Big, Chewy Pretzels

Ever since visiting the tiny northern German island of Fohr three years ago, it's been somewhat of a dream of mine to live there and open a bakery.  Every morning at 5 am, my wife and her grandfather would walk down the street to purchase that day's eggs and rolls for breakfast.  The bakeries are no fuss, just excellent bread and pastries.  The fancy part of me still dreams of opening a French patisserie, with its buttery croissants, delicate eclairs, and perfect tarts, piled high with fruit and custard.  But there's something enticing about a bakery that simply turns out a solid loaf of bread, nothing fancy to distract from the art of good baking.  And there's one other thing that adds some points to the German column: the pretzel.

I am a big fan of the warm, chewy pretzel, sprinkled with just the right amount of salt.  No need for mustard (though it does not hurt), just bite after bite of the perfect pillowy comfort food.  The Germans make them in long sticks; in fact, you can buy them as a roll to fill with cheese and salami if you wish.  But I like the American twist (literally).  It makes it look like you spent a lot more time than you really did, and I'm always a fan of that.

The concept of a pretzel is pretty much the same as a bagel.  It's a yeast dough that you boil before baking, creating a golden, crispy exterior and chewy interior.  But the addition of butter makes the pretzel just that much more decadent, almost a cross between a bagel and a brioche.  And while I probably won't be opening up that bakery on Fohr anytime soon, I can make these anytime, freeze them, and toast them up whenever the mood strikes.  

Big, chewy pretzels
Makes 8 pretzels

For the dough:
1 1/2 c warm water      
1 T sugar
2 t kosher salt
2 1/4 t active dry yeast
4 1/2 c flour
4 T unsalted butter, melted
oil

For the bath:
10 c water
2/3 c baking soda

To finish:
1  egg yolk beaten 
1 T water
kosher salt

Combine the warm water, sugar, and kosher salt in the bowl of a stand mixer.  Sprinkle the yeast on top.  Let sit for 5 minutes or until the mixture begins to foam.  Add the flour and melted butter.  With the dough hook attachment, mix on low speed until well combined.  Change to medium speed, kneading until the dough is smooth and pulls away from the sides of the bowl, about 4 5 minutes.

Remove the dough from the bowl, clean it and then oil it well.  Return the dough to the bowl.  Cover and let sit in a warm place for about an hour, or until doubled in size.

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees.  Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.  Lightly brush with the oil.  Set aside.

Bring the 10 cups of water and baking soda to a rolling boil in large pot.

In the meantime, turn the dough out onto a slightly oiled work surface and divide into 8 equal pieces, about 4 1/2 ounces each.  Roll out each piece of dough into a 24-inch rope.  Make a U-shape with the rope.  Holding the ends of the rope, cross them over each other and press onto the bottom of the U to make a pretzel shape.  Place onto the prepared pans.

Beat egg yolk and water together.  Place the pretzels into the boiling water, 1 at a time, for 30 seconds.  Remove them from the water using a large flat spatula.  Return to the cookie sheets, brush the top of each pretzel with egg yolk mixture.  Sprinkle with the kosher salt.

Bake until dark golden brown in color, about 14 minutes.  Transfer to a cooling rack for at least 5 minutes before serving.

Chili

I grew up in a small town.  There were town meetings held in the high school cafeteria, with heated debates about septic tank usage.  It was the kind of town in which children were taught by the same teachers that their parents had been, and every now and then, a classmate would receive a textbook with her mother's name scrawled in the front cover.  We walked to the playground, we walked to the lake, we walked to school and home again.

It was also the kind of town with a fair every fall.  It was mostly vendors, selling fudge and popcorn, hair clips and Christmas ornaments.  But there also were competitions.  Biggest pumpkin and the like.  Food contests for best salsa or pie - and of course, best chili.  

You would pay a few dollars for the privilege of sampling every chili offered.  There are the red chilis and the green chilis (and the occasional white).  The controversy about beans or no beans in chili (the International Chili Society says no), and of course whether or not there is any such thing as "vegetarian chili."  The only fact we can all agree upon is that chili requires heat, and while this recipe is fairly mild, you can always crank up the volume.

It's impossible to feel anything but deeply satisfied when your belly is full of chili.  It's a stick-to-your-ribs kind of meal.  My wife and her sister go on about my mother-in-law's chili, and I've had it; it's a good chili.  But since they live with me, mine will have to do when the craving strikes.  It might not win any chili competitions for now, but I won't give up hope that someday that prize could be mine.

Chili
Serves 6

1 onion, peeled and chopped
1 sweet pepper, seeded and chopped
1 T olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 T chili powder
1 T cumin
2 t oregano
1 1/2 lb ground beef
2 c chicken broth
3 c cooked beans (use black, kidney, or a mixture thereof)
2 c diced tomatoes
1 c tomato puree
salt and pepper

Saute onion and pepper in olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven until soft, about 10 minutes.  Add garlic, chili powder, cumin, and oregano.  Saute for another minute.

Add ground beef and cook until browned.  Add chicken broth, beans, diced tomatoes, and tomato puree.  Stir.  Cover pot and cook on medium heat for an hour.  Stir.  Slightly vent lid and cook for another half hour, or until done, up to an hour.  Season with salt and pepper.

Apple Pie

I have gone in search of the best of many things in my life.  The best brownies.  The best chocolate chip cookies.  The best hamburger.  The best margarita.  I'll change recipes constantly, never quite satisfied with the results of the last one I tired.  I doubt my wife is complaining about the constant stream of chocolate chip cookies that fill our kitchen, but it does mean that whenever someone asks for a recipe, I have to ask, "Which one?"

