Crack Pie (via Momofuku Bakery & Milk Bar) | Pie Month

This is the 13th entry in our Month of Pie. Pie Month is a celebration of things we love. Because life is hard, and there should always be more pie. Have a look at the other entries. Really. 

Pie #1 - Lemon Cream Icebox Pie

Pie #2 - Malted Crisp Tart

Pie #3 - Apple Green-Chili Pie with Cheddar Crust and Walnut Streusel

Pie #4 - Peanut Butter Cream Pie with Chocolate Whipped Cream

Pie #5 - Butterscotch Cream Pie with Gingersnap Crust and Cashew Brittle

Pie #6 - Banana Cream Pie with Chocolate Chip Cookie Crust

Pie #7 - Chocolate Kahlua Pie

Pie #8 - Bacon and Egg Pizza

Pie #9 - Pork Confit Pie with Creme Fraiche Potatoes and Puff Pastry

Pie #10 - Raspberry Pie and the Perfect Pie Crust

Pie #11 - Lime Pie with Gingersnap Crust  

Pie #12 - Bourbon Sweet Potato Pie  + Bourbon Whipped Cream and Warm Bourbon for Dipping 

In Indiana, where I grew up, the ubiquitous pie is Old Fashioned Cream. I love this pie. It is simple, unadorned, oozing Shaker and Quaker simplicity, with a healthy dose of Amish and Mennonite reserve. The recipe is basic: butter, sugar, eggs, cream. With the right quality of ingredients, it is a revelation.

But then there is chess pie. Which the name alone threw me. As a Midwesterner, I’d never heard of it (shoo-fly, yes; chess pie, no). From what I gather, it is in the same vein as Old Fashioned Cream, with the focus on a pie made of pantry items. And several of our friends on Twitter were urging us to make chess pie for this Month of Pie. I was torn. If we weren’t making Old Fashioned Cream, how could I make chess? A terrible quandary, of course.

Leave it to the David Chang empire to resolve the issue for us. We’ve already written of our love from Chef Chang, his steamed buns (not a metaphor) and Brussels sprouts. The most famous pie of the last couple of years from the research we did is Momofuku Bakery & Milk Bar’s Crack Pie. A combination of old fashioned cream combined with chess pie at its soul, it cranks it up with a homemade oatmeal cookie crust. This pie retails for over $44 a pie. Which makes me incredibly happy that pie is in such demand. But immediately, our hype sensors go on alert. 

To be honest, we were skeptical. The pie comes out brown. And low-slung. And the tiniest bit sad. This pie gets a rating of “looks 2, taste 10.” And, thankfully, the hype lives up to reality and to its name.

I took the first slice/bite of the crack pie on an empty stomach while standing over the kitchen sink. The first taste was happy, pleasant. A thin piece, it was gone in a matter of seconds. I thought, “Well, that was nice. Maybe we’ll post it, maybe we won’t.” Then three minutes later, the sugar rush kicked in. I felt like I was flying, the surge of power and happiness coursing through my veins.

I needed more pie. Immediately. I cut a bigger piece and really paid attention this time. The brown sugar is what pops first. Then the cream. Then the vanilla. Then the crunch of the oatmeal cookie crust. I could taste every single ingredient. There’s something brilliant about pie and being able to single out every ingredient separately and tasting them all at once, bouncing off your tongue, then waiting for the surge to kick in, again, a fix of pie.

I waited 10 minutes for my third piece, this one a little bigger. 

And as I write this, I want to make another Crack Pie.

While it’s not as pretty as the other pies in the Month of Pie, its the one I think about the most. And the one I want to make first next month.

Make it for yourself. Test the hype. Become a believer. Don’t make this pie for a fancy dinner party. Make it for someone who already loves you, or you want to make love you. One slice, and they’re yours.

recipe | Crack Pie (via Momofuku Bakery & Milk Bar and the LA Times)

Bourbon Sweet Potato Pie with Bourbon Whipped Cream and Warm Bourbon on the Side (via Four & Twenty Blackbirds) | Pie Month

This is the 12th entry in our Month of Pie. Pie Month is a celebration of things we love. Because life is hard, and there should always be more pie. Have a look at the other entries. Really. 

