Chocolate Walnut Marmalade Tart

Guys, tomorrow is Pi Day. Not just any Pi Day, but the Most Exciting Pi Day Ever: 3.14.15. If you eat this pie at 9:26:54 in the evening (or hey, the morning - pie for breakfast!), you are an absolute nerd and I love you for eternity.

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If you don't make this in honor of Pi Day, you should make it because it's amazing. As I hinted in an Instagram post a couple weeks back, I think this is the best tart I've ever made. The picture at the top of the post is a glamour shot of the single sliver that remained we gorged ourselves on it all weekend.

"But it's a tart, not a pie!" True, true. The first time, I made it in a tart pan, and it was glorious. But I knew I wanted to post it for Pi Day, so to please all you literalists, I made it in a pie dish this time around. The filling didn't cook as evenly (you can see that in the photo below), but it's still a winner.

Chocolate, ground walnuts, thick dark honey, and lots of marmalade - this tart is no shrinking violet. But as good as the flavor is, it's texture that really distinguishes it: like custard, maybe slightly more set, it's smooth and silky, and has just enough chew that I guarantee, you won't be able to stop at one piece. Sorry, not sorry.

Chocolate Walnut Marmalade Tart
Adapted from Nigel Slater’s Ripe

I made this in tart pans and pie pans. I like the version in a tart pan better, but both work.

Crust:

1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar
9 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cubed
1 egg

Filling:

10.5 tablespoons (150 grams) unsalted butter
5 ounces (140 grams) bittersweet chocolate, chopped
2/3 cup (215 grams) orange marmalade
1/4 cup (85 grams) honey, preferably dark
1/4 cup (60 grams) sugar
1/4 cup (80 ml) heavy cream
1 cup (100 grams) walnuts, ground
1 egg

Make the crust: In the bowl of a food processor, pulse flour, powdered sugar, and butter until the butter is in pea-sized pieces. Add egg, and pulse several times, until the mixture starts to form small clumps, then larger clumps, and the flour disappears. Dump the mixture onto a piece of plastic wrap, bring together into a single mass, wrap up the dough, and shape into a disk. Refrigerate 1 hour.

Make the filling: Melt butter and chocolate together in the microwave or over medium-low heat, stirring at regular intervals, until completely smooth. Add marmalade, honey, sugar, and cream; stir to combine. Add egg and mix until fully incorporated. Add walnuts and mix until evenly distributed.

Shape crust: Roll the dough out into a 12-inch circle. Fold dough gently in quarters without creasing and transfer to a 9-inch tart pan. Unfold the quartered dough, setting it gently into the pan, and press gently into the bottom and sides of the pan, trying to keep things as even as possible.  

Blind-bake crust: Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line the crust with a layer of tin foil, and fill with pie weights or uncooked beans (I have a set I keep specifically for this purpose, since you can’t cook the beans after using them as pie weights.) Bake for 20 minutes. Carefully remove foil and weights/ beans, set on a rack or tray, and let cool completely before filling.

Fill and bake crust: Fill crust with enough filling so to leave about a 1/2-inch worth of empty space in the tart shell. (If you have both extra tart dough and extra filling, you can bake off a few tartlettes.) Bake for 30-35 minutes, rotating half way through baking if your oven heats unevenly. The tart is done when it is only slightly wobbly right in the center of the tart; lots of ripply wobbles probably mean it needs more time.

Serve: Let the tart cool completely (about 1 hour) before serving. Serve with spoonfuls of whipped cream or creme fraiche.

Extra keeps for about a week tightly wrapped, but c’mon – you won’t have extra.

Single-Crust Plum Pie

I'm here to put a stake in the ground: bottom crust is not necessary. Buried under a pile of juicy summer fruit, it's only a matter of time before the crust succumbs to its inevitable, soggy fate. Purists will tell you that a pie without a bottom crust is not a pie at all, and they will soldier on, pre-baking the thing, brushing it with egg, saying a special prayer before they fill it with juice. I've done that a lot, and I'm sure I'll do it again. (Apple pie season is around the corner, gulp.) But for now, I just turn to Nigel Slater, the wonderful British food writer and cookbook author, who says with an air of authoritativeness and nonchalance that we should skip the bottom crust entirely.

