Apple Sweets, Part 2

More new-harvest apples!

SPICED BUTTERMILK WAFFLES WITH CARAMELIZED APPLES & YOGURT

Serves 4

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground allspice

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more butter for brushing waffle iron

1 3/4 cups buttermilk

2 large eggs, separated

1 tablespoon honey

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 recipe Caramelized Apples (recipe below)

4-6 tablespoons plain or vanilla low-fat yogurt

Place flour, baking soda, salt and spices in the bowl of a standing mixer. Add melted butter, buttermilk, egg yolks, honey and vanilla, and mix on medium speed until a few lumps remain (this is the butter, which has come to room temperature again).

Transfer the mixture to a larger bowl, and wash and dry the stand-up mixer's bowl. OR, if you have a second standing-mixer bowl (man, I've always wanted one of those), then skip this step. Place the egg whites in a clean stand-up mixer bowl and whip until stiff but not dry. Fold egg whites into the batter gently.

Heat a greased waffle iron. Brush both sides with butter and ladle in batter, following instructions from your waffle iron manufacturer so waffle is golden brown. Repeat with remaining batter. Serve waffles hot with Caramelized Apples and yogurt.

Caramelized Apples:

4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter

3 fresh gala apples, peeled and diced

3 tablespoons light brown sugar

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

Heat butter on medium in a large skillet until melted. Add diced apples, brown sugar and cinnamon. Stir to coat apples with butter and brown sugar. Cover pan for a few minutes to let apples soften, checking and stirring occasionally. Lower heat if necessary. Remove lid and cook for a few more minutes until a syrupy sauce develops. Serve warm.

Apple Torte with Breadcrumb-Hazelnut Crust

Fall is the best time to cook, right? I love to pull on a sweater and go for a walk on a crisp sunny day, seeing how the leaves are changing, and then coming home to make sausages with sauerkraut, or braised pork shoulder with noodles, or roasted chicken and root vegetables, or an apple or pear dessert.

This torte from the cover of October's Bon Appetit brings together two great Washington ingredients -- apples and hazelnuts -- so I thought I'd try it.

The crust is unusual, made with dry breadcrumbs, ground hazelnuts and lemon zest. Instructions for making it are confusing and led to several reader questions and comments online, including mine. You start out with 8 cups of ground fresh French or Italian breadcrumbs, and then you toast them. This should result in about 3 cups; for me it didn't, but whatever you end up with, go ahead and mix it together with the other ingredients as instructed. I wish the recipe had just called for the fresh bread in weight, rather than in cups. That would have made it easier not only to measure the breadcrumbs but also to purchase the loaves in the first place.

I served the torte with vanilla whipped cream, and I loved the flavor of the apples, hazelnuts and lemon, but wasn't particularly fond of the breadcrumbs' texture. No blame here for the recipe's creator, celebrity chef Lydia Bastianich; after all, fall cravings are so subjective and personal. But next time I'll make a more conventional apple pie with a flaky crust.

In the meantime, click here for the Bon Appetit recipe if you'd like to try this. The flavors are definitely nice with an old-world Italian meal.

Early Fall Lasagna

The last of the season's tomatoes and zucchini found their way into this Greek-ish take on lasagna, a layered, cheesed and baked dish that means many things to many people.

I grew up with Catholic lasagna -- the no-nonsense ilk comprised of ground beef, pasta, ricotta, red sauce and mozzarella. Ruddy-faced moms served it with iceberg salad and garlic-powder bread in our brightly lit church basement. In these endeavors to raise funds for church construction or athletic equipment, the lasagna was fine, but it certainly wasn't the point.

As a kid I also associated this type of casserole with hospital visits and funerals...a dish that earnest volunteers delivered to the family at home to provide comfort. So, despite all these nice intentions, I didn't exactly crave the stuff.

That all changed in the fall of 6th grade, when I visited my friend Tonya Rulli's Greek Orthodox church festival. She and I made our way that night through a crowded kitchen to ask her mom for money, and I'll never forget the smells: fresh dill, lamb, olive oil, garlic, cinnamon, and a heavy dose of Liz Claiborne perfume.

These Greek moms were clearly different -- more glamorous -- and I studied their long nails, gold jewelry, meticulous make-up, and colored and coiffed hair. Then Tonya and I ate pastitsio, which she described as the Greek Orthodox version of Catholic lasagna. It was creamier, far more flavorful, and it made me want to convert.

