How much is too much to spend on a pie? Is $35 bucks too much?

Yes, schmuck, it is. At least, the wife sure thinks so and she ragged on me all weekend for forking over that much for a salted caramel apple pie at Four and Twenty Blackbirds. We were out in Brooklyn on Saturday visiting cousins and I’ve always wanted to try this place so on our way back home I bought a whole pie.

Was it worth it? As a treat, yes. The pie is damn good. Dumb expensive but good. Not the best pie I’ve ever had but I’d rate it 8 out of 10 for sure. I got a slice of chocolate pecan pie for the wife who stopped busting my chops momentarily as she ate.

I made a pork chop in a cast iron skillet last night. That skillet is one of my favorite kitchen items because I’ve had it for so long. It’s got a good coating by now. My most treasured item is a salt box that came from my grandmother in Belgium but I also have a couple of wooden spoons that I use all the time that I’m fond of as well. They aren’t special or fancy, just durable and reliable. Those spoons, man, they are easy to overlook but those are the things that count for something.

[Painting by: Peter Evans]

During the storm The Wife and I tried to make an apple pie. Well, we made one, all right, but our dumb asses–and I’m not assigning blame, here–forgot one whole cup of flower and the result was apple gloop. Over the weekend I tried again and yup, this time it worked, even though I undercooked it slightly so that the granny smith apples were still al dente.

Now, the only trouble with making a pie for two is that, well, you’ve got a ton of pie leftover. We were both too lazy to bring it to work so I packed some of it in a plastic container and have been nibbling away ever since, diet be damned.

We didn’t get much sleep last night but we were happy this morning. And you know what I had for breakfast as I watched the election results?

Yo got that right: All-American Apple Pie.

Recipe from Smitten Kitchen.

House to Haus on artichokes and aging.

David Lebovitz’s french weekend.

I preferred James and the Giant Peach to Roald Dahl’s Willie Wonka books when I was a kid. There is a scene when James climbs through a tunnel in the peach and grabs a handful of the fruit off the walls. That always sounded like such wonderful thing.

While we’re at it, here’s a Food & Wine recipe for peach pie.

[Illustration by Nancy Ekholm Burkett]

Dig this! A series of fictitious dishes designed by my cousin Dinah.

David Lebovitz on eating well:

-I “maximize” my calories, meaning that if I eat something, it should be good. Bad chocolate cake has the same number of calories as good chocolate cake, and is more satisfying as well so you’re not craving more. (It’s been said that M&M’s are specifically formulated to have just the right amount of chocolate in them to keep you craving more, which is why it’s hard to stop at half a bag.) Food writer Peter Kaminsky wrote about FPC, or “Flavors per calorie”, which is the same principle.

-I try to only eat “good stuff.” If I’m going to eat chocolate, I buy good chocolate. If I’m in the mood for ice cream, I’ll get a quality brand (or make it myself.) Save for York Peppermint Patties and M&M’s (and, of course, Planter’s Peanut Bars) – I don’t generally eat commercial candy bars. As for butter, aside from the stuff I buy for baking, I use it prudently and buy very good butter – and enjoy it immensely. Each and every smear.

-I eat everything and don’t demonize any food (except squid) – but there is nothing off-limits; I’ll eat potatoes cooked in duck fat, lardo, bacon, pizza, salted butter caramel, white chocolate, caramels, and potato chips. But I don’t eat them all day, everyday. If I have a copious lunch, dinner will be something lighter. And if I know I have a big dinner planned, I’ll make sure that lunch is on the lighter side.

Sense and sensibility from our man in Paris.

[Photo Credit: Chocoblog]

When I was a kid my mother would make a homemade mayonnaise whenever she made french fries. Cause that’s how they roll in Belgium. That never made any sense to me because as an American kid I never imagined dipping a fry in anything but ketchup. I still prefer ketchup but also dig mayonnaise, or just salt, or salt and vinegar. Or any number of things.

What’s your favorite condiment for fries?

[Photo Credit: Nicole Franzen]

My cousin Juliette, in town from Belgium for a few months, and the Wife made marshmallow cloud cookies yesterday.

