This is a truly lovely pie. It's lovely to smell while it's baking in the oven. It's lovely to look at with its scarlet juices and gold-tinged crust. And it's especially lovely to eat, served with a scoop of the smoothest vanilla ice cream you can find (homemade is best, of course). The flavors just scream "Christmas" to me, but you can make it any time. It's the perfect foil to a cold day, a reminder that even the dreariest winter has treasures to offer.

      A little over a week ago, my laptop refused to turn on.
      It had been ailing for awhile, shutting down spontaneously and hesitating before restarting. It had also developed an identity crisis, believing itself to be a desktop instead of a laptop computer, and only working when plugged directly into an outlet. Yet despite these obvious symptoms, I was in stark denial: my trusty computing device was scarcely over two years old! My husband has the same computer, of roughly the same age, and he wasn't experiencing any problems. Whatever was going on must be a temporary quirk, I reassured myself.
     Until that day - Black Thursday - when it just refused to turn on at all.
     I was lucky, really: Apple said it was a manufacturing error and all the repairs and replaced parts were done for free. Otherwise, the cost would have been somewhere between $300 and $600, which is not how one wants to be stretching one's wallet during the holiday season. But taking my laptop into the "Genius Bar" was rather embarrassing. Why did it have to be MY laptop that broke down? I never do anything with it! I don't edit blockbuster movies, or write computer code, or work on complex astrophysics equations. Heck, I barely even visit "YouTube!" I check email, read comics, look up recipes, and write. And occasionally research the kind of bowler hat that was worn in the historical era where my story takes place. That's it.
      Now I'm starting to wonder if my laptop broke because it was experiencing ennui....
      This kind of behavior isn't limited to my computer usage. I don't use a smart phone, I use a clamshell that makes phone calls, and occasionally receives text messages. I shy away from GPS (this is partly because of the multiple, dramatic GPS failures in my life), and the MP3 player I use is a hand-me-down that's nearly 10 years old. Why? Because that's all I need. My father was a "buy a good product and use it until you wear it out" kind of man, and that's a value I happily embrace. But try explaining this to someone whose livelihood (and possibly their life philosophy) depends on promoting the Next New Thing, or a friend who seems to have the technological capabilities of the USS Enterprise* in their pocket, and it's amazing how stupid you can start to feel.
      Then, while my laptop was broken, my "whatever" attitude towards technology was brought into question. I was not without computer technology at this time: I still had an iPad mini (originally used for a business venture that fell through last year), and an older PowerBook G4 from when I was in graduate school (which my husband has nicknamed "Lazarus"). The iPad mini was good for browsing the internet and checking email, but even with an attached keyboard it was NOT going to accommodate Word in the way I required. Lazarus still had an old version of Word, but over time it had developed an unhappy glitch where I could type a whole sentence, and only the first half would appear on the screen right away. It would take a second or two for the rest of the words to slowly appear, as though a ghost were transcribing them for me. This was probably because my fingers were working faster than Lazarus' poor little microchip (I am a very fast typist, on a comfortable keyboard I average 90 words per minute). When I made a typo, or decided halfway through a sentence to change a word or two, these quick corrections became very slow. This put a serious cramp on my composition.
      And don't even get me started on the painfully sluggish attempts at Google Drive and similar cloud-based documents...if I had a dollar for every time I saw that spinny rainbow wheel of distress, I could probably have bought Christmas dinner for eighteen people.
      But great stories don't require computers, I told myself. Hell, the "Epic of Gilgamesh" was pressed onto clay tablets with the tip of a reed! I swore to myself I would not allow this to interfere with my writing: I would do as countless geniuses have done before me, and write on paper! And I did...a little. Not as much as I should have. Which led to embarrassment and frustration and gnashing of teeth. So apparently, I have come to rely on a certain level of technological comfort? And then I realized: I'm not a rebel, I'm too lazy to keep up with technology. And the feeling of stupidity sank in even further.
     My brother is a software engineer in Silicon Valley, so I called to tell him of my woes while awaiting news of my laptop's fate. I expected him to tease me, or offer some gentle prompting towards joining my generation for once. Actually, he told me something brilliant. He said, "Technology is supposed to make our lives easier. So if what you do with your life is read email and write stories, and your laptop makes that easier, then that's a good thing. But when we start manufacturing reasons to have more technology in our life, then it's not making our lives easier, it's changing our lives to suit the technology. And that's stupid."
      It may have been my imagination, but I think at that moment, there was a part in the clouds, and beam of golden light shone down upon me, accompanied by a harmonious sustain chord of singing.
      I got my laptop back yesterday. It's running as good as new, and I'm "happy as an angel...merry as a schoolboy," to quote a certain famous fictional curmudgeon of the season. I immediately starting typing merrily on my story, looking up recipes for Christmas cake and latkes, and updating my blog. Life is good. Life is easier with my laptop...because that's the kind of life I lead.

      Now I know a lot of you are trying to figure out what's going on with the pie situation. There will be two pie updates before December 25th, I promise. One will have photos, and one will not. The one with photos will be a Turkey Pot Pie, made with leftover Thanksgiving turkey (you all froze some, right?). The other will be Pear & Cranberry Pie with Gingerbread Crust, which I have made before, but will not be making this year, due to the presence of eight kinds of cookies, two other pies, a flourless chocolate torte, and a wild huckleberry trifle at my holiday table. Yeah. That's how my family rolls. But if you're looking for something utterly wonderful for a holiday dessert, and you don't need pictures, my pie recipe will be well worth the effort.
Stay tuned.


*NCC 1701-E, no less

      I promised a review of my Thanksgiving attempt at Alton Brown's Super Apple Pie, and I am nothing if not a woman of my word when it comes to food. If you care to read the recipe (go ahead...I'll wait), you will see that it has taken the construction of what most people consider one of the simplest fruit pies to a level of complexity that may be best summarized in the following analogy. Regular Apple Pie : AB's Super Apple Pie, is like One Room Log Cabin : Frank Lloyd Wright's House of Falling Water. Ok, everybody on the same page now? Good.
      But I was game. Unable to locate good Braeburn apples, I only used three of the four recommended varieties, but I think that was no biggie. I also refused to go out and hunt for a two-inch deep tart pan with a removable bottom (can we say "uni-tasker," AB?), so instead I employed one of my many springform pans, a nice 9-incher I inherited from my maternal grandmother. And I am pleased to say that it worked perfectly in every respect, so I recommend one for pie purposes.
      The final pie was indeed delicious. The apples were tender but not mushy, the flavor was distinctly apple without being overwhelming. The applejack made for a tasty, tender crust.

