A couple months ago, I was texting with my friend Jess on a Friday.
Me: What are you up to tonight?
Jess: Laying on my couch eating a rhubarb pie.
Me: Who makes your fave rhubarb pie? I love them so.
Jess: Trying this one from [pie shop name redacted]. It’s OK, but their crust sucks. I like it tart, so my preference is to keep the strawberries out! Honestly, it’s impossible to find a really good one in a bakery or a store. I just want to crash somebody’s aunt or grandma’s house for the good [swear word redacted].
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Cut to Mother’s Day. It was an extremely rare Sunday when I had eschewed all plans, but had buckets full of energy and found myself floating from place to place, from activity to activity based entirely on how I felt in the moment. As the single working mother of a gorgeous 12-year-old cat, this was my day!
I woke up early and drove to Cougar Mountain for a peaceful four-mile hike, where I encountered what was most likely the Longest Slug in the World.
On the drive back to Seattle, I impulsively swerved toward the exit for the West Seattle bridge. I had been wanting to visit Milpa Masa, an artisan tortilleria with super-limited hours, and when was the last time I visited the West Seattle farmers market?
I strolled California Avenue, popping into a bookstore and an extremely cute gift shop that I had never visited before, and found that they both carried my cookbook! Seeing her in the wild never gets old.
At the farmers market, I bought a big cluster of velvety blue oyster mushrooms before a pile of thick, long stalks caught my eye, each one a vibrant ombré of lime green creeping into pinky-red. Rhubarb! It was rhubarb season! Could I make a pie as good as somebody’s aunt or grandma??
I bought (a murder of rhubarb? A smack of rhubarb?? A bloat of rhubarb???) SOME rhubarb and stuffed it into my hiking backpack, the tips poking out the top like a baguette from a Parisian bicycle basket. I had taken only two steps from the farm stand when a stranger stopped me. “What are you going to do with that rhubarb?” they asked. Five minutes later, while browsing a home store, an employee queried, “Is that rhubarb? I have no idea what to do with rhubarb! What are you going to make?” On the walk back to my car, yet another rhubarb-curious stranger inquired about my intentions for the extremely tart vegetable that is always treated as a fruit.
“I’m going to attempt a pie!” I told them, one after another. “But making a rhubarb crumble or crisp is really easy. You can also cook it down with sugar and maybe some ginger or nutmeg to make a compote that’s really good on yogurt or ice cream.”
I felt like my friend, Seattle chef Becky Selengut, who was inspired to write a cookbook called Misunderstood Vegetables after being continuously stopped at farmers markets and questioned at grocery checkouts while buying vegetables like daikon radish, rutabaga, burdock root or tomatillos. (You can hear Becky talk about the book on this episode of Your Last Meal.)
Somehow, in all my years of cooking and baking, I had made only one homemade pie. Pie crust is intimidating! But I instantly knew who could confidently lead me to pie victory. As soon as I got home, I beelined to my bookshelf and pulled out Pie School by Kate Lebo. I met Kate when she lived in Seattle, had just published a book of pie poetry and was running Pie School, where she used both her baking skills and sharp wit to take the intimidation factor out of baking pies. Kate has judged pies at the famed Iowa State Fair, and the very first time she entered a pie contest won Best in Show and the purple ribbon with her butter-and-shortening crust. I trust Kate!
I went with Pie School’s All-Butter Piecrust and Raspberry Rhubarb Pie, pulling flour and sugar from the pantry and retrieving sticks of cold butter from the fridge only when it was time to cut and incorporate them into the dough, as Kate firmly instructs in the book. It’s not just a book of recipes – she teaches technique with both conversational instruction and step-by-step photos.
“The best piecrust is homemade. Anyone who says differently is selling you a food processor. Your hands can sensitively and quickly judge the consistency of the dough; they’re easier to clean; and they’re the first route through which pie-making becomes a sensual experience.” –Kate Lebo, Pie School
The pie was perfect. PERFECT! The crust was impossibly tender, the fruit was tart and just sweet enough. But, in the words of LeVar Burton on Reading Rainbow, you don’t have to take my word for it! I delivered a fat wedge to Jess, and later that evening she sent me this text:
Pie was GREAT! Super tart just how I like it. Great filling texture. Crust was gorgeous. You are a dreamboat.
The farmers markets are overflowing with sweet local strawberries, cherries and apricots – this just might be your sign to buy some butter and be a dreamboat!
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XO
Rachel Belle