Apple pie does not fall in this category.  I have not changed my recipe in my life, and I've been making pies for at least twenty years.  This is nothing short of a perfect apple pie.  And is there anything more perfect than an apple pie? 

October without apple pie would be like November without turkey.  December without hot chocolate.  Apple pie is the very essence of autumn: the crisp apples, picked just hours before; the spicy mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg; the comforting scent that fills your house while the pie is baking.  Every year, as I watch leaves fall to the ground and the Sox fall to their rivals, I begin to crave apple pie.  To enter November without having made at least one or two would be unnatural.

You can top  your pie with whipped cream or ice cream, but cheddar cheese will forever remain the correct topping.  And this recipe the correct recipe, yielding the apple pie you remember from your grandmother's kitchen.  I'll never change it, but I will continue to make it year after year.

Apple Pie
1 double crust
3 lbs cooking apples
1/4 c sugar
1/4 c brown sugar
1 T lemon juice
2 t cinnamon
1 t nutmeg
1/4 t salt
2 T butter

Make the dough and chill it for a few hours.

Meanwhile, peel, core, and slice apples.  Add sugars, lemon juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt.  Toss until well combined and let sit at room temperature for 30 minutes.  Place apples in a strainer over a bowl, and let juices strain into the bowl.  Let apples drain for about 30 minutes.

Pour juices into a small saucepan.  Add the butter, and place over high heat.  Boil, watching stirring and watching closely until the liquid has reduced to a syrup.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.  Take the dough out of the fridge.  Roll out one half into a 12 inch circle and transfer to a pie pan.  Press into the pan, and let the excess hang over the edge.

Fill the pan with the apple mixture, and pour the syrup over the top.  Roll out the top crust and place over the apples.  Crimp the edges, and cut any excess away.  Make steam holes in the top crust, decorating however you like.

Bake for 45 to 55 minutes.  Cool for 3-4 hours before serving.

Zucchini Corn Pizza

I know, I know.  The days of corn and zucchini are but a memory in the early autumn.  But somehow I was unable to squeeze enough corn into the lazy days of summer.  Despite the overabundance of zucchini that seems to come every year, I never struggled to use it up, making zucchini bread and other baked goods in which I could hide some veggies.  Not once did I sit barefoot on the back porch, shucking corn into a paper bag, letting the smell of the fresh husks take me back to Vermont summers.

So, as the days become shorter and the sweaters come out, I made a pizza.  Pizza is the perfect autumn food, requiring a super hot over that can warm an entire house.  The whole wheat version I made turns it into a hearty, filling meal.  And, because the Bay Area weather cooperated, I was able to shuck corn on my back porch.  Everything comes together for one last reminder of summer, all wrapped up in a warm meal for the fall.

Zucchini Corn Pizza

For the crust:
2 3/4 c flour
1 c whole what flour
2 1/2 t yeast
3/4 t salt
3/4 t sugar
1 1/2 c warm water

For the toppings:
2 ears of corn, shucked
1 small zucchini, grated
1 c mozzarella cheese, shredded
salt and pepper

olive oil

Whisk together the flours, yeast, salt, and sugar.  Add the warm water, and work the the together until fully incorporated.  It will be slightly shaggy (no kneading necessary!).

Cover with a dish towel.  Let rise at room temperature for two hours.

After two hours, dump everything out unto a lightly floured work surface.  Divide into two even pieces.  If saving the second pizza for later, wrap in plastic wrap and freeze until needed.

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.  Oil a baking pan, and stretch the dough to form a rectangle on the pan.

Cut the kernels off of the ears of corn.  Place shredded zucchini in a clean dish towel and squeeze as much liquid out as you can.  Mix corn and zucchini together and season with salt and pepper.  Top pizza with cheese and then veggie mixture.  Bake for 20 minutes or until crispy.

Vanilla Pear Sauce

About a year ago, we moved to a new house.  The improvement in our quality of life was enormous and immediate.  No longer surrounded by noise, trash, and crime, we settled into a house nestled just beside an expansive canyon.  A trail leads from our house to the local elementary school and library.  The lake is a three minute drive.  We wave to our neighbors, and we lounge in our backyard with minimal background noise.

It was sad to leave our garden.  We had poured work into maintaining the flowers, herbs, and vegetables that made our small backyard a retreat from the chaos.  We were emotionally exhausted when we moved here, unwilling to sweat over yet another yard we would have to abandon.  Thankfully, the previous residents had done the sweating for us.  In our two (yes, two!) yards, we enjoy rosemary, mint, endless flowering bushes and vines, and several fruit trees.  During the right season, you can see more dropped fruit on the ground than grass.  And since we picked pears far more quickly than we could consume them, we knew some canning was in order.

When I was in kindergarten, my class took a field trip to a farm.  I don't remember the details, but I do remember that I had been given a few dollars to purchase whatever I liked from the farm's small produce shop.  I was intrigued by the pears.  They were fuzzy and weirdly shaped.  They felt nice in my hands and smelled delightful to my nose.  I selected two and took them home.

I hated them.  They were gritty and flavorless.  I declared that I didn't like pears for a very long time.  Thankfully, I have come around.  Maybe those were bad pears, or maybe my four-year-old taste buds just were not ready for such sensations.  Excellent pears are neither gritty nor flavorless; they are as soft as butter and so juicy, you can't eat them without a napkin.  This pear sauce captures the essence of the pear and adds a subtle hint of vanilla.  And by canning, we can enjoy the flavor of fall long after the trees are bare.

Vanilla Pear Sauce
Makes about a pint

3 lbs pears, peeled, cored, and halved
2 T vanilla
2 1/2 c water

Place everything in a large pot over high heat.  Bring to a boil.  Reduce heat, and cover.  Let simmer until pears are soft, about 30 minutes.  Let cool, and puree in a blender.