My Greek-ish lasagna is not exactly pastitsio, which uses tubular penne-like noodles, and typically has just three distinct layers -- one of seasoned meat, one of pasta, and one of baked custard or bechamel sauce. But I'm inspired by its flavors of cinnamon, nutmeg and cream.

Not following a recipe, I listened strictly to pregnancy cravings. First a pound of ground beef, browned with diced white onion and cinnamon to taste. In another pan, some fresh garlic, zucchini and tomatoes, sauteed in olive oil; to these I added a fairly simple but good quality bottled pasta sauce, then minced fresh dill, then crumbled feta cheese until the sauce looked creamy. Next came the bechamel sauce, a standard recipe to which I added cinnamon, allspice and nutmeg to taste.

I brushed a square pan with olive oil and layered: Seasoned meat, then vegetables with pasta sauce, then no-boil lasagna noodles. All this again, and again, and then a thick layer of bechamel sauce. I covered it with shredded mozzarella and baked it at 375 F. until bubbly, about 45 minutes. It then sat under the broiler for a few minutes to brown on top.

Great Zeus, it was tasty.

Pappardelle with Seared Scallops & Summer Corn Sauce

My dear friend Marna and I recently got together to cook. We sat on her swank new deck, talking about the latest issue of Bon Appetit and how it's just not as good as Gourmet was. We fussed with one of its recipes, making it our own. Then we devoured August in a bowl. So, now it's nearly gone. See you again next year, August.

FRESH PAPPARDELLE WITH SEARED SCALLOPS & SUMMER CORN SAUCE

Serves 2

3 ears fresh local corn, shucked

1 clove garlic, sliced

3/4 teaspoon kosher salt + more for scallops

2 pinches black pepper

2 tablespoons + 2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese, divided

2 tablespoons + 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

2 tablespoons butter

6 ounces fresh, refrigerated Pappardelle pasta

10 large fresh scallops, pressed very dry with paper towels

Juice of 1/4 large lemon

1/3 cup chopped fresh basil

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil and add shucked corn. Boil for 5 minutes or so, until it turns more yellow. Use tongs to remove it from the water and let it cool. Slice the kernels from the cob.

Place half the corn kernels in a food processor. Add garlic, 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, pepper, 2 tablespoons Parmesan and 2 tablespoons olive oil. Process until smooth and saucy. Stir in remaining corn kernels. Place sauce in a small pan on low heat to keep it warm, stirring occasionally, while you make the pasta and scallops.

Cook and drain pasta according to package directions. Meanwhile, heat remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and butter in a large skillet on high heat. Add scallops in a single layer and cook 3-4 minutes until the first side is brown; use tongs to turn and cook until the other side is brown, then a bit longer to ensure each scallop is slightly translucent inside, but not too raw. (I just test one with a knife.) Squeeze scallops with lemon juice to deglaze the pan and give them some bright flavor.

Toss pasta with most of the fresh basil and corn sauce. Divide among pasta bowls. Divide scallops among pasta bowls, placing them on top. Sprinkle with remaining basil and Parmesan, and serve on a swank deck with a green salad and some crisp white wine if you're not pregnant.

Caramelized Peach Custard Tartlets

We must have patience for the best Washington peaches. Not until this week were they finally, REALLY here. For these tarts, I cobbled together a couple favorite recipes -- a normal, flaky pie crust and a rich custard. The peaches were blanched and sliced, but no sugar was necessary...just a bit sprinkled on top to get the caramelized effect.

CARAMELIZED PEACH CUSTARD TARTLETS

Makes 6 tartlets

5 large peaches

6 baked tartlet shells, made from Flaky Pie Crust (see recipe below)

1 recipe Rich Vanilla Custard (see recipe below)

Sugar for sprinkling

Special equipment: Kitchen-appropriate blow torch (optional)

Bring a large pot of water to boil, and use tongs to carefully place peaches one at a time in the boiling water. Boil peaches for about 10 minutes, or until skins appear loose. Use tongs to remove peaches from boiling water and place them in a large bowl. Let cool, and then use clean fingers to slide off skins. If the peaches are juicy and awesome, you won't need a paring knife. If they're not quite that awesome, you might need to work at some of them with a paring knife to get all the skin off. Slice peaches as shown and discard pits.

Fill each baked tartlet shell nearly to the top with chilled creme brulee custard. Arrange sliced peaches on top, and sprinkle liberally with sugar. Use blow torch to caramelize. If you don't have a blow torch, you can place the tartlets under the broiler for a few minutes; place the peaches about 2 inches below the flame, and watch carefully so they don't burn. Serve.

