As if they had been keeping a keen ear on m my not-so-silent grievances, the peaches ripened up immediately the following day. Their skins remained fuzzy and dry to the touch, yet the surface yielded ever so slightly when pressed. Taking them over to the cutting board, I'd be graced with fabulous, fragrant slices bursting with juiciness. The peaches were now positively perfect for eating out of hand.
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Of course, this was not say that I'd set my peachy projects aside. Having already prepared a number of components the previous evening, I'd proceed as planned.
But alas, baking experiments hardly pan out as expected.
But alas, baking experiments hardly pan out as expected.
1) Peach Slab Pie with Oat Streusel
From the day the video materialized on my feed, I was determined to recreate it, or at least a version of it.
Slab pies were a variation of the circular Thanksgiving centerpiece that utilized a sheet pan. The intent was to serve a large crowd without fear of distribution uncertainties. In my case, I had hoped for it to be the answer to quickly ripening peaches.
From the day the video materialized on my feed, I was determined to recreate it, or at least a version of it.
Slab pies were a variation of the circular Thanksgiving centerpiece that utilized a sheet pan. The intent was to serve a large crowd without fear of distribution uncertainties. In my case, I had hoped for it to be the answer to quickly ripening peaches.
The recipe for the peach filling would be sourced from Claire's recipe, and somewhat scaled down to suit my four peaches (about 2 lbs, or 946 g to be exact, with the pits removed).
I turned to SK's familiar all-butter dough, but took to gathering the floury pieces into a single mass instead of dividing into halves, as I usually do. This would be chilled overnight, then thawed for use the next morning.
Upon rolling, I learned of the potential rationale behind splitting the dough into smaller portions. For starters, the smaller discs were easier to roll. I struggled tremendously with flattening the rectangular block into a usable shape. They would also enable more uniform thawing, while my single slab saw pockets of melting butter on the surface and a relatively rigid centre.
Upon rolling, I learned of the potential rationale behind splitting the dough into smaller portions. For starters, the smaller discs were easier to roll. I struggled tremendously with flattening the rectangular block into a usable shape. They would also enable more uniform thawing, while my single slab saw pockets of melting butter on the surface and a relatively rigid centre.
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Cut into thin slices instead of chunks, I opted against the blanching step - it was, indeed, too fussy for me. The fruit would then be macerated in 82 g of golden yellow sugar (in place of Demarara), vanilla extract, a pinch of salt, and warm spices of cinnamon, nutmeg, and ground ginger. Thirty to sixty minutes would have been sufficient in drawing out the natural juices, though the bowl would again reside in the fridge overnight until use.
Straining the macerating liquid from the peaches and thickening them on the stovetop provided insurance against a soggy pie bottom, which is likely crucial for a slab pie of this size. I frequently skip this step, instead incorporating cornstarch directly during maceration and intentionally choosing low-moisture fruit for use in pies and galettes. (Early season apples are great for this application.) One would be also required to allow the mixture to cool down slightly after coagulation, as to prevent melting the butter in the pie dough. This would consequently entail additional dishes of a saucepot, spatula, and heat-safe bowl.
The Oat Streusel was likely the simplest part of the recipe. I enjoyed that it took advantage of common household ingredients, though was less fond of the US cup measurements. Again substituting Demarara for golden yellow sugar and brown sugar, I'd achieve the following quantities:
The mixture was crumbly and excessively buttery, but generally easy to distribute. Converting kosher salt additions to table salt is truly a science: often do I overshoot, so I've been erring on the side of caution lately.
In my haste, I had forgotten to halve the streusel recipe for my smaller sheet pan. The blunder wouldn't be obvious until slicing into the pie bars, for the weightiness of the oats would gradually compress the softened peach slices while baking. Oats would boast a craggy consistency and soft crunch. Raw turbinado sugar would have improved both crunch and complexity, and thus is recommended if on hand (I had ran out).
- 2 cups = 2 x 136 g = 272 g AP flour (276 g used)
- 2 cups = 2 x 96 g = 192 g rolled oats
- 2/3 cup = 50 g (1/3 cup) golden yellow sugar + 50 g (1/3 cup) brown sugar
- 2.5 sticks = 2.5 x 113 g = 282 g unsalted butter
- 1/2 tsp cinnamon
- pinch of salt *
The mixture was crumbly and excessively buttery, but generally easy to distribute. Converting kosher salt additions to table salt is truly a science: often do I overshoot, so I've been erring on the side of caution lately.
In my haste, I had forgotten to halve the streusel recipe for my smaller sheet pan. The blunder wouldn't be obvious until slicing into the pie bars, for the weightiness of the oats would gradually compress the softened peach slices while baking. Oats would boast a craggy consistency and soft crunch. Raw turbinado sugar would have improved both crunch and complexity, and thus is recommended if on hand (I had ran out).
Baking would adopt the Claire format again: Starting at a relatively high temp of 400 F for 15 minutes, then continuing within the range of 350-370 F for 60 minutes more. Be mindful that these temperatures and durations are merely an approximation given my ever-finnicky oven. The sheet pan was rotated once after the 60-minute mark for evening browning, and the pie was removed once the oat-y topping and edges of had turned golden. In hindsight, a sprinkle of turbinado along the perimeter would have contributed a glistening texture boost.
