Rhubarb Pie

I've always associated rhubarb pie with the Southern US. Maybe this is because my (other, very non-Yankee) grandmother was the first one who introduced me to it (mixed with strawberry pie filling in a too-red confection when I was a preteen), or maybe it's because, after that one ill-fated strawberry adventure, rhubarb went out of my head until I was 15, hanging out with a friend in Kentucky, and his dad brought me a piece of “fresh rhubarb, right off the bush! You have to try it, it's just so good!”

Have you ever tasted raw rhubarb? It's literally the worst. It's so bitter and so sour and so terrible I thought I'd never recover. So after that I learned my lesson and moved on to eating it only cooked any time I could find it, which wasn't often in the States.

But then I moved to Scotland and it's all over the place here! Rhubarb muffins, rhubarb puddings, rhubarb jam for your scones in the morning, and best of all, it's never paired with strawberries! So now I love rhubarb. As long as it's not raw, that is. It's pearly and pink and pastel and it's amazing boiled with sugar, strained, and stirred into lemonade.

But I still associate it with the Southern US, and so I was surprised to find a recipe for it in the box. Eleanor may have been many things, and she may have spent a full half of her life in Florida, but she was, above all, most emphatically not Southern. So I guess I was wrong about rhubarb, but that's ok. That's what the project is about, after all: being wrong about inconsequential things and then figuring it out.

This recipe is really simple-- even moreso if you only read half of it, as I did, and somehow ignore the entire “double pastry” part and only make it with a single crust. Hey, we're not here to judge. Just to eat pie and drink hot coffee. But my favourite part-- beyond the simplicity of the recipe, beyond the beauty of cooked rhubarb-- my favourite part is that it's written on the back of a pre-printed recipe card for Armour Star Chopped Beef. What, you may be asking, is Chopped Beef? I don't know. Perhaps it is like chipped beef, but I've never had that either and I'm not about to do the research to find out.

So Eleanor hand-wrote the recipe for this rhubarb pie on the back of a card that I assume probably came with the box itself-- there are a handful of these cards in the box, all with handwritten recipes on the back. And all of them contain gems like this: “Cut contents of 1 tin chopped beef into 8 slices. Fry in a little butter.” I'm glad Eleanor wrote on the back of them-- I'm going to assume even she didn't like the idea of tinned beef and only saved the cards because she had written dessert recipes on the other side. When I first realised that the front of the card had a pre-printed recipe on it, I asked Judson if I should make the recipe for Chopped Beef, too-- but then we realised (with a sigh of relief) that there is no way to buy tinned beef over here in Scotland (or, I hope, anywhere), and that it's not even a recipe so much as just “remove contents from jar and eat,” so I'm not bothering with it. If you have a problem with that, we ask that you kindly take it up with management.

If you have a tart or quiche pan (like a pie pan, but shallower and with straight, fluted sides), this is the perfect recipe to use it. I have one, but forgot about it until it was too late. Alas. If you're not using a tart pan, I recommend increasing the amount of rhubarb from 2 cups to 2 ½ cups or so (4 large stalks is plenty). I've included a recipe for pie crust below, but it makes enough for a double crust. I only used half of it, because I didn't read the recipe well and was already planning on using the other half for a dish I'll be posting tomorrow, but the recipe calls for a double crust, so feel free to use the entire thing. I ended up liking it better without a top crust because it let the rhubarb shine through more, but I'm kind of meh about crust anyway. If you're one of those people who likes crust, then make the top layer, too.

The Verdict:

4 spoons out of five. I found myself wishing there was more rhubarb in the filling and that it was a little more tart. (The wish for more rhubarb could easily be remedied by cooking this in a tart pan, which is what I'll do next time). It's worth noting that the Brits we shared it with, who probably all have more rhubarb experience than me, loved it, so it's possible I'm the one in the wrong on this one.

The recipe:

Rhubarb Pie

The Ingredients:

The Crust:

2 c flour
½ tsp salt
½ c butter, cold
2 tbsp shortening or Stork
1 egg
3 tbsp ice water

The Directions:

CRUST:

Combine flour and salt in mixing bowl.
Cut in butter and shortening with a pastry cutter or two knives until mixture forms very coarse crumbs.
Make a well in the center of the mixture.
Beat together egg and water, then pour into well in flour mixture.
Toss the mixture with two forks until it almost forms a dough, then press it together into a ball with your hands as fast as possible.
Divide in half and wrap in plastic wrap or foil.
Chill 20 minutes in freezer or 90 minutes in refrigerator before using.
Roll out half of dough and press into the pie pan-- crust does not need to be parbaked before cooking the pie.
If desired, roll out second half of dough and place on top of rhubarb filling, pricking top crust to allow steam to escape.