And that little pie bird poking its head out is ADORABLE!

      But would I make this pie again? Probably not. I don't think the final product was sufficiently superior to my regular apple pie to warrant the extra time and effort. The thing is, my own recipe for pie crust is consistently tender (and if I infuse the vodka with ginger, the added flavor is awesome). I know enough about buying good pie apples that I don't need the melange. I cannot honestly say I got much flavor out of the Grains of Paradise--maybe I should have added more? The amount called for in the recipe seemed small. And frankly, I've never had much trouble getting pie out of a regular pie plate. *shrug* I guess I'm just talented that way.
      What I DID take away from this recipe was the use of tapioca flour (not to be confused with tapioca pearls) as a thickener for the filling. Bloody Brilliant! At first I was feeling disgruntled that I was buying yet ANOTHER flour for my kitchen*, but once I discovered the silky results, I was sold. I highly recommend that you try it.
      One of the reasons I made an apple pie for Thanksgiving was tradition. Tradition was also responsible for the turkey**, gravy, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes (thank you again, dear guest, for bringing the best sweet potato dish I have ever had in my life, EVER), and even the plate of carrot and celery sticks that everyone ignores. Tradition also dictated the way I set the table, and the dishes I used. My guest and every friend and family member I talked to on the phone that day brought up their own traditions at least once.
      Another Thanksgiving tradition is football, and the Ohio State/Michigan game is always held the weekend following the holiday. As my husband was pointing out, that rival game is also fraught with tradition, including the OSU marching band forming the word "Ohio" with the tuba dotting the "i."
      Being a writer, these kinds of things prickle my mind on multiple levels, and I started thinking. At what point, I wondered, does the repetition of an action constitute a tradition? Let's start with the food thing: someone brings a dish to a holiday meal - let's say collard greens - and people enjoy it. The same dish is brought the next year. And then the next. Now, there are a few possible reasons for this recurrence, which are not mutually exclusive. There's the popularity of thing--if everyone likes it, then you know you have a hit, and of course you want to please. Then there's the also the laziness factor: you don't have to go through the process of deciding what to bring, digging out the recipe, making it, and then risking the displeasure of your fellow diners if you fall back on a previous success. And after enough time those collard greens may become expected, and you don't want to disappoint people. Which, I'm starting to think, may be the point at which it becomes a tradition.
      Traditions provide a feeling of security and continuity, adding to the over-all comforting effect of holidays. They can also bind us with the past, as with my family's traditional recipe for stuffing, which I believe now spans five generations; making it is not only adding something delectable to the meal, it brings back memories of previous holidays, and makes us feel closer to the dearly departed. Some people cleave to tradition as though it were a matter of life or death. Others eschew them, either casually or with intense deliberateness. Most of us do a little of both.
      As a writer, it occurs to me that which traditions are embraced and which are discarded say a LOT about a person, and makes a wonderful tool for character development. In the first chapters of my zombie story, our protagonist seeks out fellow professionals, and is greeted with varying levels of respect and tradition, which allows me to sketch their characters quickly and efficiently. This was not a deliberate choice at the time, but now that I'm thinking about it, well...go me, that was a great choice!
      How about you? Got any great - or crappy - traditions to speak of? Do you use them at all in your writing, or can you think of any that lend spice to a favorite story?


*I already have AP flour, cake flour, spelt flour and white rice flour on hand at all times, and bread flour throughout the cold months. My pantry space is not infinite. In my perfect universe, entering my pantry would be not unlike going through the wardrobe into Narnia, except my mythical world would be a cross between the awesomest grocery store, Pike Place Market and Candyland, and everything would be free. But alas, this is as yet only a fanciful dream.

**Incidentally - and not to brag o'er much - I am the turkey queen. Seriously, I have obscenely good luck with roasting delectable, tender, photo-worthy turkeys that are juicy through-and-through, with no weird gimmickry. I'm not going to blog about it here, but if you want to know how I do it, just ask.

      After four days of carb-loading and sleeping in, getting up at 5:30 this morning was rather a bit of a shock. Sometimes when I'm sleep deprived I get grumpy. More often, however, I get goofy, and not necessarily in safe or helpful ways. Which means I probably shouldn't be blogging right now. But, in the words of McWatt, "Oh, well, what the hell!"
      So here's two random things to start your week. First of all, how out-of-it was I this morning? I went to go put on a pair of socks, and just stood there, staring at the plethora of various foot clothing, for no less than four straight minutes. I couldn't decide which socks to wear. I was paralyzed by the plethora of options! So many socks! So few feet!!! How was I going to get out of my pajamas and into real clothing at all!?!
      I did, eventually. Or at least that's what you're led to believe. You can't see me. For all you know I might still be in my pajamas and slippers, utterly sockless. You'll just have to trust me.
      And now random #2, which I'm sure you'll find much more enjoyable that stories about my to-stocking-or-not-to-stocking dilemmas...
      ...the first teaser-trailer for the new Star Wars movie came out over the weekend! NERD-GASM!!!!!
http://www.starwars.com/video/star-wars-the-force-awakens-official-teaser
      There! Isn't that awesome?! Isn't that awesome!?!? Did you see the people? And the stuff? And the effects? And the Millennium Falcon!?!! This already looks sooooooo much better than the last movie. My inner child is going to be holding its breath in anticipation until the release date in December 2015. Which she can do without asphyxiation because, you know, she's a psychological metaphor.
SQUEEE!

      Why yes! Yes, that is what I made for breakfast on Thanksgiving Day! And they were - not to put too fine a point on it - scrump-diddily-umptious!

      They were an experiment with a most happy conclusion. As you may recall, I am one of the few citizens of the U.S.A. who does not like pumpkin pie, but that isn't to say I don't like pumpkin! So as a salute to that glorious orange gourd on this most thankful of days, I thought, "Huh...I need to make something for breakfast, don't I?"
      In my household we already have a favorite cinnamon roll recipe, one that involves Yukon Gold potatoes, which lend a marvelous tenderness and help the rolls stay moist for days (most cinnamon rolls, tragically, turn dry and tasteless within mere hours of baking). I was thinking about this recipe and I realized that pumpkin has a similar effect. I mean, have you ever had dry pumpkin bread? I sure haven't--if anything I've had the opposite, a baked pumpkin product that claimed to be bread but had a consistency more like bread pudding. So with this in mind, I decided to combine this two "P" products and see if I could start the day with something both delicious and calorie dense. Because, you know...there aren't enough calories in Thanksgiving dinner....
      Since the pumpkin wouldn't contain starch like the potatoes, I decided to swap out the Yukon Golds with a Russet potato. They're both starchier and easier to find. I also decided that canned pumpkin wouldn't have enough flavor at the end of the day, so I added a little pumpkin butter to the filling. That, and applying a cream cheese glaze instead of a regular milk icing (my husband would eat cream cheese frosting by the tub if permitted) made a fabulous final product. And best of all: these can be made the day ahead, enjoy their final rise in the fridge over night, and then be popped directly into the oven in the morning for a relatively brief baking time.
Enjoy!

