The thing about this pie is, its as much an egg custard tart as it is a salty honey pie. The honey doesn’t stand alone in this tart and is, in my opinion, far from the one and only cool cat at the pie party. Continue reading
Tag: pie
Chocolate peanut butter pie
Peanut butter can be so sticky to eat. Yes, I know, it’s sweet and salty, smooth or crunchy, but the thickness of it makes me feel like a dog playing with a Kong. That said, mixing peanut butter with honey and cream cheese and folding in glorious whipped cream then letting it chill on top of a deeply chocolatey homemade wafer base is (think saltier Oreos), perhaps, the best way to avoid the perils of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. I’m not boasting… but the peanut butter filling in this oh-so American pie barely hit the sides of my mouth.
Chamomile buttermilk pie in a chocolate crust
Another day, another pie. I promise that my next post will not have a short crust casing! It might be something round, but that’s about as pie-like as it’s gonna get. As for the last of the pie chronicles, this one took me by surprise. It claims to be a buttermilk custard pie, but the taste is so similar to cheesecake that I have to question whether it’s custard at all. It’s not too sweet, thick and creamy and has a tangy flavour – pretty much everything you’d ask for in a cheesecake.
I infused the cream in chamomile before adding it to the rest of the “custard” ingredients for a very subtle tea-ish flavour. If you want something more pronounced, I recommend using Earl Grey or Lapsang Soushong.
I used the leftover chocolate pastry from the white bottom matcha pie as there was plenty leftover. It’s a system of waste not want not really, and since we’ve taken an interest in saving our planet recently (and for good reason – our sea mammals shouldn’t have to swim amongst our waste products) it makes sense to do a kind of ‘look what you can make with your leftover pastry dough’ kinda post. Continue reading
Rhubarb kadaif pie
I don’t really eat pies with the filling in mind. For me it’s all about the pastry mixed together with custard and a bit of the fruit juices – that makes the perfect mouthful of pie and any chunks of soggy fruit just get in the way of my pleasurable experience. This winter though, I’ve become unhealthily attached to roasted rhubarb. I’ve been eating it with yogurt for breakfast, using it to make a British Bakewell classic and drinking rhubarb soda to pep me up for the last leg of the bakery shift. I’m even feeling a bit anxious for when this forced Yorkshire rhubarb season draws to a close, other roasted fruit just doesn’t offer the same texture and tartness – even if they are much cheaper. Continue reading
Rhubarb bakewell pie
I’m having a pie moment and according to this blog, it’s an on-going moment that has lasted four glorious months and shows no signs of ending. From the outside, this particular pie looks like it has the chicken pox virus but if you dig deeper you’ll see that it’s a Bakewell tart disguised as an American style pie (my favourite rendition of any dessert with a pastry base). What gives this pie it’s alarmingly basic ‘twist’ is that instead of using a jam on the base, as is traditional with Bakewell tart, there is a layer of beautifully pink roasted rhubarb, of which the juices are used to make the water icing that is spread on the top of the cooled frangipane topping. I loved this pie, but it’s not a dessert, so treat it as something to have a slice of next to an afternoon cuppa. Continue reading
Matcha buttermilk white bottom pie
I’m actually not the biggest fan of matcha, and if I were to bake this again I’d use one tablespoon instead – but I was making it with a matcha-lover in mind, so the flavour is at the forefront of this version. All of the other components, the almost savoury and deeply cocoa-y shortcrust, the white chocolate ganache bottom (inspired by four and twenty blackbird’s genius black bottom), really do act as an (enhancing) backdrop for the matcha buttermilk custard. Continue reading
Pear & honey mini galettes
This time last week, I was waking up from a nap, with a pounding headache and a strange sense of home that contradicts everything I wrote about in my past post.
If you’re expecting this to be a romantic story about friendship and discussing deep issues under the stars…you’re going to be disappointed. At a friend’s place, we were far enough out of London to actually see the stars, but bank holiday Friday was a night of tequila shots and pizza, cookies baked at 1am and so many ridiculous stories that will become part of the lore of our group. The weekend has been the subject of a number of flashbacks throughout the week that have left me burying my face in my hands, half in laughter and half in disbelief. In short, it was excellent. Continue reading
Honey apple hand pies with thyme
This post was very nearly given the subtitle, “Pastry, who’s got the thyme these days?”. Some people have pastry fear – that’s not my problem. It is a beast that can be tamed. The issue is more that, well, it’s a bit of a faff, isn’t it? When it comes down to it, I’d rather start cooking knowing that within an hour I’ll have a hot little pie in my hand, rather than my hands in a hot bowl of washing up. I’d rather spend these approaching early-dark weekends going for walks and breathing in petrichor than fighting with butter and flour. Sometimes it’s worth taking a shortcut. For the sake of apple pie.
I’d love to say that I have some sort of emotional connection with apple pie, a story of sitting down to eat it with a grandma on a Sunday afternoon. The closest thing I’ve got takes place under the harsh yellow of university cafeteria lighting, the apple pie the only reason I’d frequently stray from food I’d cooked (or, let’s face it, assembled from Ritz crackers and Philadelphia), because I can’t be trusted to make a whole pie and not eat it. Which explains the tiny hand pies, right?
I’m happy to admit that I was a little nervy about this flavour combination, a bit concerned that it’d taste like medicine. I’m also happy to announce that it does not taste of medicine. It does taste of apples and honey, with a hint of earthiness that’s so appropriate in this transition phase. Perfect for wrapping up and popping into your pocket for those walks. We’re halfway through the best month. Continue reading
Chicken crumble with leek and mushroom
This September marks the beginning of the fourth year of living with my flatmate. We were thrown together in our first year of uni, with four other girls, and carried on living together, with three of the others, in our second year as we all dealt with the drama of being 19 and having a landlord who’d renovate your manky bathroom but dispose of the old toilet by putting it in your wheelie bin.
We parted ways after that year living at the top of a very steep hill, only to be brought together again by the universe when we both moved to London. The universe is nice like that.
But in those three years and sharing kitchen space and secrets, I’d never once made her this old family classic. Until now, of course.
Back home, this is “chickeny crumbly stuff” because, well, it’s chickeny and it’s crumbly and the name stuck and became part of family legend. It’s soul food – the sort of dish that hugs you as you eat it. It’s nourishment that’ll have you going back for seconds and fighting with your siblings for the crunchiest bit of topping. It’s exactly what you need to help you embrace grey skies as we hurtle towards months of 4pm sunsets and cocoa.
Serves 4.
Ingredients
150g stale/dry bread
110g cheddar cheese
500g chicken breast, chopped into chunks
200g mushrooms, chopped
1 medium leek, chopped
1 tin cream of chicken soup
1tbsp mayonnaise
Lemon juice
Method
1) In a food processor, blitz the bread until roughly crumbed. Add the cheese, and blitz again until the whole mixture is of breadcrumb texture – some lumps are fine. You can do this the night before and refrigerate if you like to be one step ahead.
2) Preheat the oven to 170C. Fry the chicken breast chunks in a large frying pan over medium heat until just browning. Add the mushrooms and leek, and continue to fry until the leeks are soft.
3) Add the soup, mayo, and a squeeze of lemon juice and simmer for about 5 minutes.
4) Transfer to an overproof dish, cover with breadcrumb topping, and bake for about 30 minutes, until golden and bubbling. Serve with more vegetables, if you’re that way inclined.
Can also be split into small pots or ramekins for individual portions.