The Filling:

2-2 ½ c rhubarb, sliced into bite-size chunks
3 tbs cornstarch
1 c sugar
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon lemon juice (optional but recommended by me)

FILLING:

Preheat oven to 425F/218C.
Mix together all ingredients and pour into prepared pie crust (recipe above, or use a storebought crust).
Cover tightly with foil and cook 10 minutes.
Turn oven down to 350F/176C, remove foil, and cook for another 45 minutes, until filling is set and does not wobble when nudged.
If using only one crust, you might need to lay the foil loosely over the pie during the last 10 minutes to keep the rhubarb from scorching as the filling finishes setting.

Yields one small pie.

Sweet and Sour Chicken

Today's recipe is an easy one that Judson made completely on his own a few days ago while I was making bread, but it's out of control delicious. We don't use a lot of marinades or sauces in this house, but I don't know why. Every time I take the extra step of marinating something, it becomes my new favourite meal until I forget about it again, but I think this chicken recipe is here to stay.

The marinade recipe, as listed here, makes a ton. Enough that you can marinate your chicken in half of it and save the other half to reduce and pour over the finished chicken. Also, you'll probably want to make enough chicken to have leftovers-- we had this for dinner one night and then topped a hot bowl of ramen with the chopped up leftovers and a runny egg the next day for lunch. I also suspect it would be delicious served along a side a great big veggie stir-fry, or served with a crispy egg on top of a heap of fried rice, which is probably what we'll do next time.

It's super flavourful, really easy, and pretty cheap since you probably already have at least some of the ingredients around. Also, the salt in the soy sauce acts like a brine for the chicken, so it's hands down the most tender chicken I've ever tasted. I recommend using chicken tenderloins if you can get them-- you'll want all that extra surface area to soak up the sauce!

This, however, is a short post because I have a giant Powerpoint presentation I have to go work on because I'm not allowing myself to cook anything until I finish it, and I really want a slice of cake. And also the internet has not been my friend today, so I'm taking a break for the day.

The verdict:

5 spoons out of five. This is just too amazing to pass up. Make it for dinner tonight and you'll love it, but you'll probably be even more grateful when lunchtime tomorrow rolls around and you make a salad/ramen/something else awesome out of it.

The Recipe:

Sweet and Sour Chicken

The ingredients:

½ c soy sauce
½ c white wine vinegar
½ c honey
2 tbsp dry sherry or vermouth
1 c low-sodium chicken broth, or vegetable broth
½ c orange juice (or “juice from canned peaches”)
¼ tsp ground ginger
2 cloves minced garlic
4 chicken breasts or equivalent in tenderloins

THE DIRECTIONS:

Combine all ingredients except chicken in a mixing bowl.
Place chicken in a zippy bag and pour in half of the marinade, reserving other half for later.
Refrigerate and allow to marinate for at least 1 hour or up to all day.
When ready to cook, preheat oven to 375F/190C.
Roast chicken until cooked all the way through and juices run clear when pricked, approximately 15 minutes.
While chicken roasts, pour the remaining marinade into a pot and simmer until reduced to a thick, sauce-like consistency of about 1/3 its original volume. This will take approximately 10-15 minutes, but keep stirring it frequently throughout.
Plate the chicken and pour the reduction over it immediately before serving.

Crunchy, Fluffy Bread

St. Patrick's Day must have been a big deal for Eleanor. We've already discussed how incredibly superstitious she was, so I guess things like shamrocks and pot-o-gold-rainbows were probably something she had a great affinity for, at least judging by her jewelry collection. My mom and I still have much of Eleanor's jewelry (though not all of it-- she dripped with jewels, so I think a lot has been lost to the years), and every time I look at it I am in awe again of the amount of four leaf clovers and related lucky charms in her collection. Since I posted a bad luck recipe for Friday the 13th, I knew I needed a good luck recipe today to balance it out, or Eleanor would not be happy.

