Pie. if you’ve been around here much in the last few months, you know that I make pie. A lot of pie. And I’m particularly excited to share this pie with you today because it helped me break out of a rut. A pie rut. A baking rut. A Marge inspiration rut.
You see, there’s only so many apple pies one baker can make. When you tire of apple, you start to get really creative with pear. Pear Streusel. Pear Ginger, Apple Pear (whoa!), Pear Cranberry (whee!). Yes, so let’s just say that when a large brunt of your business is seasonal pies, winter can be a tough season. And spring’s sneaky 80-degree days and lingering, lingering light? The most welcome sight ever.
At the kitchen where I bake, we’ve been rolling up the delivery doors and letting the sun shine in. There are railroad tracks right across the parking lot, so there’s a breeze, the sound of the occasional train, mixers beating away, ovens opening and closing. It’s an afternoon in a bakery. And it’s all the sweeter when my station is filled with new juicy fruit that is just waiting to be folded into a pie and carted off to the farmers market.
But it’s not just the lack of colorful fruit that has had me in a bit of a Marge rut lately. The reality is that I haven’t checked in for awhile. With my vision for the business. As a small business owner, it’s really easy to get caught up in the routine of it all: the weekly errands, the bills and invoices, the cost analysis and bookkeeping and making the same recipe over and over and over. It’s easy not to step back from it all and think about what still excites you, why you’re still cutting 20 pounds of butter into flour on Friday nights. By hand. When you could be having cocktails on a patio if you really wanted to. Or at the very least testing a new recipe that excited you. There’s simply just not enough time–for weekend cocktails or new recipes, for that matter.
I just started reading this book by the co-founder of Ann Arbor-based bakery and restaurant, Zingerman’s, called Building a Great Business. Can I just say that I never, ever read business books? I usually find them dry and prescriptive and they generally make me anxious rather than excited. But this one’s different. In addition to the typical Business Plan/Recipe for Success bit that generally makes an appearance in books like this, Ari Weinzweig writes about the importance of Crafting a Vision of Greatness. He discusses how this differs greatly from a mission statement in that it’s more specific and is really a full-scale picture of what things will look like when you’ve arrived at where you’re going and things are working well.
Weinzweig states that it’s so important because it’s a statement of optimism in the future and you’ve got to have this with your business. It also allows you to create your reality instead of just reacting to problems. He stresses documenting it. Write down your vision. Heck, if you don’t know what it is, no one else is going to. Come to terms with it and be accountable for it, and the chances that things will begin moving in a forward fashion are much, much greater.
So over the next two weeks I’m going to come up with my vision of greatness. I’m really going to sit back and think about what excited me about Marge, what I want for the business in the next 1 year, 5 years, even 10 years. Who am I doing it for? Why? What exactly am I trying to do or accomplish? Because really, the answer to these questions is more than making the same exact number of pie slices each week and going to stand at the farmer’s market on a cold Sunday morning in May. There’s a deeper connection to the food I’m making and the reason I’m drawn to old-fashioned recipes and small-scale, artisan food production. So it’s time to revisit that and to get excited again.
A last point that Weinzweig makes is that, regardless of what business you’re in or what personal goal you’re pursuing at the moment, it takes a lot longer to make something great than most people think. So many of us put such high expectations on ourselves for things to fall into place in a short period of time (I’m guilty of this, too). Some of it has to do with our fast-paced culture and increasingly short-attention spans, but some of it also has to do with limited knowledge on the importance of staying power in most creative pursuits. There’s something to be said about just showing up. Sure, I need to sit down and document what I envision for the future of Marge. But I also need to just continue to go through the motions at the same time. Make pie after pie. Because that balance is important. And, frankly, that’s what I do.
Now I can’t guarantee that this pie will help you slide out of any creative rut you may find yourself in lately, but it will certainly help. That I know for sure.
I do like to use quick-cooking tapioca for many juicier fruit pies, but if you have trouble finding it, feel free to use cornstarch instead. And let the bubbling juices be your guide as to when the pie is truly done; some pies may take just a few minutes longer than others.
Prepare your pie: Roll out 2 dough disks to 12-inch round; transfer one right into a 9-inch pie pan and trim any excess overhang (leave 1/2-inch overhang), leave the second one out as it will top the pie once filled.
Preheat oven to 400°F. Combine first seven ingredients (along with the optional orange zest) in a large bowl and gently toss to combine. Spoon filling into bottom crust. Scatter little pats of butter on top of the filling and place the second disk of dough on top of the pie. Fold edges under and crimp as desired. Brush with egg mixture and cut a few slits in the top of the pie to allow steam to escape.
