastes best when warmed. While the s'mores pie is good when cold, it would be a real shame to eat it this way. When warmed, the pie takes on a new texture and flavor dimension. The chocolate custard holds its shape but becomes melted when it reaches your tongue. When combined with the warm toasted marshmallow, you'll understand why tears came to my eyes. Ten seconds in the microwave is all it takes to turn this pie from good to absolutely mouthwateringly I-never-want-to-swallow-because-this-tastes-so-unbelievably-heavenly amazing.

Truth.

Read More

Pâte Brisée (Pie Crust)

/

Lost Boy Beach

The ocean holds a great sense of mystery for me. The crashing of the waves against the rocks, the salty sea air—I am drawn to it in a way I don't yet understand. I sense secrets hidden in the movement of the water and the changing of the tides. If I try to seek answers in its cryptic waters, it pretends not to hear my questions.

I grew up only a couple hour's drive from the geological center of North America. Entirely landlocked, the nearest lake was my ocean. The beaches were rocky and the sharp sand would sting the bottoms of my feet. My sandcastles were made of clay and mud. The water was as murky as could be and left you with a lingering scent long after leaving the water. Though I saw it as my substitute for the sea, I did grow to appreciate it for what it was.

Sandy Beach

Nevertheless, I longed to see the ocean. My friends would tell me passing stories of trips to the beach and I would always pry them for more information. What did the waves feel like? Was the water actually salty?

When it was finally my turn to pay a visit, I remember being struck with a great sense of awe. I never anticipated the roar of the ocean or the strength of the waves. When I was hit with my first mouthful of water, I nearly gagged on the intensity of the saline. There was a vastness I was attracted to; it made me feel so small. I was sad to leave.

Since then, I've visited the sea only a few times, but never long enough to sense the changing of the tides.

Long Stretch of Beach Lost Boy Beach Driftwood Seagull

This past week, a few friends and I rented a charming beach house on a secluded stretch of the Oregon coast. I was hoping for a long, relaxing vacation on the water and my wish was granted. The house was settled on a cliff, a short walk down to a private beach. I could see the ocean from my bed; it was the first thing I would lay eyes on when I awoke in the mornings.

Every day of the week was spent down at the beach, whether playing a game of Frisbee or simply wading into the water. The water was astonishingly cold, burning the skin on my legs before my feet would go numb. I often licked my lips to taste the salt lingering from the spray of the sea. More than once I napped in the sand, lulled to sleep by the repetition of the waves.

sand dollar Foggy Beach

Though the Oregon winds were chilly and brisk, the air felt fresh and clean. Great fogs would descend on the shoreline, obscuring the waters and land from view. The beach became isolated and I imagined myself on a different world. I could hear the powerful waters, but I could scarcely see more than a few feet out in the ocean. The sea is still foreign to me. I still haven't solved its mysteries.

IMG_1621 Watching the sunset

Even now, as I am writing to you, I'm finding sand buried deep beneath my fingernails and hiding quietly behind my ears. Though the sand will wash out from between my toes, I can still recall the waves licking my feet and the chill of the water rushing up to meet my knees. The ocean settled deep within my body. It became a part of me.

If I close my eyes and listen fiercely, I swear I can hear the roar of the sea.

Sunset on Oceanside Beach

Unlike the ocean, this Pâte Brisée holds no secrets. Adapted from the one and only Martha Stewart, this pie crust is my idea of buttery, flaky perfection. The recipe is simple to follow and even easier to roll out. I've used this crust recipe many times without a hitch. Unlike other dough recipes, I've never had a problem with the dough shrinking when baking due to overworked dough (a huge pet peeve of mine!). I've outlined two methods for making the pie dough below—by hand and with a food processor—to make this recipe accessible to everyone and all kitchens (yes, even you!).

This dough recipe is perfect for making these Blueberry Hand Pies and a fantastic cherry pie recipe I'll be sharing with you soon!

Read More

Blueberry Hand Pies

/
Blueberry Hand Pies

Blueberry Hand Pies

June passed by like a whirlwind for me. One minute it was here and the next, gone. July, ever so sneaky, crept up on me faster than a sunburn in the hot sun (and I unfortunately have a fair number to judge this against). Out here in the Midwest, summer is finally, finally hitting its stride. Spring coats have hesitantly been packed away. Shorts and flip flops dot the streets. Warm breezes brush against legs and blow softly through hair. It feels good.

It wasn't until Thursday of this week that I even realized the Fourth of July was this weekend. A coworker began talking about her weekend plans when it finally hit me. Somehow the vivid red, white, and blue colors that line store shelves, paint the streets, and dress the front of homes managed to escape my eyes. Even the calendar that hangs directly on the refrigerator slipped out of my vision. I did, however, notice that the berries were an unusually low price in the supermarket. Score one in my favor?

Nevertheless, I did have a small moment of panic. Did I already have plans? Should I plan something special for the day? What was I going to do?

But, more importantly, what was I going to bake?

Blueberry Hand Pies

The Fourth of July is, no doubt, a holiday surrounding the grill. This is the true season for hamburgers, hotdogs, and a large bag of chips. It's a chance to separate the men from the boys when it comes to the fine art of barbecuing. Or, in some cases, the women from the girls (my mother can wield a mean pair of tongs).

Like most holidays, I recognize them in the way my family chooses to eat. Whether we're at a potluck with friends or simply sitting around the table on the deck by ourselves, the grill is ever present. My mother usually tries to make this holiday special by grilling up meat and vegetable kabobs with big ears of corn. When I was younger, I wanted to do my part, too. For many years, I secretly whipped up a batch of vanilla instant pudding in the early morning hours. I would dye it red, white, and blue, layer it neatly into parfait glasses, and "surprise" everyone with a festive dessert.

After a couple years, it became less of a surprise and more of a tradition, but the simple magic of a red, white, and blue dessert was never lost.

Blueberry Hand Pies

And so, when it came time for me to decide on a Fourth of July dessert for this year, I asked you for help. Now that I'm a baker, my family expects a little more from me than an instant pudding mix. One of you wisely suggested an old fashioned pie. Perfect. What could possibly be more American than pie? Plus, a good pie also represents independence—well, independence from a healthy diet.

But, I wanted to take my pie a step further. Let's be real here; pie is messy. It's hard to cut. The filling likes to ooze out of the crust despite any orders and desperate pleas you may give it. And, though pie is delicious, it isn't necessarily a good dessert for summer potlucks. Until now. Hand pies are the perfect solution to this pie conundrum. Easy to make, easy to eat, no mess, no forks, no berry stained plates.

Though you may spot a few berry stained faces.

Blueberry Hand Pies

Have a happy Fourth of July, dear American readers! I hope it is filled with laughter, love, delicious food, the boom of a good firecracker, and the glow of flickering bonfire. Or, if you just so happen to be British, I offer you my condolences on this anniversary of your loss of a great colony.

And, for the rest of you, I sincerely hope you have a lovely Monday.

Blueberry Hand Pies

These Blueberry Hand Pies are the perfect summer potluck food. The flaky, buttery pie crust holds in the rich blueberry filling, keeping it well contained. A sprinkling of sugar completes the golden picture. I love these hand pies because they already come in individual portions and they are no mess, no fuss when it comes to eating them (especially wonderful for those of you who hate doing dishes). I hope you'll find you love these little hand pies too.

Read More