...But I tried and tried to find a St. Patrick's Day recipe in the box, I really did. Something Irish, or with corned beef in it. Maybe some cookies spiked with Jameson, or even something dyed green in honour of the holiday, but alas, I came up empty. I suspect this is because Eleanor's bestie, my Aunt Margie Green, was the most Irish person I've ever met (and I've been to Dublin). Don't believe me? Read that name again: Margaret Elizabeth Green? Yeah. I told you. Margie probably had Irish food on lock, so there was no reason for Eleanor to worry about it.

The RBP Kitchen recently acquired a scale (finally) and it has improved the quality of my life by 17% and the quality of my cooking by 43%.

The RBP Kitchen recently acquired a scale (finally) and it has improved the quality of my life by 17% and the quality of my cooking by 43%.

Anyway, I finally settled on soda bread to celebrate St. Patrick's Day, but I couldn't even find a recipe for that, so instead we're making a regular bread recipe that comes from my Aunt June, as Eleanor noted on the recipe card. If you're reading this Stateside, pretend it's a recipe for Irish Soda Bread that's just low on the soda. If you're reading this from here in the UK, you can ignore all of the above since St. Patrick's Day is practically non-existent here.

This recipe is amazing. It's easy enough (though not three-ingredient easy), and the results are spectacular. As written on the recipe card, it makes three loaves, but I knew we'd never be able to go through all that, so I cut the recipe in half and got one normal sandwich-sized loaf and one wee loaf perfect for toasting with butter and honey for breakfast. It does take a bit of time to make homemade bread-- this recipe has to rise twice (once in a cool place and once in a warm place), and then it cooks for an hour, so you definitely have to plan ahead. But the results are so worth it. Crunchy, toasty crust with a soft, fluffy but still moist and dense interior that practically begs to be doused in melted butter. So far we've had this as toast with breakfast, but we've also made pimento cheese sandwiches out of it, and it holds up well either way. The texture is just so much better than store bread, and if you've never made a real loaf of bread, I'd encourage you to give this one a chance. If I can handle it in my drafty Scottish kitchen, I bet you can, too.

Notes: As mentioned, I cut this recipe in half, but since there are three eggs in it, that required halving one of them. To halve an egg, crack it onto a kitchen scale, check the weight, scramble it lightly to make sure you remove an even amount of white and yolk, and then scoop out half of the weight. If you don't have a kitchen scale, I've eyeballed this and never had a huge problem with it. Alternately, you can make the whole recipe and share with friends. Trust me, no one who eats wheat has ever complained about a gift of homemade bread.

Also, the oven in our flat is a convection oven, so our bread cooked in half the time listed on the recipe card. I've listed both times below, but your best bet is to set a timer conservatively and keep a close eye on it. Loaves are done when they are a deep brown and sound hollow when tapped firmly.

The Verdict: 

4 spoons out of five. The texture and flavour of this bread is perfect, and it's fluffy enough that you can easily make sandwiches out of it. I'm only knocking off a spoon because it was definitely best the first two days, but that's not enough time to eat three loaves of bread.

The Recipe:

Crunchy, Fluffy Bread

The Ingredients:

1 ½ c milk
½ c shortening or Stork
¼ c sugar
2 tbsp salt
1 ½ c cool water
6 ¾ tsp yeast (3 pkgs)
3 eggs
9 cups flour

THE DIRECTIONS:

Scald the milk: bring it just to a simmer so small bubbles are forming and popping around the edge of the pot.
In a large bowl, mix together scalded milk, shortening or Stork, sugar, and salt.
Add the water to cool the mixture to lukewarm.
Stir in the yeast.
Mix in eggs.
Add flour, one cup at a time. Mixture will turn from runny liquid to stiff dough, just keep stirring until all floury bits are incorporated.
Place dough in a large greased bowl and cover with a towel.
Let rise in a cool place for 2 hours.
Grease three 9-inch or two 10-inch loaf pans.
Divide dough into thirds and shape into loaves.
Place in prepared pans and cover.
Let rise in a warm place (85F/29C) until double in bulk, approximately one hour.
Preheat oven to 375F/190C and bake loaves for 30 mins in a convection oven, or up to one hour in a standard oven.
Loaves are done when they are deep brown and make a hollow thumping sound when tapped.

Yields two or three sandwich-sized loaves, depending on the size of the pans.