Bake 20 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 350 F and bake pie until the top is golden and the fruit filling starts to bubble, about another 25 minutes. Transfer pie to rack and cool completely.
On Monday our little family of three is headed to the airport at 6 am to board our first with-baby cross-country trip. We'll be visiting Sam's family in New Jersey for a few days, then renting a car and driving over to meet up with my family at my mom's lake house in the Adirondacks. Sam's younger sister and her kids have yet to meet Oliver; my grandpa has yet to meet him, and Oliver has yet to take a dunk in a lake, see a firefly, or spend quality time with energetic dogs -- of which there will be three. A lot of firsts. This week my family has been madly texting, volunteering to make certain meals or sweets on assigned days while we're at the cabin and it got me thinking about really simple, effortless summer desserts -- in particular, ones that you can make while staying in a house with an unfamiliar kitchen and unfamiliar equipment and still do a pretty bang-up job. I think fruit crisp is just that thing.
In a few short weeks, we're headed to New York, Vermont and New Jersey to visit family and see my sister Zoe get married. In starting to think through the trip and do a little planning, I found Oliver the cutest tiny-person dress shoes I've ever seen (and he's quite smitten with them), sussed out childcare options for the night of the wedding, and found what feels like the most expensive (and last) rental car in the state of New Jersey. I try very hard not to be one of Those People that begins lamenting the loss of a season before it's remotely appropriate to do so, but this year, as we'll be gone much of September, I've felt a bit of a 'hurry, make all the summery things!' feeling set in. So we've been managing increasingly busy days punctuated with zucchini noodle salads, gazpacho, corn on the cob and homemade popsicles (preferably eaten shirtless outside followed by a good, solid sprinkler run for one small person in particular. Not naming any names).
Somehow, in what seems to have been a blink of an eye, we have a six month old baby. In some ways I can't remember a time we didn't have an Oliver, and in other ways it's all a blur broken up by a few holidays (a Thanksgiving thanks to grocery store takeout, and our very first Christmas in Seattle), a few family visits, a one-day road trip to Portland, a birthday dinner out, a birthday cake, weekend drives to nowhere in particular, swimming at the pool with Oliver, weekly get-togethers with our parent's group, doctor's visits, hundreds of walks around the neighborhood, hundreds of cups of coffee, dozens (or more?) of scoops of ice cream. Most of the worrying about keeping a baby alive has made way for other concerns, and Oliver's need for constant stimulation or soothing walks and car rides has been traded for stretches of time playing with a new toy or checking out his surroundings. In truth, it's thanks to that tiny bit of baby independence that this humble, summery cake came to be in the first place. So we've all got an Oliver to thank for that. Or, really, we have a Yossi Arefi to thank, as it's from her beautiful new cookbook that I've bookmarked heavily and am eager to continue exploring.
A triple berry summer crisp made with oats, quinoa flakes and hazelnuts. Summer in a skillet.
I had a weak moment on our honeymoon in Italy when I decided that I should be making gelato for a living. My enthusiasm for Italian gelato wasn't surprising to anyone. I'd done extensive research, made lists, had Sam map out cities in terms of where the best gelaterias were. I took notes and photos and hemmed and hawed over flavor choices: Sicilian Pistachio! Chestnut Honey! Sweet Cheese, Almond and Fig! In truth, on that particular trip, I cared far more about treats, sunshine, and cobblestone walks than I cared about famous landmarks or tourist attractions, often leaving the camera back at the hotel in favor of my small black notebook which housed detailed jottings on dessert discoveries in each city we visited. Our friends Matteo and Jessica happened to be in Naples on the one night we were there, and we all went out for pizza together followed by a long stroll around the city. At some point the conversation turned to gelato (as it's bound to) and Matteo brought up the famous school in Bologna where many renowned gelato artisans study. My wheels were spinning. Maybe we should visit Bologna. I should see this school! I should talk to these students! I could make Sicilian Pistachio; Chestnut Honey; and Sweet Cheese, Almond and Fig each and every day of our lives. Or at the very least, travel to Bologna to learn how and then come back to Seattle to take our Northwest city by storm. Well here we are six months later, back to reality, and the impetus to pack up my bags and head for Bologna has subsided for the time being ... but not the unwavering gusto to sample. That part will always be with me. It's been awhile since I mixed up a batch of ice cream at home, but the other day a beautiful new cookbook landed on my doorstep and I flipped right to a recipe for dark chocolate sorbet with toasty, salty almonds. I didn't need much convincing.