Z.D.'s Pumpkin Cinnamon Rolls

Ingredients
For the Dough: 
1 medium Russet potato (1/2 lb), peeled and cut into 1.5 inch chunks
1 can pure pumpkin purée
1/2 Tablespoon kosher salt
1/2 Cup unsalted butter, room temp
3 large eggs
5 Cups AP flour, plus more for hands, divided
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 Cup warm water
2 scant Tablespoons yeast (about three envelopes)
2 Tablespoons sugar (I like vanilla sugar)

For the Filling:
1 Cup golden brown sugar, packed
2 Tablespoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
hefty pinch of ground cloves
7 Tablespoons unsalted butter (there's 8 in a stick, but you can use the spare to grease the bowl for the dough)
1/2 Cup pumpkin butter (Stonewall Kitchens makes a good one)

For the Icing:
4 oz cream cheese
4 Tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
1 Cup powdered sugar
1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Directions
For the Dough:
 - Place the potato chunks in a medium pot with a cup of water. Add the salt, and bring to a boil. Boil uncovered until the potato is very tender, and most of the water has evaporated away, about 15 minutes (give or take). While this is boiling, coat the inside of a large bowl with butter (see note about leftover butter in the filling ingredients), and line a large rimmed baking pan with parchment paper (I used a 10" x 14" Pyrex baking dish).

 - Remove from heat, and mash the potato in the pot with the remaining water. Add in the pumpkin and mash until well combined. Add the butter and mash until the butter is entirely melted. Vigorously whisk in the eggs (the whites like to get lost, so be thorough), then add in one cup of the flour and the nutmeg, and mash until very smooth. Set this aside to cool.

 - Meanwhile, add the 1/2 Cup warm water to the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Add both the yeast and the sugar to the water, stir just to mix, then allow to sit until the yeast becomes very foamy, about ten minutes.

Sorry, I forgot to take photos of the boiling potatoes & mashing process...but here's what your double-P mush looks like when you flop it into a bowl of foamy yeast liquid!

 - Scrape the pumpkin mixture into the mixer bowl, and beat on low speed until well mixed. Slowly add in three more cups of flour until well combined. Stop the mixer and change to a dough hook. Beat the dough on low speed as you add the remaining cup of flour, then up the speed and let the dough beat for about 4 - 5 more minutes. Dough still be sticky but elastic. (Alternatively to using the dough hook, you can dump about a half cup of flour onto a clean surface, scrape the dough onto it, and then knead with your hands. Keep adding the remaining flour as you go, for about 7 minutes, until the dough is thoroughly mixed--but I've always found this dough too sticky for that.)

Yeah, actually, I do NOT recommend kneading this by hand.

 - Turn the dough into your large, buttered bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and a tea towel, and set aside in a warm, draft-free place to rise for an hour. The dough will more than double in size.

For the Filling:
 - In a small bowl, mash together the butter, sugar, and spices until thoroughly combined in a dark brown paste.

As long as your butter is room temp, a simple fork will bring this together fast & easy.

 - Turn out your risen dough onto a well floured surface. Using your hands, press and flatten out the dough into a large rectangle, about 16 by 24 inches. With a pastry brush, spread the whole pastry rectangle with the pumpkin butter (this will be a thin coating).

So orange.

 - Sprinkle the spice butter in tiny blobs across the dough. Then, starting from one long side, roll the dough into a long log.

For rolling, I recommend starting in the middle. Roll a couple inches, then move your hands outward, rolling all the way until the edges are all caught up. Back to the middle, roll another couple inches, repeat. This keeps the dough from stretching into a weird, uneven worm at the end.

 - With a sharp knife, slice the log into 12 equal pieces. Place these round side down in your parchment lined baking dish in a rectangle, three-by-four. IF BAKING THE NEXT DAY, cover and stick in the fridge over night. IF BAKING TODAY, cover and allow to rise in a warm, draft-free area for another hour. Either way, these are some fluffy rolls when they're ready to bake. (Note: My lovely Pyrex comes with lids, so I just put the lid on my pan and stick 'em in the oven this way. If you don't have a lid, or if you're using a regular baking sheet, you're going to have to use a lot of plastic wrap, and you may want to either butter it or dust the tops of your rolls with flour, so they don't stick.)

I forgot the parchment paper. Don't forget the parchment paper.

 - Position an oven rack in the middle of the oven, and pre-heat to 425º F. If you have been fridging* over night, remove from the fridge while the oven preheats, so the pan can warm up a little. Once the oven reaches the proper temperature, remove the cover from the rolls and pop 'em in. Bake until the tops have golden brown tints, about 22 minutes.

These were actually that poofy before I put them in the oven--the over-night rise expands them considerably. Then they bake & just develop that lovely golden brown top!

For the Icing:
 - Remove the rolls from the oven and allow to cool for 8 minutes. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl combine all the icing ingredients. Beat together thoroughly with a hand mixer (or you can use a rubber spatula if you want an arm workout). Once the rolls have cooled a bit, spread the icing thoroughly over the tops (I like to give the corner ones extra attention, because they tend to get the most crusty).

 - Enjoy immediately. If you have left overs, cover tightly and enjoy more the next day. And the next day. And the next day--these will stay moist that long!

Tender, warm, sweet--perfect with coffee, and it will keep you full until dinner time. Trust me.

      And there you have it, folks, a new way to enjoy pumpkin on Thanksgiving. Or any other holiday. Or just about any day, really, I mean breakfast really should happen on a daily basis.



*Ta-daaa! I made up another word for you!

      This last weekend I went to visit a very dear friend of mine in Madison, WI. We chatted, I helped her get ready for Thanksgiving company, we chatted, we went to my favorite restaurant in the world, we chatted, she made me a cake, we chatted, I taught her how to knit, we made pizza from scratch, and we chatted some more. And there may have been some crazy shenanigans free of malice, corruption, and danger, yet still of a marginally suspicious nature, which will not be discussed further. (Hey...that's what friends are for!)
      My friend feels a strong connection with the Greek Goddess Iris, whose messages from Olympus resulted in a rainbow trail across the sky. Therefore, she tends to make a lot of rainbow-themed desserts, including the scrumptious cake we enjoyed during my visit.

