I love gallettes for their versatility: it takes so little to make one delicious, and visual imperfections are their best attribute. Virtually any fruit will do, although with apples and pears one tends to opt for the straighter edge of a tartine. Still, I think this fall I may rebel and continue with my nut-encrusted, odd-shaped pastries. I feel most comfortable around the nutty and odd.

Figs would be great here, especially since the combination of figs and nuts is so unparalleled. Next time, I might use hazelnuts and drizzle the top with honey… or maybe I’ll dab fresh marscarpone into the cracks of the fruit, and let it melt a little just before serving. If I were absolutely wild, I’d leave the sugar out of the crust and create a pastry with prosciutto, burratta and arugula. But that would be another post altogether. Stay tuned, as my sanity is increasingly questionable. Have I mentioned I’m in law school?

Plum and Walnut Galette

Loosely Inspired by Martha Stewart

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1.5 tablespoons sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces, plus 1 T

2 tablespoons ice water

1 egg yolk, lightly beaten plus 1 large egg (divided)

2 tablespoons turbinado sugar, divided (plus more for sprinkling)

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface

1 tablespoon granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

¾ c finely chopped walnuts

5 pitted plums, sliced about ¼ inch thick

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For the Pâte Sucrée

Combine dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl.

Using a pastry blender or 2 knives, cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse meal.

(This can also be done in a food processor, if you prefer, although I like the control of working by hand.)

Add ice water, a bit at a time, and slowly add egg yolks until the dough just holds together, but doesn’t get sticky.

If the dough is still crumbly, add a drop more water.

Form dough into a ball, being careful not to over-work.

Wrap dough in plastic and press with your palms to create a flat disk. (The size doesn’t matter yet.)

Refrigerate at least 1 hour.

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For the Galette

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Line a baking sheet with a Silpat or parchment paper.

Sprinkle a lightly floured work surface with 1 tablespoon turbinado sugar.

Roll out dough to a 12 inch disk, about ¼ -inch thick.

Transfer dough to prepared baking sheet and refrigerate until ready to use, up to 1 hour.

In a small bowl, mix together 1 tablespoon flour, 1 tablespoon sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and walnuts, setting aside a bit of the mixture for the top of the galette.

In a large bowl gently toss together plums and remaining tablespoon of sugar. Sprinkle the flour mixture over plums; gently toss until evenly coated.

Spread spice and nut mixture over dough, leaving a 2-inch border around.

Arrange plums on top, maintaining a 2-inch border.

Fold remaining dough over plum mixture, overlapping and creasing dough ever inch or so. Gently squeeze overlaps together as you go.

In a small bowl, beat together egg with 1 teaspoon water.

Brush edges of dough with egg mixture, and sprinkle with turbinado sugar.

Bake until crust is golden brown and juices are bubbling, about 45 minutes.

Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature, with or without vanilla ice cream.

Before things get too quaint, I have to confess: sometimes my house makes me crazy. Lupe has a knack for finding our dirtiest clothes—mostly socks and some other unmentionables—and dragging them with her around the living room while we’re gone. Her habit is part retaliatory, part intoxication. I imagine the little dog shaking my socks in her jowls, inhaling the scent of my toes and cursing me for going away again.

She also rips up mail and leaves a confetti trail of bills from the mail slot, across the dining room and through the kitchen. The number of socks and papers she shreds is invariably proportional to the amount of time she is left at home without us. On the rare occasion that I can’t get back for a few extra hours, I hold my breath at the threshold and pray she hasn’t found the wedding photos.

Well, on Saturday we got distracted by Christmas shopping and pub-crawling and when we came back, the living room was riddled with hazmats. Nothing like a hole in my favorite woolen socks, tiny pieces of The Weekend Journal and shards of a recyclable plastic to make me adore coming home again. Especially when guests are set to arrive in less than 2 hours.

In my world, cleaning up is no small feat. Once it starts, it tends to go until the bitter end—I’m talking bags set aside for Goodwill; a closet arranged by hue and alphabetized bookshelves. I can’t let myself get to tidying too often. Instead I devise ruses to keep my mania at bay—in this case, it came in the form of a savory crostata.