Pie #1 - Lemon Cream Icebox Pie

Pie #2 - Malted Crisp Tart

Pie #3 - Apple Green-Chili Pie with Cheddar Crust and Walnut Streusel

Pie #4 - Peanut Butter Cream Pie with Chocolate Whipped Cream

Pie #5 - Butterscotch Cream Pie with Gingersnap Crust and Cashew Brittle

Pie #6 - Banana Cream Pie with Chocolate Chip Cookie Crust

Pie #7 - Chocolate Kahlua Pie

Pie #8 - Bacon and Egg Pizza

Pie #9 - Pork Confit Pie with Creme Fraiche Potatoes and Puff Pastry

Pie #10 - Raspberry Pie and the Perfect Pie Crust

Pie #11 - Lime Pie with Gingersnap Crust 

This pie begins in total fail. It ends in triumph.


I forgot to put the sweet potato into this sweet potato pie. I had prepared the sweet potatoes the day before I baked the pie. Thinking ahead. Using my time wisely. Good on me. Trying to impress Karen, really. I’ve got this pie under control, dear. Completely under control.


I had wanted to make a pie from the infamous Four & Twenty Blackbirds in Brooklyn. They are pie masters, and if I was going to make anyone’s pie, a sweet potato pie, it had to be theirs. Bourbon is used liberally in this pie, as it should be used in most things. When I went to Gary’s Wine in Madison to get some bourbon, the guy on the floor asked me what I was making (I had griled him about small batch vs. big label bourbon, the differences in quality and taste). When I told him it was for a bourbon sweet potato pie, he stood very still, looked a bit into the distance and said, “Oh. Wow. That sounds incredible.” 


And so I made the Four & Twenty Blackbirds' crust, beautiful flakes of butter throughout the dough. It was going to be great. Then I mixed what would be the pie guts, heavy with bourbon and spice. Par-baked the crust, just as the recipe said. It looked like a winner. I put the filling into the crust, slid it into the oven, closing the latch with a certain satisfaction.

As I was cleaning up the kitchen, my eye spied a medium-sized bowl. Wait, why is that bowl sitting there? That’s the sweet potato bowl. And there they sat, their orange surfaces turning brown, slowly, as if they knew they’d been left behind. 


There were expletives. The kids were taking naps. So there were expletives.


Grabbing the hot pads, I flew to the oven, undid the safety latch, and saw the beautiful crust being swallowed up by the bourbon sugar pond in the middle. Game over, pie crust.


Pie fail.


Until.


Until I remembered I had made extra pie crust from Melissa Clark. You know, that perfect pie crust? With the duck fat? Even in failure, I still had this situation under control. I poured the bourbon sugar pond into the sweet potatoes, threw away the now-soggy pie crust, and began rolling out Melissa’s crust. It behaved perfectly, like it had heard the expletives from inside the refrigerator. Par-baked it just as instructed in the Four & Twenty Blackbird recipe. Whisked together the sweet potatoes with the bourbon and sugar (which as noticeably thicker with sweet potatoes included, go figure).


And the pie was perfect. Set up just right. Tasted of depth and caramel sweetness. And a little kick of bourbon.

After that adventure in failure, I needed more bourbon. So I made some bourbon whipped cream (cream whipped without sugar, some bourbon splashed in). And that was a great touch. 


But I needed more bourbon.


I looked at Karen and said, “I want to dip this in warm bourbon.” Which really has to make a wife proud. A bit of bourbon in a small bowl. 10 seconds in the microwave. A dip into the rich brown liquid with the tip of the pie, then a dip into the whipped bourbon cream. 