Now THAT'S a celebration cake!

She got the recipe online from rainbow dessert mistress YoyoMax, although we did make a couple small changes. For one thing, we separated and batter and dyed it before adding in the egg whites. We also added about double the lemon, and a couple teaspoons of vanilla to the batter as well.


For the filling, we added another teaspoon each of lemon juice and vanilla, and a hefty pinch of salt (salt always helps the sweetness stand out, trust me).

I do not have the skills to pipe this stuff, but my friend made it look easy.

It was a lovely, lightly lemony dessert, beautiful to look at and - honestly - tastier than I expected. As you can see, we slightly over-baked the cake, but the texture and flavor were still great--the only unhappy consequence was that the rainbow colors didn't stand out as much as they should have on the exterior.
      Also, I suspect the inside of my digestive tract will be color-coated for a few days.
      As you might imagine, my friend and I discussed (among other things) our Thanksgiving plans. She intends to make a pumpkin pie, and has already slow roasted and puréed a sugar pumpkin for this purpose. Which meant I was forced to make a confession which frequently shocks people, especially around the holidays: I don't like pumpkin pie.
      The problem is texture. I don't like sqwooshy* foods. I don't like pudding, I don't like porridge, and I can only eat yogurt with a lot of fruit and/or granola. I even make my mashed potatoes lumpy on purpose (I also leave the skins on--I call them "rustic"). The way I figure it, if I am fortunate enough to live to a ripe old age, either digestive problems or dental issues will likely result in a return to a diet not unlike that of an 8 month-old. As long as I have my health, my food will require chewing.
      There are three traditional alternatives to pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving time: pecan (which needs about triple the amount of pecans to not count as sqwooshy), mincemeat (yeah...don't go there), and apple. I considered trying some unusual pies, including a maple pecan bruelée pie which will probably find it's way onto my menu next year, but I finally decided on an apple pie. Which, to many of you, may seem like a cop out, because I've already done apple pie twice on this blog.
      To which I reply: yeah, but not THIS apple pie!!!
      I've already professed that if given the opportunity, I would readily shave my head and take a vow of poverty to become Alton Brown's disciple. But even I have had a few moments where I thought he'd lost his mind, and his Super Apple Pie was one of them. I mean, have you READ this recipe? It starts out seeming reasonable - adding applejack to the crust is like my vodka trick, and a mix of four apples could produce a great balance - but by the time you've sugared and drained the apples, then boiled down their liquid, then layered the slices just so, and then went out and bought a special baking dish you'll probably never use for anything else ever again in your life...well...frankly, it seems a bit overboard.
      However...
      ...there's his pantry pasta sauce, which calls for sweating vegetables before oven roasting, and it is so delicious I don't have the words.
      And then there's his coconut cake, which involves more uses for coconut than I believe is strictly legal in about thirteen states. Involved? Yes. Time consuming? Oh, yes. Worth it? Honey...if you ever want to impress the $#!% out of someone who likes coconut, this is the way to go. I dream of the day I have the time to make this cake again--I dream of it the way some women dream of their wedding.**
      So the evidence would suggest that this insane apple pie might actually be worth it. And since I was already buying the applejack for cocktails and I recently came into possession of some Grains of Paradise (oh yeah, did I mention AB doesn't use traditional cinnamon in this recipe? he uses something I'd never even heard of before, called Grains of Paradise), I decided - with a little prompting from my brother - that this was the year. I'll let you know how it turns out. And I want to hear about YOUR pie adventures this Thanksgiving! Did it go smoothly? Or did the power go out and leave you without an oven for pie or bird (happened to my family when I was in elementary school)? Or did you burn yourself putting the pie into the oven and throw it into the air as you jerked out hand back, coating your kitchen in orange goo (happened to my Mom when I was in middle school)? Or did you knock over the caramel sauce as it was cooking and lose half of it all over your stove top (happened to my brother just a couple years ago)? Holidays are how memories are made, my friends--don't think of them as disasters, think of them as glorious stories to be laughed about over future successes!

Happy Impending Turkey Day!



*It's a word now.

**If you ever decide to make this cake - and you should - yes, really do make your own coconut milk, coconut cream, and harvest your own coconut water and coconut flesh. Don't argue, just do it.

       This morning I awoke to see fast-falling tufts of snow. There was a thin carpet on the roofs and lawns, white lines hugging the telephone wires draped just across the street. I knew instantly, without even looking out the window, that it had been snowing, because of the special shade of burnt tangerine light that was visible between my curtains. Everyone who's seen snow in the city knows this: the crystals amplify the rust-colored glow of the street lamps, until the world is aglow with a special hue, ironically warm in color to compliment the chilly weather. As I prepared breakfast, I watched the windows as the sun began to rise. There was no way to see it past the thick cover of cloud, of course, but I knew it was happening because of the change in the light: the orange abruptly faded, giving way to a hundred variations of blue. Every contour, line, and shadow took on this shade on the opposite side of the color wheel. It's as though, during sunrise, snow plays out a love song to every lake, river, and sea that it has known. It dances blue through the world, then lets the color drain away to the white and grey tones of a snowy morning. Such commonplace magic.
      Most midwesterners I've met are so used to snow they fail to see the magic in it--and by the end of winter, I will share their sentiments. But then over the summer I'll forget again. The snow today especially made me happy because it closely resembles the snow we get back home, in the Portland/Seattle stretch of the west coast. Back there, snow is fluffy, wet, and clings, so that every barren twig and branch gets coasted in puffy whiteness. I was astonished last winter here in Ohio to find that we could get upwards of six inches of snow in 24 hours, and almost zero would cling to the trees. It blows around like cold sand; who knew that water could be so dry?
      Of course my husband immediately had to make an "Interstellar" reference.* There's an ice world in the film that does a great job of portraying how unforgiving "below freezing" can really be. It also does a wonderful job of showing how unforgiving the earth can be, under the right conditions. If you haven't seen the movie yet, I'm not spoiling anything when I mention that the very beginning has documentary-like clips of older people recalling terrible dust storms; in the film, these horrific dust storms are making earth increasingly uninhabitable. Well my husband discovered that those really ARE documentary clips! They're from Ken Burns' "The Dust Bowl,"** a four hour documentary about one of the most terrifying and dramatic examples of how human hubris can influence climate. So of course I decided to watch it.
      Previously, the whole of my understanding regarding this part of American History can be summed up in one sentence: during the Great Depression a whole section of the mid-west turned into dust, and nothing would grow, and John Steinbeck wrote a famous novel about it that I was forced to read in high school and didn't like at the time because it was long and depressing.
      Here's what I didn't know about the Dust Bowl: it lasted a decade. And it was primarily in a relatively concentrated part of the U.S., focusing around the Oklahoma panhandle. And it was caused by a startling combination of economic, agricultural, political, and environmental factors. And it was much, much worse than anything I had previously imagined (I kind of skimmed "Grapes of Wrath"--see my earlier comment about long and depressing). This documentary is fascinating to me for so many reasons, and I am so grateful to Christopher Nolan for using the Dust Bowl as his template for the "end of the world." Hollywood has done nuclear explosions, it's done meteor crashes, it's done pandemics, it's done war, it's done global warming, and it's done pollution. But here is a real catastrophe that we've already tasted, right on the edge of living memory. And it is so timely, to recall this now.