Given that the pan size and contents had just about doubled, cooling time would also be prolonged. I am not one to portion out servings directly in my baking dish, as knives can damage the surface. In advance of inserting the pie dough base, I had laid several strips of parchment for ease of release. These strips would prove handy once the pie cooled, but should not be handled within two hours of the pie being removed from the oven, as structural integrity is compromised. When the bottom of the pan is no longer warm, it can be removed.
Given that the pan size and contents had just about doubled, cooling time would also be prolonged. I am not one to portion out servings directly in my baking dish, as knives can damage the surface. In advance of inserting the pie dough base, I had laid several strips of parchment for ease of release. These strips would prove handy once the pie cooled, but should not be handled within two hours of the pie being removed from the oven, as structural integrity is compromised. When the bottom of the pan is no longer warm, it can be removed.
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Due to impatience, I retrieved a corner piece using a plastic knife for interim munching. The layers were evident, as was the intricate assemblage of flaky crust, sweet peaches, and coarse oat streusel. Juices were observed to seep out from the inside, indicating the need for cooling.
Cutting the entire slab into bite-sized squares would require more finesse. A straight knife caused the pie edges to crack and the oat streusel to be flung in various directions, making for a terribly messy tabletop. Switching to a serrated knife is advised, as it enables sharper lines between the aforementioned components.
Cutting the entire slab into bite-sized squares would require more finesse. A straight knife caused the pie edges to crack and the oat streusel to be flung in various directions, making for a terribly messy tabletop. Switching to a serrated knife is advised, as it enables sharper lines between the aforementioned components.
Claire's slab pie was delicious, but truly too troublesome overall. The original recipe entails a plethora of procedures (and pans), ranging from blanching peaches to thickening juices to compiling different base and top layers. For my purposes of showcasing seasonal fruit in pie form, the guideline was excessively laborious. I'd much rather have the lattice and only make the pie crust. Whole slices also tend to freeze easier, offer servings with uniform crust and filling distribution, and suffice for small households. After all, I am not baking for a crowd.
The video formats are also quite annoying/frustrating for in-kitchen use, as the ingredient amounts are not consistently presented in metric units and baking times/directions are not included in the description box.
The video formats are also quite annoying/frustrating for in-kitchen use, as the ingredient amounts are not consistently presented in metric units and baking times/directions are not included in the description box.
2) Roasted Plums
With a box of yellow plums slowly wrinkling in the fridge, I set out to salvage the specimens in a frangipane tart. These small, spherical objects were severely sour, to the point of being inedible. My resolve was to roast them with spices, as Claire had done in her Biscoff Icebox Cake, lay them on top of frangipane for baking, then glaze them in the event that they were still too sharp to stomach.
With a box of yellow plums slowly wrinkling in the fridge, I set out to salvage the specimens in a frangipane tart. These small, spherical objects were severely sour, to the point of being inedible. My resolve was to roast them with spices, as Claire had done in her Biscoff Icebox Cake, lay them on top of frangipane for baking, then glaze them in the event that they were still too sharp to stomach.
Operating without a recipe, the process can be summarized as follows:
Not a single element was scaled throughout this process, for it wouldn't have mattered drastically anyway. I shortly learned that roasting at 350 F for 40 mins was far too long: the tops scorched and the flesh turned to mush. I'd be unable to incorporate them in a tart, thus pureeing was the only alternative. Removing the spices, the overly ductile segments were transferred to a medium saucepot. An immersion blender would struggle to pulverize the pieces before the addition of water for increased volume. Lemon juice, copious amounts of golden yellow sugar, and a splash of tequila would be included before simmering. Finally, a starch slurry would thicken the mixture. Scorched skins would be removed using a sieve and the paste would transferred to a heat-safe bowl and covered in cling film. A light caramel tone would emerge, representative of golden yellow sugar and yellow plum flesh. The consistency was quite loose in spite of its sugar and starch content, though retained lovely spiced aromas, tinged with a dose of smokiness from the tequila. Given that the concoction was unable to hold its shape, I feared smoothing across a tart would cause moisture to seep into the shell and underlying layer over time.
- 7 (very sour) yellow plums, quartered and pits removed
- Roasted with cinnamon sticks and star anise
- Simmered with sugar and tequila
- Reduced and thickened with starch slurry
Not a single element was scaled throughout this process, for it wouldn't have mattered drastically anyway. I shortly learned that roasting at 350 F for 40 mins was far too long: the tops scorched and the flesh turned to mush. I'd be unable to incorporate them in a tart, thus pureeing was the only alternative. Removing the spices, the overly ductile segments were transferred to a medium saucepot. An immersion blender would struggle to pulverize the pieces before the addition of water for increased volume. Lemon juice, copious amounts of golden yellow sugar, and a splash of tequila would be included before simmering. Finally, a starch slurry would thicken the mixture. Scorched skins would be removed using a sieve and the paste would transferred to a heat-safe bowl and covered in cling film. A light caramel tone would emerge, representative of golden yellow sugar and yellow plum flesh. The consistency was quite loose in spite of its sugar and starch content, though retained lovely spiced aromas, tinged with a dose of smokiness from the tequila. Given that the concoction was unable to hold its shape, I feared smoothing across a tart would cause moisture to seep into the shell and underlying layer over time.
