Puyallup Fair

Puyallup is a town about thirty minutes south of Seattle. They have a huge fairground there that's open for about four weeks in late summer/early fall. This was the last weekend, so I went on Saturday with some friends to check it out. It was gorgeous and sunny all weekend--if I believe the warnings from local DJs, we probably won't be getting any more sunny days for quite awhile, so I'm glad I was out to enjoy it.

The fair was crowded, and hot, but still pretty fun. I was too impatient to wait in line for the rides, but I did tolerate the lines for a some good eats, which were well worth the wait.

My favorite snack from the fair were the Fisher scones. They are a longtime local favorite and I can see why--tender and fluffy, served hot from the oven and smeared with honey butter and raspberry jam. I waited in line a second time so I could have one for the road. Here are some pics of the big bakers oven and the scone assembly line.



Saturday was a banner bad-eating day, I'll admit. Of course, I had to have a corn dog. Right? You can't go to a fair and not have a corn dog (or in this case, a Krusty Pup). I resisted elephant ears, cotton candy, burgers, funnel cakes, and every other kind of junk food imaginable...except for fudge (Penuche! Brought home for just the occassional nibble.) Oh, and then there was this German food cart outside the fair, selling these little fried pastries filled with beef. I can't recall how to spell or say what they were called, but they sounded interesting so in service of culinary exploration, I tried one. It was tasty, but not remarkably so, and too greasy. You win some, you lose some.

Overall, the fair was larger and more commercial than I expected. But they did have prize-winning vegetables and cows and goats and stuff, so it was like a state-fair-meets-amusement-park. Here's a picture of a pretty squash that won some ribbons. I didn't take any pictures of the giant squash--they'd been graffitied, strangely enough, and it kind of took away from their otherwise impressive girth.


So, there goes the weekend. This week, I have a lot of kale to make. I've also got some tomatoes to use up, so those will probably go into a soup with basil, garlic, perhaps carrots. I've got SO MANY ONIONS AND GARLIC! I think I'm going to roast up the garlic, in paste form it lasts for awhile. As for the onions, who knows. I'm taking suggestions!

Apple season

I made these baked honeycrisp apples last week. That one in the back is, as you can see, just a little past done. No matter. Still delicious.

Ah, autumn.

I also made a few caramel apples (and one caramel asian pear, front left). Tasty, but hard to eat!

But really, just how do the French do it?

Tart-making is not easy!

Tonight's project resulted in a slightly shrunken tart shell. For those of you not familiar the ways of tart production, a lot of French-style tarts require a pre-baked pie shell to be in place before you can begin the fun filling stuff. Getting the tart shell right is important and it takes a good measure of skill and practice. First off, dough from scratch is risky the first 100 times you do it and if you're me, you seem to be always doubting the answers to the following questions.

• Are those crumbles of butter in the dough 'pea-size?'
• This dough sticks together, kind of, when I smush it in my hands. Should I add more water? The recommended 3-6 tablespoons makes for a large margin of error.
• I'm trying to touch it as little as possible, but they keep cautioning me about overworking the dough. How can I tell?
  

After reaching satisifactory enough conclusion on these points, there is the rolling. I always look forward to rolling out the dough as I kid myself into thinking that the cosmic pie-making tumblers will click into place again (for I have made some exemplary pie dough in the past) and I will have sprinkled just enough flour on my mat and pin to prevent sticking.

Tonight was not one of those nights, but fortunately I was able to heave my misshapen circle into the tart pan and make it look pretty. What I didn't do was double up the dough on the sides, which--combined with the fact that I don't have dry beans or pie weights and had to use a foil packet filled with rice and barley--is probably why the tart shell shrunk when I pre-baked it.

That, or I overworked the dough somewhere along the way and it is now just a huge mass of gluteny...gluten.

I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

No matter, I filled that puppy up anyway with a creamy hazelnut frangipane and topped it with sliced pear halves that I poached in red wine. I'm confident this will make up for any crust shortcomings.

I like poached pears. They look pretty and taste great and they are really easy to make. I was thinking the other day how poached apples might be, using a dessert wine or mead or something like that. I'm not sure if the texture would work, since apples don't ripen like pears. But it's worth a shot.

Speaking of apples...watch for a photo post coming soon.

