Homemade Pop-Tarts: A Not So White Trash Treat

Raise your hand if you love summer fruit.

Of course your hand is up. (Pick me!!! Pick me!!!)

What trumps butter and sweet, fresh summer fruit? Hmm...yeah...nothing.

If there is a problem with pie (not to nitpick), it's a lack of transportability and a short shelf life.

A freshly baked pie is something other-worldly, but two days on the kitchen counter and your buttery baked masterpiece becomes a mushy, soupy mess. Plus, there's no grabbing a piece of pie and eating it on the way out the door in the morning. Unless you enjoy looking like a Jackson Pollock. (Good luck getting out those fruit stains in the wash.) 

This profound series of thoughts led me to the pop-tart.

In theory, the pop-tart is a brilliant plan for a hand pie. But in practice, it's a highly processed pastry that lets kids eat piles of sugar for breakfast.

Here are the fruits of my brief research (read: procrastination).

Kellogg stole the Pop-tart concept from Post Cereals, which invented a quick-cooking dessert called the "Country Square" in 1963. In just a few weeks, Kellogg scooped Post with a better concept and name. What kid wouldn't want dessert for breakfast? Some Don Draper/Roger Sterling types came up with the name Pop-tart to evoke Pop Art, which was taking the nation by storm, thanks to Andy Warhol. The critical question here is: Why are convenience foods no longer named after art movements???

Did you know the technology used to create Pop-Tarts was developed for dog food? Yes, those aluminum foil packets intended to prevent spoilage without refrigeration were initially used to store dog food. Terrific. 

Since its heyday, the novelty of the Pop-tart has worn off...clearly. It now signifies a white trash diet, at least when enjoyed for breakfast with a cigarette.

This elitist version calls for real strawberry preserves. I made my own batch, enhanced with balsamic vinegar and black pepper, to make my pop-tarts a little more snobby. 

Not only are these pastry rectangles FABULOUS and perfectly pie-like, you can freeze them before baking (requiring approximately 10 extra minutes in the oven) for you to enjoy when and where you want them.  

Strawberry Pop-tarts

Adapted from Bon Appetit

2 cups all purpose flour (250g), plus additional for shaping and rolling

1 tsp. kosher salt

1 tsp. sugar

1 cup (2 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes (185g)

4 tablespoons ice water

12 Tbs. strawberry preserves 

Whisk 2 cups flour, kosher salt, and sugar in large bowl. Add butter. Using pastry cutter, blend in butter until mixture resembles coarse meal. This part is exactly like making pie dough. Add ice water by tablespoonfuls, tossing until moist clumps form. Gather dough into ball. Divide in half; shape each half into disk. Wrap in plastic. Chill at least 1 hour. 

Line 2 large rimmed baking sheets with parchment. Working with 1 disk at a time, roll out dough on floured surface to about 13x11 inches. Trim to 12x10-inch rectangle, then cut into eight 5x3-inch rectangles.

Arrange 4 rectangles, spaced apart, on each sheet. Spoon 1 1/2 tablespoons preserves in row down center of each rectangle. Top preserves with second dough rectangle. Using fingertips, gently press all edges of each tart to seal; press all edges with tines of fork to double-seal. Using toothpick, poke a few holes in center of top dough rectangle. Cover; refrigerate tarts on sheets at least 2 hours and up to 2 days.

Position 1 rack in top third and 1 rack in bottom third of oven and preheat to 350°F. Bake  tarts uncovered until golden, reversing sheets after 15 minutes, 25 to 30 minutes total (some preserves may leak). Immediately transfer tarts to rack. 

Strawberry Preserves with Balsamic Vinegar and Black Pepper

2 cups quartered strawberries (try to find little sweet ones)

1 1/2 cups sugar

3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

3 tablespoons water

1 teaspoon cracked black pepper

In a small heavy saucepan bring all ingredients to a boil, stirring, and skim surface. Simmer mixture, stirring and skimming foam occasionally, until thickened. This can take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. Remove pan from heat and cool preserves completely. Preserves keep, covered and chilled, 1 month.

News

Not that you need anyone reminding you, but we live in a crazy world.

I refer not to North Korean lunatics, environmental catastrophes, abducted women, drone strikes, or the shit show that is the GOP, but LITIGATION.

My poor little food blog was sued!

A publication based in Minnesota claimed to have trademarked "edible." Yes, really. These people think they own this ordinary word that appears in any English-language dictionary.  

Apparently my blog is so threatening that legal action was required. I take this as a compliment.

Surely no one else is doing this. Writing about food, I mean. And no one else uses "edible" when it comes to talking about food.

"Edible Feast" was intended as a silly riff on "A Moveable Feast." (I bet no one has thought of that one either.) Although Hemingway annoys the crap out of me (yes, I've read them all), I've always enjoyed this memoir of his years in Paris, which was posthumously published. 