      As a writer, this piece of "Interstellar" really impressed me as how fiction can be such a powerful vehicle for reintroducing history. The human race is capable of learning from its past--but only if it remembers. I wish more artists would do this. It certainly has cemented my interest in keeping my stories - however far removed from reality - firmly rooted in well-researched history, whether it's the brand of tea being served or the building of the Panama canal.



*If you haven't seen the movie yet, do so. Like, today. You're online, so look up the movie times and see when it's playing. Then go. Seriously. It's really, really good. I can't think of a single person I know who wouldn't like this movie for one reason or another.

**You should watch this too. Break it up into four one-hour chunks, and make sure you have a glass of water with you--your mouth is going to feel dry.

      So Wednesday morning, as we're getting dressed for our respective day's activities, my spouse informs me that Thursday there is to be a potluck at his place of work. Their third in three weeks. Translation: "Honey I need a good review from these people, and you know the Laws of Potlucks--I've rocked the last two thanks to you, don't forsake me now!" So I immediately start thinking of what odds and ends I can throw together into something cheap, fast, and impressive...and then my husband mentioned that his superior has, and I quote, "declared it will be a 'holiday themed' potluck." Translation: Christmas themed. Two weeks before Thanksgiving.
      Insert rant about Americans not giving other holidays their due because they are so obsessed with friggin' Christmas starting around, oh, JULY these days!
      But of course, I have my pride, and no husband of mine will go to a potluck armed with purchased salsa and red and green tortilla chips....
      Insert rant about workplaces taking the Christian majority for granted and celebrating without concern for other spiritual faiths.
      As it happens, I do celebrate Christmas*--but I don't appreciate it when people ASSUME that I celebrate Christmas. So the first thing I said was, "Can I make you Star of David cookies?" My husband was concerned about ruffling feathers right before he received his crucial performance reviews, so that was out. My next question was, "Can I make 'Nightmare Before Christmas' themed food?" He said yes, if I could think of anything...and given my limited time, I was unable to do so. So instead I fell back on the usual pie.
      To be specific: quiche.
      Yes, quiche is a pie. It is a savory custard pie that people often eat for brunch. And it can be very easy to mess up, which is why some people simply refuse to make it. The first challenge is the crust, of course, but we've already got that under our belt. The second challenge is the custard, which can turn out rubbery, salty, cracked, or weepy if not done properly. Then there's the rest of the filling, which - due to volume, moisture, salt and/or oil content - may be the reason the custard didn't turn out right! I struggled with quiches for years, trying recipe after recipe but never getting it to turn out the way I wanted.
      And then, Alton Brown came to my rescue. In the Good Eats episode "Egg Files II: Man with a Flan" he explained the importance of balancing egg protein with milk fat, and ensuring the rest of your filling is relatively dry. Fresh tomatoes, for example, contain a bunch of water, which then cooks into your custard and ruins it. Certain cheeses present a similar problem with their salt and oil content. I have stuck to his advice and enjoyed tender, tasty quiches ever since, so tossing together a red and green quiche (feel free to roll your eyes, I did) was easy. Don't be put off by the filling I chose--just trust me. The flavor will exceed your expectations!

Z.D.'s Roasted Broccoli & Sun-dried Tomato Quiche

Ingredients:
1 round of pie dough
1 Cup roasted broccoli florets, chopped**
1/2 Cup sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
1 Cup half-and-half (the real stuff, none of this "fat free" atrocity)
2 eggs
1/8 teaspoon kosher salt, scant
generous pinch grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper (about 20 twists of the grinder)
1/2 Cup loosely packed shredded gouda cheese (or 1/3 Cup gruyere)

I chose these ingredients because they were what I had in my fridge at the time.

Directions:
 - Pre-heat your oven to 350º F. On a lightly floured surface, roll out your pie dough to fit a 9 inch pie plate, & lay it evenly within. Scatter broccoli & sun-dried tomatoes evenly along the bottom of your crust.

 - In a medium bowl (or a large liquid measuring cup, as I prefer), beat the half-&-half with the eggs until the liquid is smooth & an even buttery color. Beat in the salt & nutmeg (the nutmeg is a French touch, & oddly enough it adds a lot).

 - Pour the custard into the pie crust. It should only come about 1/2 to 2/3rd's of the way up the sides, which is just right--the eggs expand while baking & you don't want it to overflow. Grind your pepper over the top, then scatter your cheese evenly over that. Roll down or style the edges of your crust any way you like (I like to roll down because it curls over as it bakes, giving it a nice enclosed look).

The creamy gouda compliments the roasty sweetness of the broccoli & acidity of the tomatoes, but due to its oil content it needed to be sprinkled on top instead of stirred into the filling.

 - Put the quiche on the lowest shelf in your oven OR, if you have the nerve, on the bottom of your oven. The reason? One common problem with quiche is that the bottom crust gets soggy as it absorbs liquid during the baking process. To prevent this, you want the bottom to cook faster. Hence the lower position in the oven. Bake for 45 minutes. The filling should set to a firmness like just-set gelatin, with the crust just lightly browned. Cool for at at least 15 minutes, store covered in the fridge for up to three days.

See how pretty it is! And because it has broccoli you can pretend it's healthy!

      With Thanksgiving coming up, many people will have out-of-town guests, and very busy kitchens. A quiche (like this one) can be thrown together a day in advance, and offers an easy breakfast or lunch option. I suggest making a vegetarian quiche and serving with a platter of fresh fruit and some slices of ham, with freshly brewed coffee. Voila, an easy, classy way to start your holiday!
      Oh, and incidentally, everyone at the potluck loved the quiche. They left me one itty-bitty slice which looks like it wasn't even cut from the middle...I guess that means compliments to the chef? (I should have told them it was a Kwanzaa quiche....)


