It’s summer. It’s hot. The fruit is ripe. But what the heck, let’s fire up the oven.
We have Shiro plums, the mild little yellow variety which grew originally in Japan, and now grows all over the place here.
These plums are from Dummerston, Vermont. (The name brings to mind Fort Dummer, near Brattleboro, where we used to go cross country skiing, and where my Dad would release the squirrels he’d caught in his “Have-a-Heart” trap. These were crazed, ferocious squirrels that chewed our wooden siding and clung to the screens of our dining room windows while we ate dinner.)
Back on topic here… plums make a scrumptious rustic galette. I had a helper this morning making pastry. A pinch of salt:
And a demonstration of the frissage technique, which spreads and flattens those yummy bits of butter, providing the basis for flakiness (push with the heels, fold with the fingertips, repeat):
We also have chopped rhubarb and strawberries in the freezer–remains from an earlier season. My sister, Bridget, has always loved strawberry-rhubarb pie. We always thought her red hair and freckles predestined her to be a strawberry lover: strawberry ice cream, strawberry shortcake, strawberry-rhubarb pie, strawberries on cereal, strawberry lip balm, the list goes on. She’s moving to North Carolina this week, where strawberries and rhubarb will be distant memories. I think I’ll make her that pie.
And serve it warm with local vanilla ice cream, of course.
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The Roving Locavore 