Christopher and our dear friend Peter (who came all the way from New York to pick up Lupe’s pieces) helped clear the wreckage while I got to the kneading and freezing. I always forget how many times a cook has to cool pate brisee, but in the end it’s always worth the process. Plus the half an hour bouts when my dough ball rested in the fridge gave me perfect—and controlled—spurts at organizing before our guests arrived.

By the time the crostata was ready to bake, the house was positively shining. Candles were lit, the tree blinked its silvery lights, and champagne bubbles gave a serious lift to my spirits. But of all the fun we had, charades included, nothing made me happier than eating winter foods with my favorite folks—except of course, falling asleep with everyone on the couch with the hope of a snow cover in the morning… and leftover crostata topped with fried egg for breakfast.

Caramelized Onion and Goat Cheese Crostata

Serves 4 as a side dish

NOTE: This can be assembled ahead of time and baked off just before dinner.

Pate Brisee (see below)
2 tbsp butter
1 tbsp olive oil
3 tbsp balsamic vinegar
2 medium, white onions—or one large, sliced thin
1 c cherry tomatoes or ½ c sun-dried tomatoes packed in oil
½ c goat cheese at room temperature
¼ c shaved Pecorino or Parmesan
Sprig of parsley for garnish
1 egg, beaten
S & P to taste

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Melt butter in heavy bottomed skillet then add onions.

Cook on low heat, stirring regularly for about 30 minutes or until onions are tender and amber in color. Salt and taste towards the end. (If you prefer your onions very sweet, you can add a ¼ tsp brown sugar to help them along.)

In the meantime, put olive oil and balsamic vinegar in another heavy bottomed skillet over medium heat, adding tomatoes when warm.

Allow tomatoes to wilt and caramelize in the pan, stirring them occasionally for about fifteen minutes.  When they are fully deflated and the skins are peeling, turn off the heat.

(If you are using sundried tomatoes, simply warm them in a bit of vinegar.)

When tomatoes and onions are ready, remove pate brisee from refrigerator and roll out crostata until it is about 12” in diameter, lightly flouring the board and rolling pin. Don’t worry if it is not perfectly round—the edges will be folded to give it a ‘rustic’ look anyhow.

With the back of a spoon, spread the softened goat cheese along the dough, leaving about an inch and a half naked around the perimeter—this will be folded into a crust.

Spread caramelized onions evenly over the cheese, then place tomatoes on top. Sprinkle shaved Pecorino or Parmesan over the top and garnish with parsley.

Fold the edges of the dough over, creating a crust around the perimeter of the crostata.

Brush with egg wash and bake for 30 minutes.

Pate Brisee

(Double this recipe if you are making a pie)

1 ¼ c all purpose flour—use high quality stuff here. I like King Arthur.
¼ tsp salt
2 ½ tbsp sugar
6 tbsp (¾ stick) cold, unsalted butter cut into ½ inch pieces
¼ c ice water (you may not use it all)

In a food processor, stand mixer or with a vigorous fork, mix flour, salt and sugar.

Add the butter and pulse until mixture resembles small pearls.

Add the water, pulsing intermittently until the dough comes together. (You may have to add more water as you go to get the dough to form a smooth ball.)

Pat the dough into a disk, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for 30 minutes.

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to 1/8” thick.

Transfer it to a Silpat or parchment paper-lined baking sheet and refrigerate for 30 more minutes.

Anyway, it was an extraordinary day indeed, a little bit misty—at times downright wet—but full of fall colors and rooms with many happy friends. And despite how terrified I’d been of our dance, Christopher actually pulled it off gallantly, lifting and twisting me, train, veil and all. And then, when it was all finished, my husband and I flew to California and did what we most love, and what we hope to do for the rest of our lives: we hiked, we slept, we ate and we drank—lots and lots of wine.