*Actually, I celebrate a lot of things--I like any excuse to decorate, dress up, feast, and feel grateful!

**Roasting broccoli is a very tasty preparation. Pre-heat your oven to 375º F, wash and cut up some fresh broccoli (don't leave out the stems, they're the best part! Just peel off the tough outer skin and dice the tender inner stalk), making the florets roughly one inch in size. Toss with a couple tablespoons of olive oil, spread in a rimmed baking dish, sprinkle with a couple pinches of kosher salt and pop 'em in the oven for 30 minutes. Stir every ten minutes so they roast evenly. When done, they'll be tender, browned in spots, and a little shrunken. Roasting brings out the sugars, so you'll have surprisingly yummy broccoli, less bitter than usual. Save a cup of the florets for this quiche!

      So, Z.D...what's with the slacking on the blog?
      Well, first it was Halloween, then it was cleaning up after Halloween. And then it was me getting frustrated with myself: how was it was I finding time to write emails, copy recipes, and write in my blog but somehow not finding time to work on my story!?! So I pledged not to work on any of the first three until I had a full, workable, pleasing outline for the first book in my zombie trilogy, rather than a slip-shod series of ideas full of gaping holes. And at last, yesterday, I completed said outline. No more sitting down to the laptop and hearing the grinding of teeth rather than the tapping of keys! So here I am, finally returning to my blog, satisfied that my novelist aspirations are not completely delusional.
      And speaking of delusions, for those of you wondering how the novel queries I undertook over the summer came out, the results are in: I have heard back from every agent who said they would get back to me, and all of them have turned me down. Disappointing, yes, but not strongly so--I went into this fully aware that my odds of success were not super high. However, I am feeling very positive about the query process itself. I've been writing stories for years, but I've only been writing queries for about eight months, and frankly I found them appallingly difficult. I did ask around with agents and editors, and was told that for a writer who does her research on agents and writes a compelling query, she should expect about 7% positive initial response--i.e. requests for more materials. I sent out 44 queries, and received three requests for additional pages/chapters/outlines. In other words, it seems I did the process correctly. This is good, and I find it substantially heartening! Due to this success, the next time I have a finished manuscript to submit I will have much higher confidence and somewhat less stress as I begin the querying/submission process.
      Finally - belatedly - I promised my friend the Potato Princess (you know who you are!) a recipe nearly two weeks ago, and I have been shamefully tardy in keeping that promise. Here you are, my dear--enjoy!

Z.D.'s Thai-style Pumpkin Curry

Ingredients:
2 Tablespoons coconut oil
1 medium sugar pumpkin, seeded, peeled, and chopped into 3/4 inch cubes (about 4.5 Cups)
2 medium red onions, sliced into thin wedges
1 Cup raw, unsalted cashews
3 cloves garlic, pressed
1 inch peeled ginger, grated
2-3 Tablespoons red curry paste, depending on your preference*
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
One 14oz can unsweetened coconut milk
One 14 oz can unsweetened coconut cream
juice of 1/2 lime (optional)
1 teaspoon Thai fish sauce (optional)
1/2 bunch fresh cilantro (optional)

Directions:
 - In a large, heavy pot, warm the oil over med-high heat. Add the pumpkin and cook until golden, stirring occasionally. Using a slotted spoon, remove the pumpkin to a bowl and set side.
 - Add the onions to the pot and sauté until translucent and barely starting to brown. Add in the cashews and sauté until just golden (keep an eye on these, as they go from golden to burnt very fast).
 - Add the garlic and ginger to the pot and stir just until garlic begins to take on a golden tinge, about 1-2 minutes. Push the onions and cashews to the side of the pot so there is a clear pool of oil in the middle, and drop the curry paste into the hot oil. Stir, standing back to avoid fumes and splattering, until paste is broken up, about 30 seconds.
 - Return the pumpkin to the pot, sprinkle with salt, and stir to combine. Pour in the coconut milk and coconut cream, and stir until the sauce is uniform in color and comes to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until flavors are blended and pumpkin is tender, 12 - 18 minutes.
 - Taste and adjust seasoning as desired. The lime will brighten the flavor and bring out the heat just a bit more. The fish sauce will give more of a traditional Thai flavor, although cooks preferring a vegan dish should omit. Sprinkle cilantro over to serve, if desired. Serve with fresh steamed rice!

*If the label is more than 50% English, I do not recommend this curry paste--whatever the brand, I guarantee it will be weak. Go to an Asian grocery store, find the isle with cans of curry paste (these are often the size and shape of tuna cans), and get one you can't read the label on to save your life. THIS is the good stuff! Any paste you don't use right away can be frozen for later use (I like to freeze mine in 1 Tablespoon blobs in an old ice cube tray, then transfer them to a zip-top bag).

You can also make this dish with green curry paste, if you prefer, but I think the red goes better with the pumpkin. Also, as with just about every pumpkin dish, you can substitute Butternut or other squash for the gourd!

      And may you have a good All Hallow's Eve, however you care to celebrate!
      My night will include a large feast of autumn treats (you are so not surprised by this, are you?) and some good reading. I finished re-reading "Rebecca" by Daphne de Maurier, and liked it just as much as I did the first time. "Gone Girl" was an excellent book, but it has nothing on "Rebecca" as far as I'm concerned. So wanting to finish the season with something a little more supernatural, I picked up "Something Wicked This Way Comes," by Ray Bradbury. His prose in this short novel is superb, full of eloquent phrasing that flies in the face of grammar, but captures human (and particularly childhood) experience with exquisite accuracy. Here's a quote from the prologue:

"But you take October, now. School's been on a month and you're riding easier in the reins, jogging along. You got time to think of the garbage you'll dump on old man Prickett's porch, or the hairy-ape costume you'll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month. And if it's around October twentieth and everything smokey-smelling and the sky orange and ash grey at twilight, it seems Halloween will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft clap of bedsheets around corners.
"But one strange wild dark long year, Halloween came early.
"One year Halloween came on October 24, three hours after midnight."