That's right: one crust, laid flat over summer's juiciest, sweetest plums. It's a genius recipe, really, because it takes all the anxiety out of making such a pie. You know, that thing where you par-bake the bottom crust and it shrinks away from the sides of your pan, banishing all hopes for an elegantly-shaped pie. Or that other thing where you take your pie out of the oven and anxiously count the minutes before people are eating it, for fear that if they take too long on their main course, they'll definitely be eating mush for dessert. One-crust pies do away with those things.

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As soon as you embark on making a pie that's just got a top crust, you really can make that crust however you see fit. Nigel Slater adds an egg to his crust, nudging its texture ever so slightly toward cake. The result is billowy and light, still short like pie crust but less prone to tearing or crumbling. Its as unfussy as all summer recipes should be.

The recipe comes from Ripe, Slater's homage to his fruit patch and the authoritative guide to using your summer produce. Ripe is organized by fruit, with dedicated chapters helping you work your way through damsons, elderberries (what, you don't have elderberries? For shame!) and all the usual suspects, too. He offers both savory and sweet ideas in each chapter, and I've already got several other recipes flagged for immediate attention. (Can you say blackberry semifreddo?) But this weekend, I made pie.

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The pie calls for quartered plums, but it also calls for the juiciest plums you can find. In my case, those plums were too juicy to be quartered. I cut into them with a paring knife, then snipped off chunks until most of what remained was pit. I then supplemented with nectarines, because I didn't have quite enough plums to swing a full pie. Many of my plums became mush, but so be it: August plum-cutting isn't a precise science. Fret not: your juiciest, least-cooperative plums have found their delicious destiny.

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Single-Crust Plum PieAdapted slightly from Nigel Slater's Ripe

 7 tablespoons butter 1/2 cup sugar 1 egg, lightly beaten 1 1/3 cups all-purpose flour 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/4 teaspoon coarse or flaky salt a bit of milk, for brushing crust 

2 pounds ripe, juicy plums (or a mix of plums and peaches/nectarines) 2 tablespoons sugar 1/8 teaspoon cinnamon (though I substituted galangal, and if you have that lying around, the combination is wonderful)

Cream the butter and sugar in a stand mixer or with an electric beater until light and fluffy, about 1 minute.

Mix in the lightly beaten egg, then gently add the flour and baking powder and mix on low speed until no streaks of flour remain. Remove dough from the mixing bowl and roll into a ball on a heavily floured work surface. Wrap in wax or parchment paper and refrigerate for about 20 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Cut the ripe plums in half and remove their stones. Cut the fruit into whatever large pieces you can manage, then toss with the sugar and cinnamon and put into a lightly buttered pie dish.

Roll out the pastry on a floured board into a disk about 1 inch wider than the width of your pie dish, then fold in half or drape over the rolling pin and lift carefully on to the pie. There will be a little left over, and there may be a few cracks. No problem: The crust is very short, so tears are okay. If they stress you out, go ahead and patch them up. Some of the juice will probably erupt through the crust as it cooks, so we're not aiming for perfection here.

Brush the pastry lightly with milk and bake for 40-50 minutes. The pastry should be pale-biscuit coloured. Dust with sugar and serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

Cypriot Greens and Cheese Pie

Sometimes, when I really want to share a recipe with you, I go a little nuts with the testing and tweaking. The recipes I get most jazzed about are the ones I want to be most perfect. So I make the thing 5 or 6 times, fussing with quantities and baking times and potential extra ingredients, all so that when you make it yourself, it's not almost perfect, it's actually perfect.

This recipe had me at hello. I made it once, and immediately knew how I'd change it for posting. Chick-chock, were headed straight for primetime. Amazing!

I sat down in front of my computer and opened up a blank page. Now then: what to call it?

Uh.

Guys, I made this in March. Only now, practically mid-May, do I finally have a title that's clear enough to tell you what you're making. And I feel like if I just explain what's actually in this thing-I-decided-to-call-a-pie, you'll see why it was so hard to figure out what it actually should be called - and you won't think I'm a total nutcase. But you will make it, yes you will, because it really is fantastic. So here goes.

