Many Words on Pumpkin Pie

(Spiceless) Browned Butter Pumpkin Pie with Candied Pepitas

pie and whipped cream

My pie: pumpkin. My topping: sweetened whipped cream. My weapon: fork.

Lacking much of a sweet tooth, I don’t really know where my love of baking came from. Right now, my work and this blog reflect an appreciation for science and mathematics, for deep thought, for art, and for movement. But that couldn’t have been the case as I crushed bananas to a pulp for bread while my mom’s hands gripped mine, guiding strokes of the potato masher because I wasn’t yet tall enough or strong enough to operate it myself. That couldn’t have been the case as I decorated gingerbread men and women with globs of sugary royal icing in bold primary colors, spreading them with a butter knife that felt awkward in my hand.

It is most likely that pastry first gripped me at the Thanksgiving table. When November arrives I start getting that feeling in the back of my throat—that saliva-inducing tingly sensation when I think about salty potato-chip-crisp turkey skin and deep, savory gravy; unctuous bacon fat; and earthy roasted potatoes. Of course, I make dessert, exercising my hands and thanking all that’s living for their ability to shape dough that encases fillings that light up faces. But it’s not that apple pie that I crave, even though I love it, or that spice cake, with its creamy frosting that pulls me. I typically crave all things savory.

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An Unexpected Treat

cornmeal-ginger swedish apple pie


As I chatted with coworkers about our Thanksgiving plans, I realized that Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday. My boss said it best: It’s a time to come together, to share, to break bread, to enjoy–without the gifts, the frills, the sparkles. It’s a day to push innovation aside just a little and cook what comforts, what’s familiar, what’s easy.

I hosted Thanksgiving dinner this year for the first time. Christmas is usually mine. I’ll bring dessert, some sides, some overly pushy (but always sage) advice to Thanksgiving dinner. But this time it was mine. All mine. And considering Thanksgiving was wiped off the calendar for me due to illness last year, I was excited.

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Sharing with Strangers

buttermilk dinner rolls


I’m writing this while carrying my own weight on the downward slant of a broken commuter rail train seat. It’s late—a flat tire derailed my normal morning journey, and I’m headed to Boston on an unfamiliar train, with folks who are not just nameless, but who are also strangers with faces I’ve never seen. This train seems to be pushing faster, must faster than the rush hour train. So fast that I can’t balance myself in my seat, and my fingers cannot correctly tap out words. I’ll have to fix the typos later. I’ll be very late to work on this day, Friday, November 16th. My mind is wandering, thinking about the holidays, about how, like this train, they’ve rolled in far too quickly.

But as usual, as I start writing about something on the train, I’m changing course. Distracted by the measures I go to in order to not be seen—well, read, actually. These petty topics and food-related thoughts that move me seem fine when thrown at the wall, or the web, but not when seen by those in close proximity. I sit next to far too many black-suited businessmen on my travels. Even if writing these posts is one of the best parts of my week, I fear that they’ll glance over at my screen, read my text, judge me, my importance. How freaking old am I? I sound like a child. But that lingering thought of, “Just because this is important to me, is it important, really?” always comes up when I’m in public, typing.

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Control

Pumpkin-Almond Cake


Luckily for me, cooking and baking always seem fresh. The start of a new project — whether it be constructing a multilayered cake or just getting breakfast on the table in the morning (or, rather, in a pack for the train) — feels a little different every time; it’s like a break from the reality of that day, that moment. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been actively interested in cooking for several years; I will always be mystified, humbled by the way flour, butter, and water make layers of flaky pastry and even how just a ½ teaspoon of mustard can emulsify two competing forces — oil and acid — so seamlessly. The fact that I know the science behind these things doesn’t make them any less wonderful; the process feels new and beautiful every time.

Despite this, I have this annoying need to tinker. A neurotic tick. (This probably doesn’t come as a surprise.) I cannot leave well enough alone. Not just in the kitchen. I’ll look back at the bed I made several times, smoothing out the wrinkles, tightening the corners. It’s a way to regain control when life seems so very out of control. It’s a way to make everything a game, make the mundane fun. With food, it’s more about that second point. When I use a cookbook recipe, I usually find myself saying things like, “hmm, that sounds great, but it’ll be too sweet; how much sugar can I subtract before my measures affect browning and coagulation?” or “ooo, that flavor combination sounds lovely — but it would be even better with y instead of x.” For fun. To learn. And I usually like what happens. I liked lining the bottom of this cream tart with white chocolate that I caramelized. I liked coming up with variations on these delicious bites.

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Shortages

pumpkin whoopie pies with cream cheese filling

Fall is such a fabulous food season. In the heat of the summer, when farm-fresh zucchini, tomatoes and berries flourish, it’s easy to forget how soul-satisfying root vegetables are or how fragrant a fresh pear is. We get something in return for everything we give up, though. The juicy bite of a peach is traded for the crunch of an orchard apple and the tang of a buttermilk cake is swapped for the warmth of a spice cake (or an apple cider donut). This Fall, like a few in the past, though, we may experience a pumpkin shortage. And while representatives of my favorite canned pumpkin brand, Libby’s, assures that the orange stuff will be showing up on supermarket shelves soon, I’ve already started biting my nails. Although other varieties have a spot in my local markets, Libby’s will always be my pumpkin of choice.

What also begins with a “P” and is similarly scarce this season? Peanuts. So peanuts don’t conjure up any warm and fuzzy Fall thoughts, but they are equally essential to my cooler weather diet. I always have peanuts on hand, but my true vice is my peanut butter addiction. The disease is not uncommon, but I am one of its most hopeless victims. A peanut shortage has sent the price of peanut butter up and could really cramp my style. Many nights, I revel in dunking my spoon into the salty stuff before digging into some vanilla ice cream, the refrigerator light alone guiding my bite. And you thought I was a food snob? Au contraire! Ok, so maybe it’s organic peanut butter and homemade ice cream or Häagen-Dazs at the very least, but come on.

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