      And if that doesn't make you want to read the book, then there's something wrong with you.
      So now I have tastes and smells and stories - and of course my decorations have been up for weeks - so that just leaves the sounds--or more specifically, the soundtrack. There are few things in this world as inspiring as music. We use it to set the mood in dozens of ways, from spiritual ritual to casual parties, from the hip restaurant down the street to formal celebrations. A lot of writers will tell you they also use music to set the mood when composing their tales (some famously so, such as Stephanie Meyer's unabashed adoration of the band "Muse"). I have been one of these from my earliest typing days: I remember sitting down at the Macintosh LC in my parent's office, slipping an Enya CD into the stereo, and furiously typing away on my fantasy novel with all the enthusiasm of raw Middle School naïveté. (I'm pretty certain if I went back and read that old manuscript, I would find that that the lulls and action scenes follow the sequence of songs on "Watermark" perfectly.)
      These days I usually find individual songs that set a certain feel for me. I like to play these just as I sit down to write, rather than keeping them on in the background. For my zombie novel, it's been "Come With Me Now" by The Kongos. For my gas-lamp fantasy novel, it was the "Danse Macabre" by Camille Saint-Saëns. And it was also this classical piece that also inspired me to start my Ultimate Halloween Play List.
      On previous Halloweens I've tried Pandora and the albums you can buy in the party supply stores, but there's only so many renditions of "Monster Mash" I can take. There are too many good, eerie songs from too many different genres to be captured in those mass-appeal compilations. So I've started my own playlist and I'm always open to new suggestions! Here's what I've got so far:

"Danse Macabre" by Camille Saint-Saëns
"Possum Kingdom" by The Toadies
"Goodnight Moon" by Shivaree
"Enter Sandman" by Metallica
"Baby's Got An Atom Bomb" by Fluke
"Night on Bald Mountain" by Modest Mussorgsky (oh, go on and click on the link--you know you want to watch that bit from Disney's "Fantasia!")
"The Real Man" by Yoko Kanno, from the soundtrack to "Cowboy Bebop"

      And I will be adding Robert Schumann's Violin Concerto, not because it sounds particularly scary, but because apparently it was lost, and then found again due to a ghostly message sent from beyond the grave! I heard about it yesterday on NPR, and if nobody's written a novel based on this story, someone should, and fast! It's one of those real-life situations that puts fiction to shame: a tortured artist is banished to an insane asylum, his unfaithful wife buries his last work, and then a descendent is prompted to find and perform the piece in a seance...wow.

Every day is Hallowe'en with my Fuzzy Princess around, but the Jack-O-Lantern adds to her spooky qualities!

      For our final week of Halloween preparations, we have one more grisly gourmet salute to the season. A pair of particularly distinct guts...specifically:

These kidneys came from three little lambs.

      Funny thing about kidneys: they really do look like kidney beans. They're the same shape, the same ruddy shade, and they have a white spot in their crook, just like the bean. Weird coincidence, that. I can guarantee you, however, that they TASTE absolutely nothing alike.
      Kidneys have an exterior that resemble liver in both taste and texture, only slightly less fragile. The very center has a tubule that cooks down to a texture like tender calamari, and a flavor like light fat. If you're squeamish, this can be off-putting, but if you can get past the unusual nature of your entrée I think you will find it meaty, savory, and very satisfying.
       Need more persuasion? Then let me reassure you thusly: we're using Julia Child's own recipe for Lamb Kidneys In Mustard Sauce.
       A few notes on preparing kidneys. Sometimes when you buy them, they may still have a thin film of membrane of them (and sometimes a layer of fat over the membrane). Carefully peel these away, but do not rinse or soak the kidneys in water! Remember, this organ is a filtration system inside a living body, so it will act like a sponge if you subject it to moisture. Otherwise, snip away most of the button of fat in the crook of the kidney using a pair of kitchen shears--most, not all, fat has flavor.
      If you're using veal kidneys, you really only need about one per person. Lamb kidneys are smaller, so allow two or even three per person. Once you've cleaned them, set them aside while you prep your other ingredients. This is a hands-on recipe, and it doesn't take long. Since this isn't my recipe, I won't write it out (copyright and all that), but I will tell you what I did.
      First, I got out a large non-stick skillet (I probably could have used a smaller one, but this is my favorite) and melted a few Tablespoons of unsalted butter over medium-low heat.

Have everything prepped and on hand--the French call this mis en place!

      I wanted the butter to melt, and the foam to subside, but not burn. While I waited for the slow melt I mashed three Tablespoons of room-temperature salted butter with about half that amount of dijon mustard. I also minced a shallot, and about five sprigs of parsley from my herb patch.

Not as delicate as liver, but they still started splitting and falling apart a bit.

      Once my butter was hot, I put in my kidneys and immediately turned them a few times to coat them. They started cooking immediately. To prevent the outer-most layer from over-cooking and getting tough, I turned the kidneys every couple minutes until they just got brown on either side (this took me about eight minutes).

They do exude some juice at the last, which I let stay in the pan to flavor the sauce.

      At this point I removed the kidneys to a warm covered dish. Then I added the minced shallot to the remaining butter in the pan, and let them cook for a few minutes. I wanted them to become translucent, but not brown. At that point I tossed in a half a cup of dry white wine and the juice of half a lemon. I upped the heat so that this mixture boiled, reducing it to a little under half its original volume (aim for about a quarter Cup of liquid in the pan).

It's Julia Child--of course it uses butter!

      Then I killed the heat, and began stirring in the mustard butter. This was done only a spoonful at a time, melting everything together before each addition. Mustard makes a wonderful emulsifier, and if done correctly this should make a smooth sauce. This is a good point to add a few pinches of kosher salt and a couple grinds of fresh black pepper.

My sauce wound up with a slightly curdled look, but it still tasted great.

      Once the sauce comes together, it was time to tend the kidneys. Quickly, using my sharpest knife, I sliced them into rings about 1/8th of an inch thick. I knew they should still be pink in the center, and they left quite a bit of juice in their warm dish.


    Once sliced, I added the kidneys and their juices back in the pan, placed over medium-low heat, and gently tossed until coated in sauce and warmed through. Sprinkled with parsley, they went immediately onto warm plates, and then my dinner table.

      I chose to take Julia's advice and serve this with braised pearl onions and potatoes (I chose Yukon Golds roasted in the oven), and to cut the richness a bit I took my brother's advice and also made crispy kale cooked with garlic. In my glass was a reasonable Cab Sav--I would not serve any kind of sweet beverage with this meal. The sauce was rich and tangy, and went with the savory kidney very well. Over-all, I was impressed with this organ. Next I might try steak and kidney pie. After all, it is still the Year of the Pie...and nothing says Halloween Tricks like serving up a hot slice of goodness and not telling people what they're eating until they're half done! MWAH-HA-HA-HAAAA!


