I’ve been on a pie baking bent lately. My favorite part of summer: the mounds and mounds of fresh fruit waiting to jump into flakey, buttery pie crusts. My least favorite part of summer is
that not all fruits were created equal. Even the most promising farm stand can occasionally deliver completely tasteless fruits. This was the case for me a few days ago. I had spent a warm, golden August afternoon on the beach with nothing to do but daydream about pie recipes. We had made evening plans for dinner and croquet at the beautiful old house of a family friend. Lying half asleep on the soft sand, I could just picture a beautifully latticed peach pie sitting in her restored colonial kitchen.
On the way home, I stopped at a farm stand to pick up the promising fruit. There they were. All pink and red and creamy yellow: end of summer peaches. But when I reached out to pick one up and smell it, my hand touched the cold, hard, sterile surface of refrigerated peaches. Local these
most certainly were not. I closed my eyes and hoped for at least a wiff of summer sunshine. But no; these peaches did not emit even the slightest hint of a smell. What to do? I had been promising everyone peach pies all day.
Wandering through the displays of fruit, I caught sight of some late strawberries. Peeping out at me, all ruby red, they seemed to hold the promise of sweetness lacking in the peaches. They even smelled sweet! But a pie composed entirely of strawberries sounded a bit too mushy. I really had my mind set on the satisfying bulk and slightly more resistant mouth-feel of peaches. I finally decided I would combine the two in my pie; peaches providing substance and strawberries enrobing my somewhat tasteless peaches with a high note of sweetness.
An hour later, I stood in my kitchen completely puzzled. The beautiful golden curves of peaches slices lay in a cheerful jumble of pink strawberry slices; the mix covered in a generous sprinkling of brown sugar and vanilla. It should have tasted amazing. Instead, as I stood by the mix with dripping tasting spoon still in hand, I realized that the strawberries, though still beautifully scented, had too muted and round a taste to lift up the decidedly recalcitrant peaches. To make matters worse, I had doused the whole thing with a tablespoon of vanilla; yet another low, round taste. The taste combination slid right to the back of my mouth, without even bothering to interact with the front of my tongue. I offered a taste to my sister. “hmmm.. That’s nice… I guess”. Clearly it was not. It was boring as hell.
I tried to add some lemon juice. Now there was a note of lightness. The front of my tongue tasted sweet summer sunshine while the back of my mouth enjoyed the warm, brown tastes of the other ingredients. But somewhere in between there was a gap. If the ingredients in my pie were at a party, strawberry, peaches, vanilla and brown sugar were the well-behaved, well-bred guests who sit in quiet whispering pairs at the back of the room trying desperately to ignore lemon’s bright, strident and somewhat gauche attempts at conversation. How could I bring them together? I went round my kitchen sniffing various spices and liquors. Finally, I found it. Bourbon. With a high scent but warm, round mouth feel, it provided the perfect link. Or maybe the alcohol just broke down the ingredients’ inhibitions. It turns out that peaches could make quite the combination with lemon once they forgot to be snobby and stopped trying so hard to keep to themselves. Whatever the case, they were soon partying together in a wonderful array of colors and tastes; lemon dancing the night away with fruit slices.
Satisfied, I sealed the whole thing in a golden crust. And yes, it looked just as beautiful on that colonial counter top as I had imagined.
that not all fruits were created equal. Even the most promising farm stand can occasionally deliver completely tasteless fruits. This was the case for me a few days ago. I had spent a warm, golden August afternoon on the beach with nothing to do but daydream about pie recipes. We had made evening plans for dinner and croquet at the beautiful old house of a family friend. Lying half asleep on the soft sand, I could just picture a beautifully latticed peach pie sitting in her restored colonial kitchen.On the way home, I stopped at a farm stand to pick up the promising fruit. There they were. All pink and red and creamy yellow: end of summer peaches. But when I reached out to pick one up and smell it, my hand touched the cold, hard, sterile surface of refrigerated peaches. Local these
most certainly were not. I closed my eyes and hoped for at least a wiff of summer sunshine. But no; these peaches did not emit even the slightest hint of a smell. What to do? I had been promising everyone peach pies all day.Wandering through the displays of fruit, I caught sight of some late strawberries. Peeping out at me, all ruby red, they seemed to hold the promise of sweetness lacking in the peaches. They even smelled sweet! But a pie composed entirely of strawberries sounded a bit too mushy. I really had my mind set on the satisfying bulk and slightly more resistant mouth-feel of peaches. I finally decided I would combine the two in my pie; peaches providing substance and strawberries enrobing my somewhat tasteless peaches with a high note of sweetness.
An hour later, I stood in my kitchen completely puzzled. The beautiful golden curves of peaches slices lay in a cheerful jumble of pink strawberry slices; the mix covered in a generous sprinkling of brown sugar and vanilla. It should have tasted amazing. Instead, as I stood by the mix with dripping tasting spoon still in hand, I realized that the strawberries, though still beautifully scented, had too muted and round a taste to lift up the decidedly recalcitrant peaches. To make matters worse, I had doused the whole thing with a tablespoon of vanilla; yet another low, round taste. The taste combination slid right to the back of my mouth, without even bothering to interact with the front of my tongue. I offered a taste to my sister. “hmmm.. That’s nice… I guess”. Clearly it was not. It was boring as hell.
I tried to add some lemon juice. Now there was a note of lightness. The front of my tongue tasted sweet summer sunshine while the back of my mouth enjoyed the warm, brown tastes of the other ingredients. But somewhere in between there was a gap. If the ingredients in my pie were at a party, strawberry, peaches, vanilla and brown sugar were the well-behaved, well-bred guests who sit in quiet whispering pairs at the back of the room trying desperately to ignore lemon’s bright, strident and somewhat gauche attempts at conversation. How could I bring them together? I went round my kitchen sniffing various spices and liquors. Finally, I found it. Bourbon. With a high scent but warm, round mouth feel, it provided the perfect link. Or maybe the alcohol just broke down the ingredients’ inhibitions. It turns out that peaches could make quite the combination with lemon once they forgot to be snobby and stopped trying so hard to keep to themselves. Whatever the case, they were soon partying together in a wonderful array of colors and tastes; lemon dancing the night away with fruit slices.
Satisfied, I sealed the whole thing in a golden crust. And yes, it looked just as beautiful on that colonial counter top as I had imagined.
Peach Pie with Strawberries and Lemon
5 large peaches – peeled and sliced thinly
½ pound strawberries- sliced
2 or 3 tablespoons dark brown sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1.5 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons Bourbon
Dash salt
1 pie crust (recipe to follow)
1. Prepare peaches and strawberries
2. Mix all ingredients together in a large bowl and allow them to sit for about 10 minutes (you can roll out the pie dough during this time).
3. Preheat oven to 400˚
4. Spoon the wet ingredients into the waiting pie crust. The sugar will have melted into delicious syrup. While this is great as a marinade for your fruits, you may find that if you put it all into your pie, your dough gets a bit mushy and soupy. I like to use a slotted spoon at this stage so as to be able to avoid putting excess liquid into my pie. However, it’s really up to you and your pie preferences. Some people don’t mind a more liquid pie filling. You can also always mix more corn starch or flour into the mix to help dry things up before transferring everything to the pie crust.
5. Bake for 20 minutes at 400˚. Reduce heat to 350˚ and continue baking for another 20 minutes or so. Remove when the crust is golden and firm and the filling has the consistency you desire.
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