And this is pie. A triumph out of failure. A boozy victory. A perfect pie.




recipe | Bourbon Sweet Potato Pie (via Four & Twenty Blackbirds and Bon Appetit) + Bourbon Whipped Cream and Warm Bourbon for Dipping

Lime Pie with Gingersnap Crust (via Magnolia Bakery) | Pie Month

This is the 11th entry in our Month of Pie. Pie Month is a celebration of things we love. Because life is hard, and there should always be more pie. Have a look at the other entries. Really. 

Pie #1 - Lemon Cream Icebox Pie

Pie #2 - Malted Crisp Tart

Pie #3 - Apple Green-Chili Pie with Cheddar Crust and Walnut Streusel

Pie #4 - Peanut Butter Cream Pie with Chocolate Whipped Cream

Pie #5 - Butterscotch Cream Pie with Gingersnap Crust and Cashew Brittle

Pie #6 - Banana Cream Pie with Chocolate Chip Cookie Crust

Pie #7 - Chocolate Kahlua Pie

Pie #8 - Bacon and Egg Pizza

Pie #9 - Pork Confit Pie with Creme Fraiche Potatoes and Puff Pastry

Pie #10 - Raspberry Pie and the Perfect Pie Crust 

I love key lime pie. 

I also hate making key lime pie. I know those little green balls of tart demand I get rhapsodic about them, about slicing them in half and squeezing out their life force and making a giant wonderful something something. 

But, honestly, I despise them, truly. So much work. So little juice. So inappropriately expensive here in New Jersey. Cutting them open, getting a wee bit of juice from each key lime, wondering how I’ll ever get enough juice for a pie, while the Pyrex measuring cup seems to be unimpressed with my juicing endeavors.

And so I’ve given up on them. They’re dead to me, those key limes. The citrus name we shall not speak.

However...

As long as the world keeps making gin, this house will always have limes in it. And if there are limes here, there must also be pie.

We love this lime pie recipe from Magnolia Bakery. It has two things working hard for it. First is the gingersnap crust, which pushes back against the sweetened condensed milk, it’s spicy playfulness taunting and finally making friends with the filling.

The second thing that sends this pie over the top is the lime zest. We used our microplane to get a fine cut from the lime, spreading the goodness throughout the filling without letting giant wads of peel destroy the fun.

This pie is no effort at all. Isn’t that nice? Make this pie. Sometimes easy is perfect.

recipe | Lime Pie with Gingersnap Crust (via Magnolia Bakery)


For the crust

• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 1 ½ cups gingersnap cookie crumbs from cookies blitzed in the food processor 

Turn on the oven to 325 F.


In a bowl, combine the butter and cookie crumbs until evenly coated. Press the mixture into a 9-inch pie plate. Press it harder. Go back again and press the whole bit harder against the sides and bottom of the plate. Slide it into the oven. Bake for 10 minutes. Go zest and squeeze your limes (not a metaphor). Once the crust is done, take it out and cool it on a rack for 10 minutes.


For the filling

• 21 ounces sweetened condensed milk
• 6 egg yolks
• 1 cup lime juice 
• 1 tablespoon lime zest

In the bowl of your electric mixer, throw in the milk, yolks, and lime juice. Turn on low until its all mixed together. Add the zest and turn on low until you see the flecks throughout the mixture. 


Pour the filling into the crust. Bake for 25-30 minutes. You’re looking for a solid center with no wiggle.


Cool the pie down a bit, between another 20-30 minutes. Then throw it in the refrigerator for 2 hours at least (sorry you have to wait). 

Serve with unsweetened whipped cream and a slice of lime zest if you’re feeling fancy.

The Perfect Pie Crust and Raspberry Pie with Twice-Baked Crust (via Melissa Clark) | Pie Month

This is the 10th entry in our Month of Pie. Pie Month is a celebration of things we love. Because life is hard, and there should always be more pie. Have a look at the other entries. Really. 