Flaky Pie Crust:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, chilled

Ice water

1 egg + few drops of water

Special equipment: pastry cutter, scalloped 6-inch tartlet pans with removable bottoms, pie weights or dry beans

Stir together flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl. Cut chilled butter into small pieces and cut it into the flour mixture, using a pastry cutter, until the chunks of butter are the size of baby peas. Drizzle 1/3 cup ice water over mixture and gently stir, incorporating the water throughout. Use clean hands to press the dough together into a ball. If it's still not coming together, add 1-2 more tablespoons of water and try again.

Cut the ball into 2 pieces and wrap each one in plastic; press each piece into a flat disk. You should see some little lumps and swirls of butter in each disk. Chill the dough for at least 30 minutes, or up to a day.

Remove a disk from plastic and sprinkle it on both sides with flour. (If it's really cold and stiff, let it sit for a few minutes until you can work with it.) Roll it flat, working quickly to keep it cold and making sure it's of even thickness, about 1/4 inch. Cut the rolled dough into 3 large circles, and press each circle into a tartlet pan, using your fingers to remove any excess dough from the edges of the tartlet pan. Repeat with the other disk of dough. Whisk together the egg and water and brush the surface of each shell with this egg wash. Wrap all the tartlets in plastic and chill for 20-30 minutes to let the flour's gluten rest just a bit. This will keep the tartlet sides from sinking in the oven. Preheat oven to 400F.

Remove the tartlet pans from the refrigerator and unwrap them. Place them all on a baking sheet, and fill each shell to the top with ceramic pie weights or dry beans (this also helps the sides not to sink). Bake the shells for 7 to 10 minutes, until they're golden. Let cool and remove pie weights. Now the tartlet shells are ready to be filled and served.

Rich Vanilla Custard:

2 cups heavy cream, room temperature

3 large eggs, room temperature

1/2 cup sugar

3/4 teaspoon vanilla

Heat 2 inches of water in a saucepan that can serve as the bottom of a double boiler. Whisk together cream, eggs and sugar in a large metal bowl that can serve as the top of the double boiler. (In other words, the bowl should be just a bit wider than the rim of the saucepan. You don't want the bowl to float it the water; you want it to sit on the rim, so the steam helps cook your custard.)

Place the bowl on top of the saucepan, making sure the bowl doesn't touch the simmering water. (If it does, you might end up with scrambled eggs.) Whisk cream mixture constantly for 20 minutes or so, allowing it to thicken. Strain it through a fine strainer into a storage container, and stir in vanilla. Cover and refrigerate until cold and thick. Now the custard is ready to fill the tartlet shells.

August Dinner Party

No time for fancy writing, but here's the quick rundown on a recent dinner party we hosted:

Pimms Cup cocktails & assorted beer

Dara's homemade salsa (two kinds) with tortilla chips

Grilled steelhead with lemon, butter, parsley and cilantro

Spicy pulled pork sandwiches

Potato salad (with red potatoes, egg, shaved fresh corn, sugar snap peas, red onion dill, mayo, mustard, olive oil, white wine vinegar)

Jicama slaw (with carrots, red cabbage, cilantro, lime juice and olive oil)

Blackberry ice cream and gingersnaps

Berry-Best Pound Cake

If you look to the far right and read this blog's mission, you'll see that juicy, local strawberries from the Northwest are called out specifically. Part of my goal in moving from the Midwest to Seattle was to educate my husband Dara about "real" strawberries, which he had never eaten.

Mind you, I'm not opposed to the Driscoll version of a strawberry at the supermarket; large and pretty and protected in plastic, it has its place throughout the year. And strawberries from the Midwest farmers markets -- well, they're fine, I suppose. But Oregon and Washington strawberries are completely different. They're small, red throughout, and can barely contain all their juice and flavor. They're also delicate -- you have to pick them and eat them in just a couple of days. And for the best varieties, the season is brief.

When I was growing up, my family honored the fleeting Northwest strawberry season by devouring a June dinner of strawberry shortcake and nothing else. It was one of my sister's and my favorite days of the year.

This summer I pictured myself making all kinds of local strawberry treats to the delight of Dara and friends. How about a shortcake in which the sweet biscuits contain crisp bits of bacon, and the cream is sweetened with maple syrup? How about freezer jam with a hint of lavender or lemon verbena? A fresh, open-faced strawberry pie is a must, with a shortbread crust and a creamy, honey-scented custard to secure the upside-down strawberries. There's ice cream, of course -- just pure cream with eggs, sugar and muddled berries. And juice, finely strained to flavor and color a fresh, sparkly cocktail garnished with a lime wedge.