The pie started with a recipe from The Traveler's Lunchbox for flaounes, Greek Easter pastries. Right, I don't celebrate Easter. But flaounes looked really really good, so they've been in my to-make folder ever since Melissa posted about them in 2010. In typical "I have too many recipes in my inbox" fashion, it took me until March to make them. The savory, triangular pastries seemed like the perfect companion to the hamentaschen I was already making for Purim. They were a big hit among friends.

But they were kind of fussy, with all the rolling and cutting and folding and pinching. And triangle pastries are a tough sell for a main course at a dinner party - they feel more like a snack. Between you and me, I don't need cheese-filled dough lying around at snacktime. So on my next attempt, I went for a big slab pie. One piece of dough, rolled into a half sheet pan, filled with all the good stuff, and bam: lunch.

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And a really good lunch at that. It reminded me a bit of those British "lunch dishes" that Nigella Lawson and others have written about: simple dough, stuffed with meat or cheese, baked till bubbly, then sliced and served just in time for the hunger pangs to strike. This was that. Incidentally, the leftovers kept quite well in the fridge. A 300-degree oven for 10 minutes did the trick in reheating, but once I even tried popping a slice in the toaster, which was quicker and more energy efficient.

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Now then: what to call the flaounes-turned-pie? Flaounes probably means about as much to me as it does to you, which is to say, very little. I wanted you to know that this thing is loaded with greens and cheese. But let's be honest: it's not really a pie. Pie signals buttery, crumbly crust, which isn't what you'll get here. Instead, you'll be making something more like a bread dough. It rises and puffs in the oven, and its exterior develops a sheen not unlike brioche or challah.  I thought about casserole, but that didn't seem right, either. Maybe "cheesy bread?

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So forgive the slightly misleading name. Maybe let's just call this lunch.

Cypriot Greens and Cheese Pieadapted from The Traveler's Lunchbox

I baked my pie lunch dish in a half-sheet pan, which is 13" x 18". If you don't have a half-sheet pan, you can easily divide your dough in half and make two pies in two quarter-sheet (9" x 18") pans.

The mastic and machleb are quite distinctive, and they're what give the dough its unique flavor. They're available on Amazon (each linked appropriately0 but also on Kalustyans. As good as they are, though, you can skip them and still end up with a delicious dish.

For the dough: 5 cups (700g) all-purpose flour 1 1/2 teaspoons instant yeast 1 1/2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon mastic, ground in a mortar (optional; also called mastica) 1/2 teaspoon ground mahleb, (optional; also called mechlepi) 1 tablespoon sugar 3 large eggs 1/2 cup (125ml) milk 1/2 cup (125g) butter, melted and cooled 1/4-1/2 cup (60-125ml) lukewarm water, or as needed vegetable oil, for greasing bowl and work surface

For the filling
: 1 lb 2 oz (500g) halloumi, kashkaval, pecorino, manchego, or a mixture of these cheeses, grated 1 1/2 tablespoons flour 7 large eggs; save a bit of one of the eggs for brushing on the dough 2 tablespoons dried mint 1/2 cup (50g) raisins or currants 8 oz. kale, chard, or other greens, shredded 1 teaspoon baking powder

1/3 cup sesame seeds

In a large mixing bowl, mix the flour, yeast, salt, mastic, mahleb, and sugar. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk and butter and add this to the flour. Add as much water as needed to get a soft but kneadable dough (I needed only 1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon). If it's too sticky to knead, add additional flour by the spoonful until you can knead it with clean hands without it sticking to your fingers. Turn the dough out onto a lightly oiled surface and knead until the dough is smooth and springy, about 5 minutes. Form the dough into a ball. Wash out the bowl, pour about a teaspoon of oil into the bottom, and put the dough in, rolling it around to coat it with the oil. Cover the bowl with a cloth and leave for about an hour, or until doubled in size. Fold the dough over itself a couple of times to deflate, cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to 24.

Meanwhile, mix all the filling ingredients except the baking powder (and a bit of one of the eggs, for brushing) and set aside. If refrigerating the dough overnight, cover and refrigerate the filling too.

Line your rimmed half-sheet pan or two rimmed quarter-sheet pans with parchment paper that extends beyond the edges of your pan(s). Set the dough on a lightly floured workspace and roll out into a roughly 16" x 21" rectangle (if using a half sheet pan) or two 12" x "16" rectangles (if using 2 quarter-sheet pans). The exact shape of your dough doesn't matter - you're just going to fold the edges over the filling anyway, so don't sweat it. Just make sure the dough comes up past the edges of your sheet pan(s).