Pie #1 - Lemon Cream Icebox Pie

Pie #2 - Malted Crisp Tart

Pie #3 - Apple Green-Chili Pie with Cheddar Crust and Walnut Streusel

Pie #4 - Peanut Butter Cream Pie with Chocolate Whipped Cream

Pie #5 - Butterscotch Cream Pie with Gingersnap Crust and Cashew Brittle

Pie #6 - Banana Cream Pie with Chocolate Chip Cookie Crust

Pie #7 - Chocolate Kahlua Pie

Pie #8 - Bacon and Egg Pizza

Pie #9 - Pork Confit Pie with Creme Fraiche Potatoes and Puff Pastry

The very foundation of pie has always proved my Achilles heel. 


I can’t make crust. Karen can, and her crusts are always perfect. It’s kind of offensive, really, when your wife can make a pie crust that is 100x better than your own, especially when you, I, try so hard to get it right. And for years, I swore off homemade crusts, and just purchased them pre-made, ready to bake.


But no more. No more shall my crusts hang in sorrow. No more shall I wince when pie tasters ask how I made my crust. No more pie crust shame, my friends, no more crust shame.


My new secret weapon of a crust comes straight from Melissa Clark, writer of all things wonderful. Melissa is a new friend of ours on Twitter, and she’s the best thing that’s happened to our family in recent memory. Her latest book, In the Kitchen with A Good Appetite, is so very special, and it made loads of “best of 2010” cookbooks lists. Deservedly. Her writing is wickedly perfect, thoughtful, funny, spot-on happy. Every one of her pieces is a discovery for her. And you want to go on every one of those journeys with her.


If you’re not reading her column in the NYTimes, you’re missing something special.


And if you’re not making her crusts, you life is empty and so very sad.


This crust, all butter or with a cut of animal fat (duck fat in our case), is flakier than you deserve. Simple as anything you’ve ever made in a food processor. Not at all fussy and no work at all (yes, you roll it out later, but that builds character). No soggy bottoms to boot. Really, she deserves thanks from all the pie-eating world for perfecting the crust.

And then her cherry pie recipe with a twice-baked crust. Reading her account of making a delightful recipe even better made me want to try my hand at it, too. But there were no sour cherries to be found, unless I wanted to spend a fortune to buy 10 pounds of cherries and have them shipped to our house (I did, but I knew better than to raise it with Karen). 


So on a whim at the grocery store, I grabbed a few bags of frozen raspberries, wondering if I might substitute them for the cherries. Raspberry pie in the middle of winter seemed like a swell fantasy. Now to see if we could make it a reality...


Melissa’s recipe calls for kirsch or brandy. Since we were using raspberries, Chambord seemed like a good substitute. Karen’s favorite drink is a take on a kir royale (we use Prosecco and Chambord, which seems more than fine). So Chambord is always on hand here. 


And because of the juciness of frozen raspberries which seem to gush red tears everywhere, I added in the full amounth of ground up instant tapioca.


The results? The most wonderful, thrilling raspberry pie. You must. You must make this.

In Melissa’s recipe, she calls for circles of cut out dough to be placed on top, forming a beautiful double crust. Given that we have yet to put away the holiday cookie cutters and we had no circular cutters, my choices were a star, a Christmas tree, Santa, or a candy cane. I opted for the star, channeling my inner county fair pie maker. A little cream dabbed on each star, a little sugar for a punch of shine. It could be July 4th, even in the dead of winter.


So this is a thank you note to Melissa Clark, for wonderful writing, perfect pie crusts, and the inspiration and encouragement to go make great food.


recipe | The best pie crust ever from Melissa Clark
recipe | Use Melissa's Sour Cherry Pie recipe exactly, but substitute an equal amount of frozen raspberries for the cherries, Chambord for the brandy/kirsch, and use the full amount of tapioca

Pork Confit Pie with Creme Fraiche Potatoes and Puff Pastry (via Pork & Sons Cookbook) | Pie Month

This is the 9th entry in our Month of Pie. Pie Month is a celebration of things we love. Because life is hard, and there should always be more pie. Have a look at the other entries. Really. 

