Blueberry Hand Pies

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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.

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Quinoa Pudding

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Quinoa Pudding

Quinoa Pudding with Pomegranate

Quinoa has recently piqued my interest. I didn't realize it existed until I happened upon it while spending endless hours looking at recipes (and pictures!) of food on the internet. I spotted it in everything from salads and breakfast to desserts. Suddenly, I found myself wanting to know more.

What was quinoa, exactly? Was it a grain? Was it like rice? And, most importantly, how was this food I had never heard of so versatile?

Luckily, nowadays the answers are never too far away.

Quinoa Pudding with Pomegranate

Coming from the Midwest, quinoa is as foreign to our culture as tofu or bean sprouts. We like our meat and potatoes. We keep it simple. As if to prove this point, I had to search through 3 different grocery stores before I finally found it buried in the organic health food section.

Quinoa is a suspicious little food. It is neither a grain nor is it related to rice, though the taste and texture would have you convinced otherwise. In fact, it is more related to beets, spinach, and tumbleweeds than anything else. As if to further prove its originality, quinoa has a surprisingly high protein content for a plant (12-18%!) as well as a high level of fiber. Can we say super food?

In fact, as I learned while digging up information, the Incas so loved quinoa, they deemed it sacred and referred to it as the "mother of all grains."

When I finally got my hands on a package of quinoa, the possibilities were endless. So, I did as any baker would do. I turned it into a dessert (surprise, surprise!). If the Incas could have tasted this pudding, they just might have deemed it sacred, too.

Quinoa Pudding with Pomegranate

Quinoa Pudding is a twist on the traditional tapioca pudding. Instead of small tapioca pearls, nutty quinoa takes its place. I almost prefer the delicate and hearty texture of quinoa grains as opposed to the smooth, chewy tapioca pearls—it gives it a bit of a bite. The pudding itself is flavored with vanilla and is only slightly sweetened. You can top the pudding with any fruit of your choice. I used pomegranate, but any berry could be used with delicious results.

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Bizcochitos

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Bizcochitos

Bizcochitos

Did you know New Mexico has a state cookie?

Massachusetts does, too.

I discovered all of this when I was looking up state foods a few weeks ago. I must admit I'm a little jealous. My home state doesn't have a state cookie. Or a state cake (I'm looking at you, Maryland). Where is the baked goods love, North Dakota?

Massachusetts has wisely called dibs on the coveted chocolate chip cookie. Though there is not an "official" recipe, it's generally agreed upon that the cookie should include a few dried cherries. Pennsylvania very nearly had a state cookie, but the legislation has been held up. You see, the Pennsylvania House and Senate are in disagreement over whether to choose the chocolate chip cookie or the sugar cookie. It's a tough decision. They've even met three times to discuss the issue, with no success. It's a cookie stand off.

I imagine a decision of this magnitude must keep the legislators up at night.

In my personal opinion, I think Pennsylvania should pick the sugar cookie. Be a little original, Pennsylvania; there's no need to copy Massachusetts. Better yet, why not bring both cookies in on the next legislative session and cast a vote on the spot?

Bizcochitos

New Mexico, on the other hand, has chosen a state cookie I can respect. The Bizcochito is deeply rooted in the history of New Mexico. The recipe itself was developed by the first Spanish residents of New Mexico to reflect the local customs, culture, and flavors of the area. Over time, the Bizcochito has become a special occasion cookie served during weddings and religious holidays (particularly Christmas).

Though I hadn't heard of the Bizcochito until a few weeks ago, after making it I can agree that this cookie is definitely noteworthy. The Bizcochito stands out to me as incredibly unique, both in flavor and texture. A true Southwestern cookie.

Bizcochitos

The Bizcochito is a cinnamon anise shortbread cookie. Though the cookie itself is not very sweet, the cinnamon sugar topping rounds this out. The texture of these cookies are much more flaky than any shortbread cookie I've ever experienced. The flavors, too, are unique for a cookie. Orange zest, cinnamon, ginger, and anise come together to create this delicious ensemble. After you take a bite, a faint sprinkling of cinnamon sugar will grace your lips (which is only proper to lick clean)—the perfect ending to a perfect bite.

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