Well, we ended up having a big old strawberry snafu this year. The Strawberry Snafu of 2010. It was worth it, though. Let me explain.

On Friday, June 18, my parents from southwest Washington called to alert us that this year's Hood strawberries were in. Hood is one of the very best varieties. We knew that since we live about three hours north of my parents, the Hoods would be ready in our neck of the woods in a week or two. Nice!

Knowing how excited we were about the season, my parents generously offered to bring us some of their Hoods the next day. We arranged a Saturday morning parking lot pick-up in Olympia, about 60 miles south of Seattle. It would be like a drug deal, except with strawberries and free brunch.

The afternoon before the deal went down, I shook myself out of my third nap of the week. What was wrong with me? I couldn't stop sleeping these days.

I went to the computer, looking up the restaurant menu for the Kingfish Cafe. I had been excited all week for a Southern dinner with our friends Haley and Liam, but now, fried chicken and gumbo sounded like the least appealing foods in the world.

I sat down in front of the open toilet for a few minutes.

Hmm. No, I thought. It couldn't be. No way. That would be crazy. Ha, that would be really crazy.

Taking the story back a few months: Dara and I had tried to have a baby for four years. We had gone to Chicago's best fertility clinic and done all we could, including two in-vitro procedures. I had taken so many drugs to regulate all the things that were wrong with me...to ensure I ovulated, to thicken my uterine lining, to produce more eggs. Our doctor had ultimately said, "I think we're looking at an egg quality issue." Disheartened, we decided to take a break from trying so hard. We figured we'd pursue another in-vitro procedure sometime, and maybe adoption. These seemed like more tasks for my to-do list. I felt old, dried up, and honestly so, so sad.

Soon after, the opportunity to move to Seattle arose, and it seemed like a perfect time to relax and not think about it...to just have fun for now.

But there I was on the bathroom floor, counting back days and shaking my head, tears in my eyes and a smirk on my face. No way.

I took two pregnancy tests. Positive, and positive. Less than two months in Seattle, and here I was, staring at the digital word I had begun to doubt I would ever see. Is this a magic city or something? I called Dara and told him. Then I made a doctor's appointment. They said I was likely already seven weeks pregnant. We felt foggy, like we were scared to be too excited yet.

Fast forward to the Saturday morning strawberry drug deal. We wrapped one of the tests like a present and gave it to my dad for Father's Day. Seeing my parents' reaction -- the confusion, then the dawn of understanding, then the pure joy -- were moments I'll never forget.

Back home in Seattle, we spread the berries out on the kitchen counter. Dara said, "OK, what should we do now?"

"I don't know. I'm exhausted and I have to go barf."

I slept the rest of the afternoon. Dara bought some pectin and we made some half-ass jam that was too sweet, then some half-ass ice cream that wasn't creamy enough. On Sunday we washed and hulled the rest of the berries and tossed them in the freezer mere seconds before they molded. I wanted to barf the whole time.

Two weeks later, we tried again -- and again, the berries sat on the counter for too long. This time they actually did start to mold, and I wanted no involvement with them.

Fortunately, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries and marionberries have treated me much better this year. And I know that strawberries and I will get along better next year. But anyway. Now it's time for an awesome recipe to reward you for reading the story of why my baby will be named Strawberry. Just kidding.

One of our favorite ways to eat any kind of berry is with pound cake. This recipe is adapted from a 1988 issue of my mom's beloved and now defunct Americana magazine. It's truly the best, with a beautiful cracking crust, a smooth, golden crumb and a rich flavor of butter with lemon and vanilla and mace.

BUTTERMILK POUND CAKE

Makes one 10-inch cake

1 cup butter

2 1/2 cups sugar

4 large eggs

3 cups flour

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup buttermilk

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/2 teaspoon mace

Preheat oven to 325 F. Grease and lightly flour a 10-inch tube pan. Cream the butter and gradually add sugar, beating until well-blended. Add eggs one at a time, beating after each addition. Combine the flour and salt. Dissolve the soda in the buttermilk; add it to the batter alternately with the flour mixture, beginning and ending with the flour. Stir in vanilla, lemon zest and mace. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 60-70 minutes or until a cake tester comes out clean. Cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn it out and cool it completely on a wire rack. Serve with fresh somewhat muddled berries, sweetened if necessary.