Bramley Apple Pie and a Giveaway

I know, you've seen plenty of apple pie recipes, but there's a reason for this one.

It all started with the apples at the Skibbereen Farmers’ Market in West Cork. You see, in England and Ireland they have Bramley apples, which are large, green, and often kind of lumpy-looking. They hold their shape in cooking and they taste good. They were first described in 1809, and are the most important cooking apple in England and Ireland. For some reason they've never really caught on in the US, so I brought a few back with me.

I needed a recipe. As I have said (too many times) already, I’m lousy at making rolled pie crusts, so I decided to use a simple one that I could press into the pie pan, and I found a nice, easy recipe.

The rest I kind of borrowed from my own recipe for Apple Goodie. I’d never made that with a crust, but it seemed worth trying. Besides, the topping for Apple Goodie is also quick and easy, and you can mix up everything with your hands (saves washing up!).


Bramley Apple Pie

Crust:

2 cups flour

3 Tblsp light brown sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, 
   cut into small pieces
1 egg yolk
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 Tblsp water

In a food processor, mix all the ingredients until the mixture is clumpy, but stop before it starts forming a ball. Or mix with your fingers.

Find a ten-inch pie plate (metal works best—I’m not sure how the crust would brown with a ceramic or Pyrex pie plate). Dump all the crumbs into the pan. Press the dough around the sides first, then the bottom. Cover with plastic wrap and use a glass or cup and press the dough smooth all around (this helps firm it up so it holds together when you’re serving it). Remove the plastic (!).

Filling:

Peel and slice your apples (I used three Bramleys, which made up between 3-4 cups. This is a shallow pie.), then toss them with some sugar, flour, cinnamon and a pinch of salt.

Put the apples into the pie pan over the crust. Lay them sort of flat, but you don’t have to be fussy.

Topping:

1/2 cup oatmeal
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup butter
1/8 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. baking powder

Mix coarsely (fingers again, if you want) and sprinkle over the apples in the pan.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Place the pie in the middle of the oven (you might want to put a cookie sheet under it or on the rack below in case it oozes) and bake for about 35-40 minutes, or until what you can see of the crust around the edge is nicely brown.

Remove from the oven and let cool for a while (but you can serve it still warm). I will confess I held my breath when I sliced it, but it came out in a tidy piece. Eureka! (And it tasted really good!)

And a holiday giveaway! I have my first author copies of Many a Twist, the next County Cork Mystery, which will hit the shelves next month, and I want to share one! Leave a comment about your favorite apple pie (or apple dessert, or just about anything that uses apples) and I'll pick a winner!

"This laid-back mystery combines plenty of puzzles with a strong feeling for life in small-town Ireland."

     --Kirkus Reviews 

www.sheilaconnolly.com

Mussels with Cider and Cream

I was going to be industrious and bake something using summer’s bountiful fruits and vegetables—but have I mentioned our local heat wave? Day 6 and counting. Or is it Day 7? So I started thinking about cooler recipes, ones that don’t involve any heating up an oven or standing over a fire.

And then I remembered the mussels in my freezer.

Back in 1999, my daughter and I traveled to Ireland alone (my husband was in South Korea at the time), landing at Shannon and driving south along the coast toward Leap, where we’d be staying. Along the way we stopped in Bantry for lunch. There’s a nice harbor there, and looking out across the water I asked, “what’re those things?” As it turned out, those were mussel beds.

I filed that thought away, and it was a few years later I was in my local market and saw they had packages of frozen mussels, ready to heat and serve. I read the fine print, and found they came from Bantry, which is in West Cork. [Note: while the company that packages these flourishes, they’re getting their mussels from China these days. But they still taste good.]

When I was growing up, and visiting Long Beach Island in New Jersey in the summer, mussels were those annoying things you cut your toes on. Now people see them in markets and say, “what the heck do I do with those?” Or “Where’s the food in them? They’re all shell!” I’ll admit they’re kind of labor-intensive for the amount of mussel you get out, but they do taste good.