The trip was planned around those things, really. We love to climb mountains (or at the very least large hills) and we haven’t been able to do much of that since moving to a place as flat as a slab of glass. Nor were we able to sleep much before the actually nuptials, or get as full or drunk as we pleased… well at least I couldn’t, with the prospect of a white gown both exciting me and weighing mightily on my conscience.

And then all of a sudden, in just one short day, all of those pressures were lifted and there were just the two of us, flying high, due West. We spent our first night of honeymooning in San Francisco, where we rented a very cheesy convertible and wound ourselves down CA 1 to Big Sur. A few days later, we wound ourselves back up to St. Helena—Napa’s more dignified cousin—where we stayed for a few days. Our last weekend was spent trudging up San Francisco hills again, and now here we are, back in Houston, nestled among many unopened boxes full of very nice things from very kind folks. Our kitchen will be a much grander place from now on.

In any event, the trip was primarily focused around food and drink: we ate at places too grand and wonderful to name, and we drank at as many vineyards as we could drive to without putting anybody at risk. A few places were real standouts though, especially those that sold bread or grew their own produce… dough and dirt really do have my heart.
Today, on this first day I’d like to pay homage to a little hipster haven called Tartine—600 Guerro St., San Francisco. Packed though it may have been with skinny jeans and canines-as-accessories, the apple tart we had was well worth the hour we waited to order. The fruit was sliced paper thin and laid over a crust that was expertly layered with crispy, sweet and soft dough, which cradled the slightly caramelized fruit. The sandwiches were something to marvel at as well: crunchy, thick crusts with soft, chewy centers, slightly crisped, heavily buttered and pressed generously with cheese. Best of all, we were given the letter “M” to identify our order… the first initial of my brand new name.

In fact, just last week, Mom and I found some spectacular Maine blueberries on a trip up north, and I thought I would share this recipe with you in case you happen upon a similar trove. Perhaps you have some tenacious bushes in your backyard. Maybe a lucky farmer at the market. Maybe even, you’re climbing to the high end of the Appalachian trail, and will find some of these along your route. If so, I can confidently recommend the following recipe as a worthy blueberry send-off.

Inspiration for this came three years back, when Christopher and I went blueberry picking in Connecticut and came home with 5 fecund bags. We made a lot of pancakes, and a lot of muffins. We also made a buckle—his favorite childhood dessert. And because his timing is generally perfect, it has become something of a tradition that every August, for his birthday, another one gets made.

This year’s rendition came alongside a meal at his request: au gratin potatoes with caramelized onion and Poblano peppers, Ribeye with béarnaise sauce and sautéed spinach with shallots. I spent a nice afternoon in the kitchen, but after all of that whisking of butter and eggs for the béarnaise; the grilling of peppers and caramelizing of onion for the gratin and the searing of a rather large hunk of meat in a rather intimidating pad of butter, I was happy to dip my spoon into a fluffy yellow batter and fold in some perfect, little bluettes—the final round of the season.

Let me say one thing for this powerhouse ‘buckle:’ it’s not really a buckle. It’s more of a cake-crumble, which I like because it keeps the berries suspended and contained in its batter, rather than leaving them to spill out each time you lift a piece of dough from the top. That is not a bad thing, mind you: I love oozy blueberries, barely clinging to the times of my fork in their syrupy, deflated way. But I also like them a little bit pert—sweet, surprising bursts that pop out of a bite of dough.

On top of that, cobblers and traditional buckles are hard to serve for breakfast. It can be done, but you will most definitely look like you are eating last night’s dessert in the morning hours. This rendition, however, hints of a rustic loaf—especially if you cut it into squares instead of the traditional cake-angle. It’s amazing what presentation can do for your entire perception of a meal.

Anyway, if you can do this, do it now. If not, wait for next summer, or substitute the blueberries for something that remains in season… I hear there are some exquisite huckleberries in Wyoming these days. Blackberries, another personal favorite, are still very much gracing their needly bushes.