My, is sure am sweet.

Check out this great gallery of photographs titled How New York City Ate in 1938 over at Gothamist.

[Photo Credit: Sol Libsohn]

Saw me mudda last weekend in Vermont. She came over to the in-law’s and brought two apple pies. Dag, were they ever good.

You want great Sichuan in Manhattan? Peep Legend on 7th Ave between 15th and 16th Street.

I’ve been four times in the past two weeks and can recommend almost everything that I tried. I especially liked:

Sichuan Cucumber

The Green Beans with Ground Pork

Sichuan Spicy Ma Pa Tofu

Dry Spicy, Tasty Diced Chicken with Ginger and Peanut.

Photo Credit: Serious Eats, from their fine slideshow of the place.

Three days ago I received a package from Pat Jordan. Twenty pounds of pecans from the pecan trees in his backyard. Unshelled. The son of a bitch didn’t have the decency to include a nutcracker although he had a few suggestive hints how the wife and I could get them open. He did attach a note, however:

“To Whom it May Concern:  Send pralines and pecan-bourbon pie to Susan and Pat Jordan, Abbeville, S.C. ASAP.”

My pal.

[Photo Credit: Simply Recipes]

In 1974, when I was three years old, my grandparents returned from a trip to Florida with a gift for my mother and my aunt. They carried it in a box, a few small branches of an orange tree. My aunt planted hers and it died immediately but mom, who has a way with plants and flowers, potted the branch and it  grew into a small bush. For years, it didn’t produce any fruit. Then, a few, small yellowish oranges appeared, too sour to eat.

Still, mom brought the orange tree with us when we left Manhattan and it survived a divorce, a new marriage, and five homes.

In a recent e-mail, she explained:

I had close-to-death encounters with this one: once going on vacation and finding it all dried up, I put a plastic tent over it and misted it to bring it back to life. Another time one of the cats peed in the dirt and nearly killed it. I had to wash the roots and repot the tree. I kept my fingers crossed on that one, I can tell you. Before we left Croton, a bug infestation, the tree got covered with scales. I hand picked the bugs and spay each leave on the top and on the bottom…

The tree survived and then flourished once mom moved up to Vermont two years ago.

I never knew you could eat the fruits. Then in a catalog recently, I read that a calamondin is a cross between a clementine and a kumquat.

This fall, as by conspiracy, the tree was covered with the biggest fruits ever. (The Vermont air and the Vermont compost…) So I decided to try to make marmalade. I added an orange to brake down the tartness of the calamondin, and bingo. Delicious, tart but nor sour, clementine-parfumed marmalade. The natural pectin in the fruit worked like a charm. All I needed was sugar and cute little pots.

She needed more than that. Patience, devotion, love. Mom’s got it. Got it in spades. It took close to forty years but she never gave up on her little plant, and I can’t wait to taste the marmalade.

My sister’s slammin’ Christmas cookies.

There she is–my twin!–to the right, pictured with the wife and the nephew.

You ate it, Ralph.

How bout you guys? Do any major damage yesterday? I did. Three pieces of pie, and cookies and…plop, plop, fizz, fizz.

Jacques does tarts on the latest episode of Essential Pepin. Wonderful, and he’s charming with his granddaughter, too.

[Photo Credit: Saveur]

Nice piece in the Times on the lost art of buying from a butcher.

My mom was in town and came over for dinner last night. Ted Berg had given me some of the pulled pork he cooked over the weekend so I figured I’d make a couple of sandwiches, and as luck would have it, mom brought a loaf of challah. I’m not sure why, maybe in honor of the Jewish New Year that I don’t celebrate. She doesn’t celebrate it either, though she was once been coerced into “converting” to Judaism.That expired, at least in spirit, well before she divorced my dad. Still, maybe she brought the challah to remember the old days. Or just because she thinks it is delicious.

Anyhow, the bread was ideal for the pork, and we topped it with some homemade coleslaw and a vinegary bbq sauce.  I usually only think of challah for french toast but it’s more than lovely for a pulled pork sandwich too.

Happy New Year, indeed.

[Photo Credit: James Ransom for Food 52]