And you can buy them shelled! Perfect for a very quick summer meal. Here’s one I adapted from a more traditional Irish recipe, modified for ready-to-eat mussels.

Mussels in Cider

Ingredients:

1 package frozen mussels (the 8-ounce package served two of us; the brother was enough for a larger package)
1 shallot, finely chopped
1 clove garlic, crushed or minced
2 oz finely-diced pancetta
2 Tblsp butter
1 cup hard cider
1/4 cup heavy cream
Small handful of chopped parsley
Salt and pepper

Preparation:

In a medium-size saucepan, brown the pancetta pieces over medium heat until they are golden and sizzling. Add the butter, then the shallot and garlic. Cook for about 3 minutes, until the shallot is soft.

Add the cider and let bubble for a few minutes (what little alcohol there is will evaporate). Add the mussels and let them steam for a few minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat, stir in the cream and parsley, season with salt and black pepper. And there you have it!

Serve with some nice artisan bread to sop up the liquid.

Bakes locally in Plymouth

If you've never tried mussels, this is a simple way to start! Using mussels in the shell looks more impressive, but they're kind of messy.

Here's a version I had in Dublin. The green stuff
is samphire, which grows on rocks along the
shore. It tastes kind of like asparagus.

Soon I'll switch gears to the next Orchard Mystery, which is Seeds of Deception (I'll be writing the next in the series shortly, but it's only a glimmer of an idea at the moment, involving an organic orchard and poison).

www.sheilaconnolly.com

Spicy Carrots

I love traveling. Or more specifically, I love being somewhere else—in this case, Ireland. Not the getting there (where’s that transporter when you need it?). 

Even when you’re there and having a wonderful time, after a while it gets very tempting to forget about cooking (much less going out and wandering the dark lanes trying to find a town with a restaurant) and settle for a dinner of bread and cheese (assuming it’s one of those countries that produces both good bread and good cheese, which Ireland does).

So what say you make one dish fresh? This is another one based on that lovely pub cookbook, intended as a side dish. There are always carrots, everywhere, right? They seem to keep forever. Well, here’s a way to dress them up, when you’re scraping the bottom of the vegetable keeper.

Note: Of course I have to use West Cork Irish Whiskey. The West Cork Distillers in Skibbereen is fairly new, but the three relatively young guys who run it are doing a great job. I should know, because I checked out the place and sampled a few of their products (which are now available in the U.S.). Research, of course—I do write about an Irish pub, where whiskey is served. 

And then I included the guys as characters in A Turn for the Bad.

Glazed Carrots with Whiskey and Ginger
Ingredients:

1 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp black pepper, freshly ground
Pinch of sea salt
1/4 cup peanut oil
3 Tblsp salted butter
4 large carrots (about 1 pound), sliced into half-inch thick circles (if you want to get fancy you can slice them at an angle)
1-inch piece fresh ginger, sliced into matchsticks
2 Tblsp Irish whiskey
½ cup chicken stock

Instructions:

Mix together the sugar, pepper and salt and set aside.

Heat the oil and half the butter in a large skillet. Add the sliced carrots in a single layer and sprinkle with the sugar mixture. Cook over medium-high heat for 3 minutes, then turn the slices (carefully, because you want to sort of caramelize both sides) and lower the heat if they seem to be cooking too fast. When the carrots are slightly browned on both sides (maybe even starting to blacken at the edges) remove them from the pan onto a plate.

Clean out the skillet with paper towels (do not wash!). Add the ginger and cook over medium-high heat for 1-2 minutes, until golden (but not burnt!). Add the ginger to the carrots on the plate.

Add the remaining butter, the whiskey, and the stock to the pan. Bring to a boil, then simmer for 3 minutes or until the liquid thickens and becomes syrupy. 

Return the carrots and ginger to the skillet and swirl for 1 minute. Serve immediately.