Pie #1 - Lemon Cream Icebox Pie

Pie #2 - Malted Crisp Tart

Pie #3 - Apple Green-Chili Pie with Cheddar Crust and Walnut Streusel

Pie #4 - Peanut Butter Cream Pie with Chocolate Whipped Cream

Pie #5 - Butterscotch Cream Pie with Gingersnap Crust and Cashew Brittle

Pie #6 - Banana Cream Pie with Chocolate Chip Cookie Crust

Pie #7 - Chocolate Kahlua Pie

Pie #8 - Bacon and Egg Pizza

There are some impossible pies for me. Pies that develop their own myth in my mind, of greatness and potential and memory.

And with all great pies, and myths, a quest must be undertaken. To slay the dragon. And in this case, the quest was for a three-day pie. And duck fat. Two pounds of duck fat.


Duck fat isn’t easy to find. I visited three grocery stores in the area that pride themselves on stocking the best products possible. No duck fat. I called two more. No duck fat.

I called four butchers in NJ and NYC. No duck fat. I went to the giant Whole Foods in Columbus Circle. No duck fat. 

Finally, I called Wegman’s. Spoke with their meat department. The really great guy on the other end of the line said they special order their duck fat from D’Artagnan. “Maybe you could call them. They’re in Newark.” 

Wait, a minute, there’s a warehouse of duck fat fifteen minutes from our house? Why had no one told me of this magical land?

I placed my order for a whole lot of duck fat. They told me I could pick it up later that day (more some other time on how wonderful the people of D’Artagnan are and the tour I got of the facility). 


And then I was swimming in duck fat. 


Now on to the three-day pie...


Ever since we picked up the book Pork & Sons by Stéphane Reynaud, we’ve been smitten. The book chronicles butchering hogs in France. I grew up in Indiana (which one might describe as a long way from France), sometimes slaughtering animals, and a hog was butchered nearly every year.  And I’ve always had my eye on Reynaud’s Pork Confit Pie. It seemed rustic and extravagant all at the same time, pork preserved in fat, topped with potatoes in creamy fat, encrusted in puff pastry which is essentially flour and butter. Fat upon fat upon fat. I've stared at that pie recipe in the book over the last few years, wondering what it must taste like.


It takes three days, this pie. One for the making the pork confit. Another day to let the confit mellow. And another day to bake it. You can make the pork confit and let it mellow for days. Or weeks even. Then make the pie when you’re ready.


Here’s how it tastes....like deep, deep love. And care and craft and savory+sweet perfection. This pie heals parts of you that you didn’t know were hurting. It is shocking and mellow and makes you raise your hands in the air in victory with the very first bite.


Some quests are worth it. This three-day pie is worth it. Duck fat and all.


Make this for family. Or the friends who are closest to you. This pie is too special to share with just anybody.


recipe | Pork Confit Pie with Creme Fraiche Potatoes and Puff Pastry (via Pork & Sons Cookbook) 

Pork confit (makes enough for two pies, or use the extra confit for something else)

• 1¼  pounds of boneless fatty pork shoulder
• 1¼  pounds of pork belly
• 1¼ cups of sugar
• a pinch of salt
• 1 teaspoon smoked paprika (you can use regular if you prefer)
• 1 teaspoon dried thyme
• 1 bay leaf, crumbled
• 2 pounds duck fat (we used D’Artagnan brand)
• 1½ pounds of pork lard
• 2-4 jars for storage

Cut the shoulder meat and pork belly into four separate pieces (for a total of eight pieces of meat).

Place them into an 8x8 inch baking dish (or whatever you need to closely nestle the meat together without overcrowding). 

Mix together the sugar, salt, paprika, thyme, and bay leaf crumbles. 

Sprinkle over the meat. Cover the meat with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 24 hours. 

Uncover the meat and wipe each piece with a damp paper towel. Get most, but not all, of the sugar and spice off. 

Melt the duck fat and pork lard in a large pan over low heat. You have to keep this at a low heat, so don’t be tempted to raise the heat initially to turn it down later. Keep it low and don’t touch it. Sorry, that was very bossy. 