Do you like American cooking? I like American cooking. I like all kind of cooking.*

I've had a lot of bits and pieces of posts rattling around in my head for the last week, so this one will be a bit random I guess. Bear with me.

I did crack open On Food and Cooking (McGee) and was happy to learn from a quick scan that mold is indeed essential in basically all cheese- and bread-making, though the role it plays from cheese to cheese and bread to bread seems pretty varied. I have a lot more to learn on this topic, but I was gratified to know that I kind of knew what the hell I was talking about. Let it be known that Chefty is not an authority on anything. :)

Lately I've been thinking a lot about the food culture in America, more specifically about how as a nation we simply don't have a true food history or foundation in the way that a country like France or Italy does. (OK now, I know it's fall and all of you are going to start talking about turkeys and cornbread and cranberries and the like-- and yes, I agree, Thanksgiving is probably the only culinary tradition we can claim, even if we did steal the corn from the real Americans.)

I go to a store like Williams-Sonoma and look at the towers of Le Creuset cookware and bottled olive oils and pestos and think how eager Americans are to appropriate the trappings and labels of other traditions. Of course, there is in all culinary pursuits a reliance on the cooks and methods that came before us and, in an increasingly monocultural world, certainly the notion of a purely original cuisine is one that seems an impossible (and, maybe, pointless) goal. Cooks all over the world, even those with a hard and historical culinary legacy on which to stand, look to other cuisines and flavors to breath creativity into their dishes. I'm not condemning this practice, as I don't think there's any more fun or effective way to develop your palate without opening yourself to as many tastes as you can.

What I'm finding, at least in the media presentation of food here, is that food doesn't have this kind of integrity, that those who espouse other culinary traditions don't really pay it homage. Even in the most precious and sophisticated and savory presentations, cooking in America somehow feels too glossy and plastic. And the way we glorify this food often strikes me as desperate and vacant. How come? Is it simply that old familiar American insecurity?

Back when I was young, I had the habit of copying my older sister a lot, saying what she said, wanting to do everything she did. Naturally this would frustrate her and in response to a complaint, my mother would tell her that imitation is the highest form of flattery.

I wonder, does this hold true when it comes to food and cooking? Or is the highest form of flattery to seek knowledge and show, in your earnest pursuit, your own humility?

On that note, just so you know how far I have to fall from my soapbox here, it's time for me to complete my poached pear frangipane tart. Word to the wise: do not attempt to begin such a project from the very beginning (dough and all) at 9pm on a Tuesday night.

Will be back shortly with certainly less weighty questions to pose.

*This does not really do justice to the lyrics it echoes, but there you have it. Perhaps this illustrates my point about trying to do well something someone else already did better.

Mold

Now, I know this title doesn't really compel you to keep reading, but stay with me here.

Mold is, of course, kind of icky.

I was away last weekend, back in Massachusetts, and when I got back the fridge was in need of a good purge. Two things that got tossed were a container of yogurt and a half-used jar of tomato sauce; both had begun to host mold. Never a pleasant sight, but as I was rinsing these out I got to thinking, mold in general is actually a pretty impressive family of bacteria when you look at from a food point-of-view.

Correct me if I'm wrong (I haven't yet consulted my McGee for corroboration), but without mold, there would be no cheese or bread as most of us know and enjoy it.

That means there would be no grilled cheese sandwiches.

Or fondue.

Or...croque monsieurs!

The list could continue indefinitely.

Moral of the story is, throw away your moldy foods, but don't be disrespectin' the mold.

More culinary tales to come. Recent travel + short, intensely busy week = no time for Chefting! But things are expected to return to normal as soon as tomorrow, when I will be concocting something with apples.

With Fall around the corner, apples are about to become the new blueberries...which makes me wonder, how could you get these two luscious fruits in one fabulous dessert? Perhaps with an apple-blueberry upside-down cake? Caramelize the apples like you would for a tarte tatin (mmm), then line a bundt pan with them and top with a spiced blueberry cake batter. Might be overkill, might be scrumptious. I'll mull this over some more. In the meantime, feel free to hit me with your $0.02. I can't say I've ever tasted an apple-blueberry combination, but I think it could make for a nice changing seasons kind of dessert.