There you go: quick, easy and colorful. And tasty!

If you want to find out what my friend the whiskey-maker does to help save the day, check out A Turn for the Bad (County Cork Mysteries #4, from February 2016).

Available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble, and lots of other places (I hope!).

www.sheilaconnolly.com

Wild Mushroom and Farro Soup

by Sheila Connolly

Here’s another recipe from Ina Garten’s cookbook, Make It Ahead. Let’s start with that farro—what the heck is it? No, we’re not talking about the 17^th-century French gambling card game. But nobody seems quite sure what it is. Here’s what Wikipedia has to say:

There is some confusion as to what farro is. Spelt (Triticum spelta), Emmer (Triticum dicoccum), and einkorn (Triticum monococcum), are called farro in Italy, sometimes (but not always) distinguished as farro grande, farro medio, and farro piccolo, respectively. Emmer grown in the Garfagnana region of Tuscany is known as farro, and can receive an IGP designation (Indicazione Geografica Protetta), which by law guarantees its geographic origin. Emmer is by far the most common variety grown in Italy, in certain mountain regions of Tuscany and Abruzzo. It is also considered to be of a higher quality for cooking than the other two grains and is sometimes called "true" farro.

Yeah, sure, okay (Ina, what have you gotten me into?). Simple solution for the rest of us cooks: go to your grocery store or health food store and buy a bag of the stuff, or order it on line. Bob’s Red Mill has it. (And I daresay you could substitute any of the other grains mentioned if you can’t find farro.)

Then there are the mushrooms. Ina wanted me to use dried crimini mushrooms. My local grocery lacks imagination, so they had only one kind of dried mushroom, and it was not crimini. So I used porcini mushrooms. They worked fine. Likewise, there was little choice in fresh mushrooms, so I used sliced shitake mushrooms. Use whatever sturdy mushrooms you can find at your own store (but not the more delicate ones like oyster mushrooms).

Dried porcini mushrooms

Mushroom and Farro Soup

1-1/2 oz dried wild mushrooms

3 Tblsp olive oil

4 oz pancetta, diced

3 cups chopped yellow onions

2 cups diced carrots

4 tsp minced garlic

3/4 cup farro (or other grain of the wheat family)

12 oz fresh mushrooms, stems discarded, sliced

4 cups beef broth

3 large sprigs fresh thyme

kosher salt and pepper

Cover the dried mushrooms with 6 cups water in a medium pot and bring to a boil. Turn off the heat, cover, and set aside for at least 20 minutes. Longer is fine.

Heat the olive oil in a large pot. Add the pancetta and let the fat render for a few minutes, over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté over medium heat for 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the carrots, coat well with the oil, and continue to cook until the carrots are tender.

Add the garlic and the farro and cook for 2 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add the fresh mushrooms and cook for 5-7 minutes, until the mushrooms begin to release some liquid.

Strain the dried/soaked mushrooms through cheesecloth to remove any lingering grit (saving the liquid!). Chop them coarsely and add them to the pot, along with the strained liquid, the beef broth, thyme, 2 tsp salt and 1 tsp pepper. Bring to a boil, lower the heat, and simmer, partially covered, for 45 minutes, until the farro is tender. Discard the thyme.

2 Tblsp flour

2 Tblsp unsalted butter, room temp

4 oz creme fraiche

1/4 cup minced parsley

In a small bowl, mash the flour and butter together to form a paste, then stir by spoonfuls into the hot soup. Simmer for 5 minutes (to cook the flour), then stir in the creme fraiche and taste for seasoning.

Serve hot.

The result is a very tasty soup, hearty but not heavy. Serve with a wholegrain bread and you’ll have a nice meal for a winter’s evening. (And this recipe makes plenty of leftovers!)

All right, I know I've told you more than once that the next book in my County Cork Mystery series is coming out soon (February 3rd! at bookstores everywhere!). I was trying to figure out an appropriate way to go from exotic mushrooms to Ireland--and then I realized that on one trip to West Cork I had taken a lot of mushroom pictures. I was there at the beginning of December, and there were still mushrooms everywhere--and here they are.