Pour the filling into the pan(s), and fold the edges of the dough over the filling. The dough edges won't even come close to covering the filling, and that's okay. You should wind up with a sort of funky looking half-crust, half-topping. See my photos above.

Brush the folded-over part of the crust with the reserved egg, and sprinkle sesame seeds onto the crust.

Let the pie rise on the counter for about 30 minutes. Halfway into the rise, preheat the oven to 375 degrees and set a rack in the center of the oven.

Bake the pie for 35-40 minutes, until the center is firm and the top of the crust is golden brown. Set the pan on a rack to cool for 10 minutes, then serve.

Pie can be reheated a 300-degree oven for 10-15 minutes, or by popping slices in a toaster.

Asparagus and Tarragon Tart

Guys, it's my favorite time of year. Nevermind that May has decided to be about as cold as November and my sad spring dresses are still hanging in the back of the closet: asparagus have arrived! I've already downed 4 bunches myself; there's no stopping me now.

You didn't know I loved asparagus? Can't be. The evidence is all right here. There's risotto and bulgur salad and even just plain sauteed asparagus, which actually are my favorite.

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And then there's this tart, which, to be honest, defies logic in that it contains tarragon, my least favorite of herbs, and yet I absolutely adore it. Perhaps this is because the tarragon is used sparingly, to just barely tint the creamy custard with that sweet, anise flavor. Another thing I love about this tart is that it isn't too eggy. There's just the right balance of eggs and cream so that the center is still quivery, hours after the tart leaves the oven.

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I imagine this gracing the table of your weekend brunch, or perhaps your Derby Day celebration. And if you are celebrating Derby Day, don't forget the pie.

If you're looking for still other ways to use asparagus, I've got more up my sleeve. This Monday, I'll be sharing 5 more ways to use asparagus for Food52's Halfway to Dinner column. I'll let you know when that's live.

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Happy weekend!

Asparagus and Tarragon TartAdapted from Nigel Slater's

Tender

My only adaptations were using 100% white whole wheat flour for the crust (worked great) and using a rectangular pan instead of a round one. I had a few extra scraps of pie crust, but otherwise, the quantities worked perfectly.

For the Pastry:

7 tablespoons butter 1 1/4 cups (150 g) flour (either white, white whole wheat, or whole wheat pastry flour, or a mixture) 1 egg yolk

For the filling:

1 bunch of asparagus (about 12 spears) 1 1/4 cups heavy cream 2 eggs 4 or 5 tarragon leaves (more if desired), chopped 3 tablespoons grated pecorino cheese

Cut the butter into small chunks and use either your fingers or a pastry blender to cut the butter into the flour until the mixture is the size of peas. Then add the egg yolk and 1-2 tablespoons of cold water, and use either your fingers or a fork to bring the mixture together. If the dough feels too crumbly, add up to 1 tablespoon more water.

Roll the dough into an 11-inch disk (for a 9-inch round pan) or a 16" x 6" rectangle (for a rectangular pan) and fit it carefully into the pan, leaving the overhang in place for now. Prick the dough with a fork, then stick in the fridge for half an hour or so to rest (this ensures that the dough won't shrink when baked. The overhang helps with this, too; I cut it off after the tart was done.) Meanwhile, preheat the oven to  400°F. Put crust on a flat baking sheet and blind bake the crust for 15 minutes, then reduce the oven temperature to 350°F. Leave the tart on the baking sheet.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil, then drop in asparagus and cook just until tender, about 5 minutes. (Slater says longer, but I can't bare to overcook a batch of perfect 'gus.) Remove the asparagus and set aside.

Combine eggs and milk in a medium bowl and whisk to combine. Add the tarragon to the cream mixture along with a pinch or two of salt and pepper.

Lay the asparagus in the tart crust. (Slater recommends you cut them into shorter lengths, but I think the full spears look elegant in the finished tart.) Pour the cream mixture over the asparagus, taking care to fill in the tart evenly. Transfer the tart, on its baking sheet, into the oven and bake for 40 minutes, until the filling is golden and quivers only slightly when moved. Serve warm.