Blueberry Buckle Cake

Adapted from Gourmet

Serves 6-8

For the Top

1/4 cup soft, unsalted butter, softened

1/2 cup raw sugar

1/3 cup flour (whole wheat or all purpose)

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/2 tsp nutmeg

For the Batter:

3/4 cup soft, unsalted butter, softened

3/4 cup raw sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla

1/4 teaspoon double-acting baking powder

1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour (or 1 c all-purpose; 1/3 c whole wheat) plus 1 tbsp

1/2 teaspoon salt

3 large eggs

4 cups blueberries, clean and stemless

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and butter a round 10″ x 2″ cake pan.

Make the topping:

Blend butter, sugar, flour cinnamon and nutmeg until incorporated and pearl-sized balls form.

Cover and store in the refrigerator while preparing batter.

Make the batter:

Toss blueberries with 1 tbsp flour, set aside.

Cream together butter and sugar in a medium bowl with an electric mixer. Add vanilla.

In another bowl, stir together baking powder, flour and salt.

Beat flour mixture into butter mixture alternating with the eggs, one at a time.

Pour batter into cake pan and bake from 40-45 minutes, or until toothpick inserted into center of cake comes out clean and the topping is golden.

I love their ridges, their fuzz, their changing gradations of pink and yellow. I love the leaves that spring from their tops—they look so biblical. They’re more beautiful in person than any still life, though I can see why they’ve inspired great art through the ages. We should all be so lucky to be as pretty as a peach.

And even though a peach devoured raw and dribbling is as good as summertime gets, I decided to practice some self restraint for once and see how they would look in a dessert. I deliberated for a couple of days, letting them ripen further in a brown paper bag. When I finally pulled them out, their sides were so soft I actually treated them like sparrows in my palm.

I wanted something that would showcase their shape. Buckles and pies are lovely to taste, but fruit ends up something of a juicy mass beneath their crusts and crumbs. I wanted more for my peaches. They needed great presentation: a subtle platform for their astonishing color and shape. And then I came upon it—the Clafoutis, a French dish traditionally done with cherries.

The Clafoutis is an almost flan-like dessert and it’s easy to see why pert, tart cherries would complement its silky richness. That said, the ultra ripe peach wedges were hardly cloying. I would even consider making this with a layer of caramelized pears or apples and serving it after brunch. It’s sweet, but the texture is light enough to enjoy during daylight hours.

When I first started researching the Clafoutis, I was slightly confused. Recipes call for pouring batter over fruit arranged in the bottom of a baking pan. I wondered if every Clafoutis recipe author had forgotten to mention that the dish had to be flipped before serving, like an upside-down cake.

Fortunately, a life lesson applied: when everyone else is WRONG, there’s probably something going on with me. So I took a leap of faith and trusted that my beautiful babies would be properly showcased like the cherries pictured in traditional Clafoutis preparations.

And indeed, like all shining stars, they rose to the occasion—literally. As soon as I mixed the liquid custard I understood: the batter worked its way under every slice, lifting the pattern to the top of the pan, where the fruit floated in pink and gold glory. Everything about a peach is beautiful, but when a spiral of slices hover over a custard, they can take your breath away.

These peaches came courtesy of Lightsey Farm in Mexia, TX. I used a recipe from The Joy of Cooking as my base, but changed some rather significant details. When I do a fall Clafoutis with apples, I will do it exactly the same way.

Peach Clafoutis

4-6 peaches (enough to cover the bottom of a 9” round cake pan)
4 eggs
¾ c granulated sugar
1 c half and half
¾ c all purpose flour
1 tbsp amaretto
1.5 tsp vanilla extract
Pinch of salt
Confectioner’s sugar for dusting
Vanilla ice cream for serving

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Preheat oven to 375.

Arrange peaches in the bottom of a 9” cake pan.

Beat eggs and sugar until frothy about 2 minutes.

Stir in half and half, Amaretto and vanilla.

Add flour and salt and blend until smooth.

Carefully pour batter over peaches and bake for 10 minutes.

Reduce heat to 350 and bake another 30-35 minutes until Clafoutis puffs and edges are golden brown—a toothpick inserted in the middle should come out clean.

Cool slightly before serving (with Vanilla ice cream) and dust with confectioner’s sugar.