Yes, that first one really is purple!

And here's the book. In An Early Wake, Maura brings music back to Sullivan's, and someone dies. But the music lives on!

How to Cook a Pheasant

By Sheila Connolly

Well, there’s something I never thought I’d find myself saying.

I’m just back from two weeks in Ireland, doing research for the third book in the County Cork series.  This difficult and dangerous task consists largely of sitting in as many pubs and possible and talking to people—the ones behind the bar and the ones in front of it—and eating in a lot of restaurants and driving around the rolling countryside and taking lots of pictures.  Oh, poor me.

 

For the past three visits my husband and I have rented a cottage, since it’s less expensive than staying in a hotel or B&B for the same amount of time, and because it lets us cook at home rather than eating out every night.  Plus this time of year the days there are short:  the sun comes up about 8:30 and sets about 4:30.  If you’ve ever driven the small lanes of rural Ireland, where they’re often no more than a graveled pair of tracks, and most of the directions consist of things like “turn left at the post next to the old tree,” then you can appreciate the desire to be tucked safely at home when it gets dark. The only drawback is that you may find an odd mix of cooking pots and utensils in your rented kitchen.  At least this place had a decent assortment of sharp knives, but the cutting board was about six inches square and not good for much. Nor was there a covered casserole to be had, but we managed.

And then there’s the food!  Time was (and I’m sure I’ve said this before) that all Irish food consisted of overcooked cabbage and carrots and a lump of meat.  No more!  It’s wonderful now.  There’s a new pub/bistro in the small town I write about, that was under construction last year.  It opened last winter and is doing a booming business, and the food is great.  It’s bright and airy and attracts both tourists and locals, young and old, men and women and even a few children.  It’s clearly a family business—and a wonderful addition to the town.

But, oh, the markets!  Bread made daily, fresh veggies, seafood from boats that unloaded no more than a mile away.  And this year I found something I hadn’t see before:  wild game. 

Now, I’m not a hunter, and I don’t seek out such things, but I’ll admit I was intrigued.  How often will I get the chance to cook wood pigeon and grouse and partridge and pheasant?  I could have tried all of them, but I restrained myself and settled for wood pigeon one night, and pheasant another.

The wood pigeon I sautéed in butter, then roasted on a bed of vegetables, with a little fresh thyme and white wine added.  I served it with local potatoes fried in duck fat, also from the market.  Lovely (although I will admit that there was not a lot of meat on the tiny birds).

 

The pheasant came later, and proved meatier.  Picture me in the hills of West Cork, sitting outside on the patio trying to get a phone signal (no reception inside our stone cottage, and patchy at best outside) so I could look up online how long to cook a pheasant.

 

Fearing the bird might be tough, I decided to braise it in stock and wine.  I split it and flattened it, then sprinkled salt and pepper and sautéed it in butter and oil. I sliced up an onion and some lovely fresh mushrooms I had on hand, then

sauteed them in the same pan. I spread the cooked veggies in a baking pan, then laid the bird upon them, and added chicken stock and more white wine, plus some more thyme (I was trying to use up as much as I could before we left).  I then covered it with foil and put it in a preheated oven (medium—we were guessing 350 degrees, but it was a rather unique stove, that also provided the heat for the house), and cooked it for about an hour.  It was fine, cooked through but still tender.  I served it with pureed potatoes (translation:  they fell apart when I boiled them, so I just threw in butter and cream).

 

 

One caveat:  since this was indeed wild game, not farm raised, the label warned that we should beware of bird shot.  We did indeed find and average of two pellets each, but we chewed carefully and survived without mishap.

I may never again find myself cooking a pheasant, much less one of those tiny birds, but this one was a success.

And I found some other great recipes that you just might see soon…

 

 

Coming February 2014