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)

ginger scallion noodles with pan roasted cauliflower and quick pickles (via David Chang)

Before we had children, Karen and I used to travel. A lot. Not extravagant travel. But a lot. We don’t travel quite so much anymore, but today I booked a flight on American Airlines to Chicago to go visit my parents and brothers and their families. 

The occasion is the wedding of our dearest friend, Lilly, who shares our love of Christopher Guest movies and will quote them endlessly with us (“But there’s no swimmin' in my show”). Karen and I get to spend the night in Chicago (ok, Skokie) and eat at The Bongo Room and Frontera Grill and get coffee at Intelligentsia (Black Cat espresso. Always). Our first night away together in four years. I know. Four years.

Booking the tickets and purposefully sitting us in the back rows, it made me remember when Karen and I flew to Korea to Tokyo to Kuala Lumpur to Sydney over two weeks. Before kids. We flew first class on Asiana (work paid for it), and it was like an amusement park ride with free toiletry kits and slippers and chairs that folded back into flat beds. And bibimbap. And ramen. Ramen on demand. Whenever we got hungry, we would forget the entrees and order some of the best ramen we’ve ever had. It might have been the altitude. Or the novelty. But being able to push a button, ask nicely, and get a steaming bowl of spicy goodness left an impression. We developed a taste for ramen in those long, comfy flights.

When I got the Momofuku cookbook for Christmas from Karen’s parents, I flipped right to my favorite ramen dish David Chang serves in his restaurant. Someday, I’ll tackle it, the Berkshire pork one (amazing), but I anticipate it taking a day or two to make. 

Just beyond the brothy ramen recipes in the book are ramen noodle recipes (all noodle, no broth). The ginger scallion noodles, seemed quick and easy. And they were perfect. Sublime. Exactly something different than what we had on Asiana, but sublime. A bite of sherry vinegar, the heat of green onions and ginger. The roasted cauliflower was a revelation (pan roasted caramelized with charred bits), and the quick pickles are a must. 

The first time I made this, I left the pickles in the fridge on accident. Terrible sadness when our bowls were empty, and I realized my mistake. Karen deemed it a travesty. We made it again soon after, this time with extra quick pickles. Perfect. 

The dish can be subtle and aggressive, calm and full-on power, salty and tangy. This is our new ramen on demand. At least until we fly to Seoul again.

The thought of five of us in the back of the plane to Chicago terrifies and thrills me. I have no idea how the kids will do. They will be what they need to be in that moment, I’m sure. I’m anticipating all kinds of looks from passengers, ranging from shock to irritation to indifference. But then I think about the five of us huddled together across two rows, having a party of Cheerios and questions and excitement and tears and laughter. Complimentary toiletry kits don’t seem  to matter much. And I can always make us our own ramen when we get home.

ginger scallion noodles with pan roasted cauliflower and quick pickles (via David Chang's Momofuku cookbook)

note - Yes, there are several components to this, but total cooking time is about 20 minutes with an extra 5 minutes for chopping. You can do this.

ginger scallion sauce

• 2 1/2 cups thinly sliced scallions (greens and whites; from 1 to 2 large bunches)
• 1/2 cup finely minced peeled fresh ginger
• 1/4 cup grapeseed or other neutral oil
• 1 1/2 tsp light soy sauce (we’ve used light and regular; light is better but regular is fine)
• 3/4 tsp sherry vinegar (we double this amount because we like the extra kick)
• 3/4 tsp kosher salt, or more to taste

Dump the ingredients into a bowl. Stir. Let it hang out for a while. Use it. You’ll have extra after you make the noodles, so you refrigerate for a day or two.

quick pickles

• 2 kirby cucumbers (we’ve used regular and English cucumbers, and they work fine)
• 1 T kosher salt
• 1 T sugar