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Interestingly enough, it fared splendidly in mixed drinks, especially with carbonated bases (think Perrier).
3) Almond Frangipane Tart
Both the tart shell and frangipane had been made ahead of time, as I had planned to incorporate the plums the next day after roasting. With the fresh fruit element unusable, I merely continued with an Almond Frangipane Tart. (Note that, while frangipane implies the presence of almond, further slivers adorned the surface.)
Both the tart shell and frangipane had been made ahead of time, as I had planned to incorporate the plums the next day after roasting. With the fresh fruit element unusable, I merely continued with an Almond Frangipane Tart. (Note that, while frangipane implies the presence of almond, further slivers adorned the surface.)
i) Tart Shell, derived from SK
Ingredients
Ingredients
- 190 g AP flour
- 60 g icing sugar
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 130 g unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
- 1 egg yolk
From previous attempts at tart-making, I had concluded the following:
- Egg yolk is an annoying yet non-negotiable inclusion.
- Rolling out the tart shell is pivotal; DO NOT press in, as SK says.
- Allow for thawing time before rolling
In this trial, I came to further realizations:
- The tart crust does not shrink during blind-baking/par-baking.
- Mini tarts are easier to handle, as they detach easily from the moulds, bake faster, and cool faster, facilitating the process of portioning out the frangipane. The only constraint is elimination of potential fruit toppings.
ii) Frangipane, adapted from Smitten Kitchen
I could have likely used less sugar (perhaps a 25-30% reduction?), as the filling was far too sweet in the absence of without fruit. SK instructs use of either almond extract or brandy, though using both did not impose negative effects. The additional liquid did not hurt here. I did not have regular brandy on hand, so of course I took to my umeshu rendition.
- 75 g almond flour
- 10 g AP flour
- 90 g granulated sugar *
- 85 g unsalted butter, softened
- 1 large egg
- 1/2 tsp almond extract
- 1 tsp umeshu brandy
I could have likely used less sugar (perhaps a 25-30% reduction?), as the filling was far too sweet in the absence of without fruit. SK instructs use of either almond extract or brandy, though using both did not impose negative effects. The additional liquid did not hurt here. I did not have regular brandy on hand, so of course I took to my umeshu rendition.
Frangipane is another foundational pastry component that poses a somewhat steep learning curve when combined with tart-making. Although simple in its composition, spreading a cold, butter-based mixture into a par-baked tart shell is a challenging task. It begins to dissolve almost instantly upon coming into contact with a warm surface. In other words, it cannot be portioned into a freshly baked tart shell, nor a semi-cooled one. I had debated fully baking the tart shell, allowing it to cool, then re-inserting it with the frangipane filling afterwards. This process would expose the tart edges for longer than necessary, posing the risk of burning, Covering the edges with foil helped to prevent the shell from drying out, though also made for somewhat uneven baking of the frangipane filling.
All in all, the road to mastery of frangipane is progressive, but not linear. Temperature control is pivotal, as in most baking projects, as is working swiftly and concisely.
The inclusion of egg contributes to a puffing action, allowing the filling to partially encompass whatever fruit slices are laid on top. Aeration of the single egg is important, though hardly mentioned in most recipes. Meanwhile, majority of online sources are observed to require a rest time of 2-3 hours in the fridge before use. I have been unable to determine the significance for this step, however.
All in all, the road to mastery of frangipane is progressive, but not linear. Temperature control is pivotal, as in most baking projects, as is working swiftly and concisely.
The inclusion of egg contributes to a puffing action, allowing the filling to partially encompass whatever fruit slices are laid on top. Aeration of the single egg is important, though hardly mentioned in most recipes. Meanwhile, majority of online sources are observed to require a rest time of 2-3 hours in the fridge before use. I have been unable to determine the significance for this step, however.
After some thirty minutes of baking, I haphazardly sprinkled blanched almond slivers onto the surface, having forgotten to before sliding the tart into the oven. They toasted nicely to a golden hue, despite failing to adhere too well.
Results were visually impressive and gustatorily (?) satisfactory. The tender crunch and butteriness of the tart shell was admirable - even the broken pieces were great snacks. Albeit beautiful in terms of presentation, the frangipane filling was a tad satiating on its own.
Leftover dough would enable two mini tarts to be formed. In sampling both the full-size tart slices and handheld portions, the smaller tarts boasted better ratios of crust and filling, making for a harmonious bite. Proper slices featured a greater amount of frangipane, thus were a suitable medium for showcasing seasonal fruit.
Leftover dough would enable two mini tarts to be formed. In sampling both the full-size tart slices and handheld portions, the smaller tarts boasted better ratios of crust and filling, making for a harmonious bite. Proper slices featured a greater amount of frangipane, thus were a suitable medium for showcasing seasonal fruit.
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