Once the fats are melted, add the eight pieces of meat and cook gently for 2 hours. You know the meat is done when you can insert a smooth knife blade with nearly no resistance. 

Place a bit of liquid fat into the bottom of each jar. Place two pieces of meat (one of belly, one of shoulder) into each of the jars. Use the remaining fat to cover the meat completely. 

We stored ours in the refrigerator, where they will keep for weeks if not months. We let ours sit for 24 hours to fully rest and prepare for their next stage of awesome.

For the pie

• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 2 medium onions, sliced ¼ inch thick
• 3 garlic cloves, peeled and sliced thinly
• 1 pound 2 ounces (or so) of pork confit, coarsely chopped
• 3-4 tablespoons basil, chopped finely
• 2 tablespoons thyme, chopped finely
• 2-3 tablespoons of chives, chopped finely
• 5-6 large potatoes (use any kind you want, we used Russet) peeled and sliced ¼ inch thick
• 1 cup crème fraiche (you could substitute full fat sour cream, but don’t)
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1 pound puff pastry, thawed
• A little flour for rolling out the puff pastry
• 1 egg yolk, beaten lightly
• Salt and pepper

Get the puff pastry out of the freezer if you haven’t yet. Or make it (whatever, overachiever).

Get a large pan of water on high for the potatoes. You want it at a low boil later. Go deal with the onions.

In a large pan, heat the olive oil over low heat. Add the onions and garlic, stirring when you feel like it. Cook for five minutes. You’re not browning; you’re softening. Turn off the heat. Add in the confit, basil, thyme, and chives. Mix until combined. Let the onions and garlic mingle and make some friends with the pork and herbs. Move on to the potatoes.

Add 1 tablespoon of salt to the boiling water. Drop the potato slices into the water individually. If you drop them in clumps, they stick. I know this as a fact. Cook them until not quite cooked through but softened (like the onions above).  Maybe 3-5 minutes, but use your judgment. You know your potatoes. When you’re ready, pull the potatoes out of the water and let them drain and cool a bit in a colander.

Dump the onion+pork confit mixture into a food processor. Pulse until evenly chopped and combined.  Right before your last pulse, taste for salt and pepper.  Then pulse again. Don’t turn it on for a full spin during this phase. You’ll get a paste if you do that. You want a lightly chunky, happy mixture, not some sad-looking pate.

In a large bowl, dump in the cooled potato slices along with the crème fraiche and cumin. Stir gently to combine.

Turn the oven on to 325 F.

Cut the puff pastry into two pieces, one a little bigger than the other (the big one will end up on the bottom of the pie and the smaller one on top). Lightly flour a work surface and your rolling pin and roll out the larger piece of pastry until about 11 inches in diameter. Lay it carefully into the pie plate, edges hanging over the sides. You need overhang, so if you don’t have it, roll it a bit more. If things are getting too warm, through the pastry back in the freezer.

Add the pork into the pie plate on top of the puff pastry bottom.  Smooth it out a little. Add the potatoes on top. All of the potatoes might not make it in the plate, but don’t waste the crème fraiche.

Brush the rim of the puff pastry (the overhang) with the beaten egg. Rollout the remaining puff pastry and place on top of the potatoes. You  want the top touching the egg you just brushed on the overhang. Press the edges together until they seal (note, you don’t want a lot of extra puff pastry that you bunch up. It won’t cook fully, and it will give you doughy innards. Again, this is a fact I now know).

Brush the top with the remaining egg. Then cut at least one slit in the top of the crust so steam can escape. Make a pattern if you’re feeling fancy.

Place the pie on a cookie sheet and then slide the whole thing into the oven. Bake for at least 45 minutes until you’re feeling good about yourself and the pastry is golden brown.

Let cool for 10 minutes at least. Serve by scooping. You’re not going to get pretty slices unless you cool the whole thing, then slice, then reheat. Which is an abomination.

Leftovers are fantastic, but you really need to try it fresh out of the oven. You earned it.