Now, thanks to my brilliant lawyer friend, who scared off those rude and litigious individuals, I can put the entire legal matter behind me.

Suck it lawyers. How's that for macho??

See the evidence at:

file:///Users/danielablei/Desktop/2013%2003%2013%20Revised%20UDRP%20Complaint_ediblefeast.htm

Fruit Pops for Sucky Lawyers

1 cup blueberries
1 cup kiwi, slices
1/2 cup pitted cherries
1/2 cup sliced apricots
1 1/2 cups white peach juice (or any clear juice)

Place the cut fruit in a large mixing bowl. Spoon mixture into 8 popsicle molds. Fill each mold with juice (up to the line if there is one). Top the popsicle molds with popsicle sticks and freeze for 4 hours or overnight and the popsicles are frozen solid. Serve and enjoy.

I always find it challenging getting popsicles out of molds. Running the molds under warm water for 2-3 minutes will do the trick.

Basa Seafood in the SF Mission

Fair people of the City by the Bay: Make haste and get yer pretty selves to Basa Seafood Express on 24th and Treat in the Mission. You won't regret it.

This grocery store, fish market, lunch shop, and source of all things seafood is a sweet deal on a gentrifying stretch of 24th Street. (Really, what street isn't gentrifying in SF these days??)

The fried oyster sandwich, pictured below, goes for $5.99. Fish and chips, fried to order, are just $6.99. A generous basket of oysters and fries (um, HELLO) will set you back $9.99. A perfectly lunch-sized portion of salmon poke sells for $4.99. Giant bowls of clam chowder and bread are just $4.99. 

Remnants of a fried oyster sandwich

Sure, "cheap" and "seafood" are no perfect match. Having recently caught a short piece on Basa (See In the Mission Blog at SFGate), I was skeptical of bargain basement oysters, as any reasonable person should be. Today I checked it out with a friend on our lunch break, and turns out the seafood is fresh and delicious. No funky smells wafting from this joint.  

Salmon poke

The man behind Basa began working just a few blocks away at Sun Fat Seafood Co. on Mission St. If you don't know it, this is where you want to procure your fresh crab, lobster, and fish. Goods are fresh and won't break the bank. There's some overlap between the two fishy establishments, but Basa offers several sushi options, a bewildering array of seafood condiments (see below), and a few tables and chairs for lunching.

All for the fruits of the sea...

The Worldly, Jetsetter Dumpling

The dumpling has been around town. This little pocket of dough has racked up enough frequent flier miles to guarantee permanent first-class travel. It enjoys the supine life in flatbed seating, making the rest of us jealous as we schlep ourselves to the back of the shabby airplane. The dumpling enjoys the high life. Well...at least until it shows up on somebody's plate and makes its way down the GI tract. You see, its life is like a roller coaster ride.

The dumpling has visited many places, assumed many identities. Photographs in glossy magazines tell these stories: enjoying la dolce vita as ravioli; glistening in oil as gyoza; cozying up to wild mushrooms as Polish pierogi. Farther East, it dominates dim sum. Around the Mediterranean, it proudly stuffs itself with lamb and chickpeas. As German Knoedel, it is drenched in cream while as pelmeni, it is washed down with vodka in the Siberian steppes. It beckons happy travelers to Vietnam (bahn bot loc) and appears crispy and crunchy on the Indian subcontinent (samosas). The list goes on and on. You know, the dumpling always requires extra passport pages. 

The recipe listed here combines what this doughy delicacy has learned on its travels. Takes about 5 minutes to prepare and the result is comforting and delicious. Slightly modified from www.theKitchn.com.

Ricotta Dumplings with Herbs
Serves 2 generously as a main dish, or 4 as a side dish
Can easily be doubled or halved 

1/2 cup ricotta cheese
2 large eggs
1 1/2 cups flour
1 tsp. salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbs. of water, as needed
2 Tbs. unsalted butter
Handful fresh herbs (rosemary, flat-leaf parsley, sorrel, mint, thyme, or combination) 
2 ounces sour cream
1 tsp. lemon zest

Place a 3-quart (or larger) saucepan of water over high heat. Salt generously and bring to a boil.

While waiting for the water to boil, whisk together the ricotta and eggs. Add the flour, salt, and a sprinkle of fresh black pepper. Mix together quickly and lightly with a spoon. If the dough is too thick and floury, add 1 to 2 tablespoons of water.

Turn the dough out onto a floured countertop and quickly pat it out. (Don't add too much flour; these will be just slightly sticky.) Pat the dough out until it is about 1/2-inch thick, and cut into 1-inch squares. 

Drop these little squares into the boiling water and cook for 2 to 4 minutes, or until they float to the top and are fully cooked inside. Remove from the water with a slotted spoon.