Cut the cucumbers into thin rounds about 1/8 inch thick. Cover in salt and sugar. Let sit for ten minutes. Come back and taste them, adjust for sweetness or salt. Let sit for another 10 minutes or so. Use within a couple of hours or they break down too far.

pan roasted cauliflower

• Half of a head of cauliflower, rinsed. Or the whole thing. It’s your life.
• 1-2 T cooking oil
• Salt and pepper

Slice the cauliflower into 1/2 inch-thick cross sections (slabs of cauliflower). A few more cuts with the knife to break the slabs into bite-size chunks. This is much faster than breaking down the head into pretty little florets. Plus, the flatter, uniform sides mean more caramelizing. This is good.

Heat a wide pan over high heat. Add in oil and then the cauliflower, stirring often, and roasting until tender with brown bits all over. Season with salt and pepper. Don’t eat it all now; you need it for the noodles.

ginger scallion noodles

• 6 oz ramen noodles
• 6 tbsp ginger scallion sauce (or more to taste)
• Pan roasted cauliflower
• Quick pickles
• Sliced scallions for garnish
• A little hoisin isn’t a bad idea if you have it

Boil the ramen noodles (check the package for directions or test after two minutes and cook until you’re happy). Drain and toss with ginger scallion sauce. Pile on quick pickles and pan-roasted cauliflower. Taste and decide if you want some hoisin added into the mix.

friends and sprouts

I have very few friends in my life that I have stayed in close contact with over the years. Maybe I'm a bad friend (I hope not). Maybe it's because Karen and I have moved so much over the last thirteen years that we've been married. New challenges, new jobs, new communities to connect with and find a place to belong. But there are friends that remain, that you cling to, and to whom you return to know who you are and who you were.

Which brings me to Brussels sprouts.

Our good friend, Lori, hates the sprouts. When I posted on Facebook that I was making them, she threatened to hide my updates, at least the sprouts-related ones. When I told her she could make this same recipe with cauliflower, she asked if I was going to keep naming things until I got to cupcakes, because then she'd be willing to try it.

Lori and her husband, Chris, have known us for long time now. Chris is a teacher, and a good one. He's the kind of teacher that makes you think in more ways than you could ever thought possible. And when he drove me in his car on my first day of me being a teacher, we talked musicals and Sondheim and I knew I found a friend. Later that year, we moved two blocks away from them in Goshen, IN. Proximity wasn't the major factor, but it certainly helped. He and Lori made room for us in their lives. Lori's probably the smartest person I know with the driest sense of humor I've encountered. I remember holding their first son and weeping, knowing just how hard they'd love that boy. Now they have two, and their pictures on Facebook make us miss them more.

I left teaching and Karen and I moved constantly the next few years with new jobs and new adjustable rate mortgages, but we never lost touch with Chris and Lori. Then Chris did a national tour this summer, watching every Shakespearean play in forty days. He stayed with us, and I took him into NYC on a walking tour of food from Penn Station to the East Village, because I knew he had to try David Chang's Momofuku. We ate Berkshire pork ramen and pork buns, and really, it was perfect. They seated us at the counter, and I got to stare at the hands of the chef as he did final prep on dishes flying past us. Art and craft and a razor blade to slice the scallops.

The one thing we missed at Momofuku that we really should have tried was the Brussels sprouts. Crisp burnt edges (but in a good way) from their time in the deep fryer (we bake ours, which is a Chang-approved alternative), coated with a salty/sweet/spicy dressing, and showered with cilantro and mint. The final touch is crisped rice cereal that is seasoned with Chinese seven-spice powder. It's an ugly-beautiful concoction that tastes better than you could ever imagine. It's one of those things that you cannot stop eating, and you're looking at the other person's plate to see if they have any crispy bits left on their plate.

Chris, Lori, and the boys are coming to visit NYC this summer. We really can't wait to see them. And I'm sure we'll be eating sprouts. And cupcakes.

Recipe | Momofuku Roasted Brussels Sprouts