*I really wanted to close out this recipe run with brains (hey, they're a delicacy!), but alas, it is illegal to harvest, sell, or serve calves brains in the U.S.A. This is due to concerns about Bovine Spongiform Encephalitis, also known as Mad Cow Disease. It's a rare, but rapidly fatal illness, and frighteningly hard to kill--so I guess it's better safe than sorry.

      With fall comes holidays and other various gatherings. And with holidays and various gatherings comes food! And that typically means one thing: potlucks.
      I have attended copious potlucks in my day. There've been school potlucks, work potlucks, family potlucks, neighborhood potlucks, house-warming potlucks, bridal shower potlucks, charity potlucks, etc. etc. From these experiences, I have gathered important hosting and culinary data, which may be summarized in these Laws of Potlucks (sort of like the Laws of Physics, only more helpful):

#1 - There will always be too much chips and dip.
#2 - There is never enough tasty/healthy fruits and/or vegetables.
#3 - There is never be enough tasty protein.
#4 - There will be too many desserts.
#5 - Most of these desserts will be mediocre at best.
#6 - Any of the really good dishes will be brought in tiny quantities.

      How is this helpful, you may be asking? Because it can help you plan. At the very least, you can plan to grab a sack before hand, of either the high-protein or high-vegetable variety, depending on your dietary needs. Better yet, you can plan what to bring based around the usual gaps, and be rewarded with lavish praise from grateful guests. For example: don't bring a cheap tray of deli meats--they only seem popular because of the lack of protein! Instead, bring a generous amount of chicken satay. Yummy, different, on a stick and therefore potluck friendly! (And a lot of quality grocery stores carry it in their deli section if you're too lazy to make it yourself.)
      But best of all, if you have any kind of culinary ego (like me--I admit it) you can really shine if you make something from scratch that is a true people pleaser. Which is why I suggest the Tart Trio, which allows you to bring something tasty, plentiful, home-made, and - best of all - pretty darn easy. In fact, I'd say easier than making a single pie.
      The trick is in the timing. To start, you need a batch of my pie dough, in three rounds--because you're going to make three free-form tarts. Now this dough can be made the day of if you give yourself time to let it chill. Or it can be made a few days in advance, since the dough keeps in the fridge the better part of a week. Or it can be made up to three months in advance, and kept in the freezer--just make sure you move it to the fridge a couple days ahead to let it thaw.
      Next, you need a simple filling that can be given three easy, but distinctive twists. You could made a whipped cream cheese filling to spread over cooled crust, and then cover with three types of berries. Or you could spread with a chocolate ganache and apply three different chopped cookies/candy (for a Halloween potluck, try topping one with crumbled Oreos, one with chopped peanut butter cups, and one with chopped toffee)! For the potluck I attended last weekend, however, I chose apples. They're tasty, they're in season, and when you consider the Second Law of Potlucks, it makes you feel slightly better about eating extra dessert.

Can't go wrong with fresh fruit!

Z.D.'s Easy Apple Tart Trio

Ingredients:
One batch of pie dough, in three rounds
About 8 large pie apples
1/3 Cups white sugar
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

Topping #1:
1 heaping teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla sugar
1/4 heaping teaspoon nutmeg
2 generous pinches ground cloves
1/4 Cup crystalized ginger
2 Tablespoons butter

Topping #2:
1/4 Cup caramel sauce (I like home made)
1 teaspoon good flaked sea salt

Topping #3:
2 Tablespoons apricot jam
1/3 Cup chopped pistachios (I like roasted and salted)

 - Preheat your oven to 385º F, with two racks positioned to separate your oven space into even thirds. While your oven is pre-heating, wash, peel, and slice your apples. For this batch, I used Northern Spy apples, a varietal I'd never heard of before but which my farmer's market source assured me would have good shape, good flavor, and be a good balance of tart and sweet. And he was right! As always, wht really matters most about apples in pie is that your pieces be roughly uniform, so that they cook evenly.

It took me years, but I finally mastered peeling apples in one long strip! Not with that knife, though.

 - Place you apple slices in a large bowl and toss with the sugar and salt. Set them aside, and prepare a floured work surface for your dough. Working one round at a time, roll out your pie dough into a rough rectangular shape. Mine was approximately 16 inches long, and ten inches wide.
- Now gently fold the edges over a couple times, until you've created a nice edge around your smooth rectangle. And voilá! You now have a free-form tart. Transfer this to a regular old baking sheet, and repeat with your remaining rounds of pie dough. Depending on the size of your baking sheets and oven, you may be able to fit all your dough onto one sheet. More likely, however, you'll have two on one sheet, and one on another, and that's Ok.

Ta-daaa! Don't that look professional?

 - Lay out 2/3rds of your apple slices onto two of the dough rectangles - keeping within the border you've created - in a pretty pattern. As you go, you will get a feel for how many apple slices you have, and you can squeeze on more or spread out less depending on your volume of fruit.

I had apples left over, too, because mine were big! They went into my oatmeal the next morning.

 - Now sprinkle the sugar and spices of your Topping #1 into the remaining apple sliced, and toss together. Lay these apples out on your dough, and dot with small pieces of butter. Pop all three tarts into the oven. Bake for about 20 minutes, then swap the baking sheets, moving the top to the bottom and vice versa.

 - Your tarts are done when the apples are tender, the crust lightly browned, and the lovely smell of apple pie is suffusing your home. Remove to a rack and allow to cool (these can be made the day before, but I would not recommend making them more than 24 hours in advance).

 - Once cool, complete your remaining toppings. Strew the crystalized ginger over your spiced apple tart. For the second, warm the caramel slightly, drizzle over one tart, and sprinkle with sea salt. For the final tart, melt the apricot jam in a microwave and brush over the apples. Sprinkle the chopped pistachios over, and there you have it! Three distinct tarts, and they only took you the time for one regular apple pie.

Note the bowl of chips from the potluck and snuck into the picture. See the First Law of Potlucks.

      From left to right, I call these Autumn Spice Apple Tart, Turkish Apple Tart, and Caramel Apple Tart. Other ideas for apple variations include a syrup made of melted Red Hot Cinnamon candies, for a Candied Apple Tart. Or brush one with maple syrup (the real stuff) and sprinkle with sweetened dried cranberries for a Maple Cran-Apple Tart. Or toss with cardamom and brush with brown butter for a Chai Scented Apple Tart. Or sprinkle with crumbled bleu cheese and minced sage for a Savory Apple Tart! The list goes on and on!
       But the final step is always the same: impress. Once people see that you broke all the Laws of Potlucks by bringing something a) homemade, b) plentiful, and c) tasty, they will begin to admire you with a sincerity bordering on reverence. And you will receive many, many potluck invitations in the future.