Pour the water out of the pan and place back over medium heat. Melt the butter in the pan. While the butter is melting, chop the herbs roughly. When the butter has melted, add the herbs and cook for just a few seconds, stirring them until fragrant. Turn off the heat and add the cooked dumplings back to the pan. Toss with the herbed butter and stir in lemon zest. Top with sour cream in small dollops and toss.

Serve immediately.

The Humble Meatloaf is Ready to Party

Meatloaf bisection, buried in fresh parsley

DISCLAIMER: The following recipe is very French and includes both ground veal (sad) and chicken livers (gross). 

Congratulations if you haven't yet closed your browser. The meatloaf recipe featured here is deliciously pâté-like, rustic, and much more sophisticated than a Norman Rockwell painting. That's generally how we picture meatloaf, right? My mind fills with terrifying images of 1950s housewives and Heinz ketchup. (Maybe it's the new season of Mad Men?) The best antidote in these moments is heading out for Korean tacos, Indian burritos, or some other tasty cliché of our time.

Like so much of what we eat, meatloaf is a product of the Industrial Revolution. Think about it. How the hell could anyone grind massive cuts of meat without industrial machinery and steel blades? Oh, and large-scale meat consumption wasn't even possible until advances in transportation and refrigeration came along. These technologies put cities like Chicago, a mecca of meatpacking, on the map. 

Meatloaf began showing up in the pages of U.S. cookbooks at the end of the 19th century. Owing to its highly adaptable nature, the dish became a favorite entree of the crafty, pennywise housewife. Various parts and pieces of beef, chicken, or pork could be used and stretched in combination with staples such as oats, rice, beans, nuts, flour, crackers, and bouillon. 

But it wasn't until the Second World War that meatloaf attained celebrity status. Professional advice-giving ladies, such as "Marian Manners" and "Prudence Penny" (for realz), touted the virtues of meatloaf in print and on the airwaves. Amid rationing and calls to stand united against wartime threats, meatloaf was supposed to keep the nation healthy and strong. 

Our Norman Rockwell/Leave it to Beaver meatloaf associations come from the important role this dish played in shaping the image of the efficient, harmonious American family. This domestic picture (read: fantasy) of parents and children, united around the table, resourceful and sharing the fruits of their labor, served as a metaphor for a nation at war, during WWII and then the Cold War. Even if reality looked incredibly different.

Since the glory days of battling Nazi Germany and Hirohito's Japan, it has been a slow and steady decline for meatloaf. The crappy eponymous hard-rocker may have permanently damaged the cause by endorsing Mitt Romney on the 2012 campaign trail.

This recipe brightens the prospects for meatloaf, even if it puts on French airs. (Meat and fruit pairings like this are especially common in Normandy, I am told.) Call me a traitor, but I have no doubt the Soviets did more than baked meats to win WWII and I'm convinced the French have done more than we have to save meatloaf's flavor. No doubt, France has its own meatloaf stories (remember, bread supposedly made the Bastille crumble...)

Wherever the politics of meatloaf lie, in the end what matters is taste, and this meatloaf is delicious.

RUSTIC FRENCH MEATLOAF from Gourmet magazine

• 1 cup fine fresh bread crumbs (preferably from a rustic loaf)
• 1/2 cup whole milk (2% is probably fine)
• 3/4 cup finely chopped onion (about one medium onion)
• 3 large garlic cloves, minced
• 1 Tbs. olive oil
• 1/2 lb chicken livers, separated into lobes, trimmed, and rinsed *(if you haven't dealt with livers before, warning: it isn't pretty)
• 3/4 lb ground pork
• 3/4 lb ground veal
• 1/4 cup chopped prunes
• 1/4 cup shelled pistachios
• 2 tsp. thyme leaves
• 2 large eggs, lightly beaten
• 1/3 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley

Preheat oven to 475ºF with rack in middle.

Soak bread crumbs in milk in a small bowl.

Cook onion, garlic, and 1/4 tsp each of salt and pepper in oil in a small skillet over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until onion is softened, about 5 minutes. Cool slightly.

Purée livers in a blender or food processor, then transfer to a large bowl. Add pork, veal, prunes, pistachios, thyme, eggs, bread-crumb mixture, onion mixture, 1/2 tsp salt, and 1/4 tsp pepper and gently mix with your hands until just combined.

Transfer meatloaf mixture to an 8 1/2- by 4 1/2-inch glass loaf pan* and bake, covered with foil, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into center registers 165ºF, 50 to 55 minutes. Let rest 5 minutes. Cover top of meatloaf with parsley before slicing.

*You can use an aluminum loaf pan, it'll just take about 10 min. longer to bake. (Glass conducts heat more efficiently than metal.)

Even more delicious when accompanied by good dijon mustard.