Caramel Apple Pie For When You've Got Something to Prove

Dear Reader,

A few weeks ago I had dinner at my friend Claire's house.  Claire is an amazing cook, so we were all looking forward to a delicious dinner, which we had.  But then for dessert, she brought out these little caramel cookies.  She had cut them really small so they were almost like petit fours, and I didn't feel at all guilty devouring about six or seven of those bad boys.  I tried to take a picture, but they were gone so quickly - kids hovering over the plate, grownups swatting  away tiny hands - this was all I could manage.

The recipe for those cookies is from Martha Stewart, and if you're going to someone's house for Thanksgiving, you might want to make some of these to bring along.  They are amazing.  Today I have the house to myself and thought I'd get a jump on Thanksgiving and make an apple pie.  Easy enough.  But how about if I incorporated some of Claire's amazing caramel into the pie?  Ooh la la, right?  Claire warned me that making caramel is a tricky business, and I'd never tried it, but I thought I could handle it.  So I put on the Breaking Dawn soundtrack, threw some sugar and butter into a pan, and this happened:

Totally not caramel.

I decided to look around for someone to teach me how to make caramel, and lo and behold, I found Gordon Ramsay!

Elsewhere on the internets, I learned that caramel is best made in a heavy bottomed pan, so I dug out my trusty cast iron skillet, and I sprinkled in some sugar.

One cup of sugar sitting in a pan.

 Starting to melt and turn caramelly.

I went and effed it up.  I could hear Gordon Ramsay's voice in my head, "No! What have you done, you donkey?" I put away my spoon.  Would I have the confidence to let it go really nice and dark?

Yes!

 Now I added some butter - 6 Tbs. Let that melt, then poured in half a cup of cream, which you can see in this photo, at the ready.

Here is my pie crust waiting to happen.  In my food processor I have 2 cups of flour, 10 tbs. butter, 1/3 cup sugar, and the zest of one lemon.  WHIZ! Then add 2 egg yolks and a little water.

Rolled out dough.

If the dough doesn't fit perfectly, nobody will know unless you take photos and put them on the Internets.

I love this little contraption.  Caroline Ingalls would be consumed with jealousy if she saw mine.

I mixed the apples with a little lemon, sugar and then drizzled on the caramel.  I didn't go too crazy with it, figuring that it would lend a nice goo to the pie, and I could serve extra caramel, warmed up over ice cream to go on the side.  That's how I roll.

Veteran's Day Pancakes for Dad

Dear Reader,

It is Veteran's Day here in America, a time when we say a big THANK YOU to all our service men and women.  As the proud daughter of a former Army Captain in the 101st Airborne (HOLLA) I offer you my father's apple pancakes.  Thanks, Dad.

Dad's Army Ranger Pancakes

You will need:
Pancakes
(I always use Nigella Lawson's recipe, but Dad uses Aunt Jemima's, and I have to admit, they are better)
Apples
Maple Syrup
Butter
Butter
More Butter
Cinnamon

Peel, core (is it really necessary to tell you to core them?  Would you ever leave the core in?) and chop apples and add a generous pat, more like a slab, of butter to a small saucepan.  Throw in the apples.  Cover them with a whole bunch of glugs of syrup, a pinch of cinnamon, and let them simmer.  Meanwhile, make the batter.  Add to the batter a dose of syrup.  Place another slab of butter into a hot pan.  Pour on the batter, adding the cooked apples.  When the pancake is ready to be flipped (when small bubbles are forming in the top) flip it over.  If you are quite deft, you can throw in more butter while the pancake is being flipped.  With the cooked side up, use your spatula to press down on the pancake, this will crisp up the edges and make them slightly caramelized.  Turn onto plate and top with more syrup.

Ultimate Family Fight Apple Sausage Stuffing

Dear Reader,

Get out your boxing gloves, put on your cloak of indignation and get ready to hurl some insults and air some grievances.  Thanksgiving is coming!  Here's a delicious stuffing to serve to your ungrateful and insensitive family.  Enjoy!

Ultimate Family Fight Apple Sausage Stuffing

You will need:

Pencil

Paper

2 Tbs. olive oil

1 lb. sausage

2 celery stalks, chopped

1 onion, diced

2 Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored and chopped

1 shallot, diced

1 Tbs. chopped parsley

2 tsp. fresh sage, minced

1 bay leaf

1 lb. loaf French bread

1 cup milk

1 cup chicken broth

3 Tbs. butter, melted

3 eggs, beaten

1 cup cooked chestnuts

Escape plan

The day before Thanksgiving, make a list of guests who will be dining with you.  Included should be the usual unpleasant cast of characters, but their spouses and children as well.  Leave plenty of room between each name to write down the myriad ways they have belittled, embarrassed and taken advantage of you over the past year.

Heat oil in a large skillet and brown sausage.  Transfer sausage to another plate and consider asking for a transfer at work so that next year you can have a nice holiday spent either alone or with friends rather than family.  Note how sausage smells exactly like your cousin Jared, and plan to sit at other end of table from him this year.  Add celery, onions, apples, shallots and herbs to pan and cook until vegetables soften like the jowls on your manic depressive sister who totally denied putting a huge dent in the side of your car even though she was the only one driving it because your other sister was, once again, too drunk and needed a safe ride home, and neither of them have a job and so can't afford a car of their own.  Add sausage to vegetables.

Remembering the fistfight that broke out between your father and your brother at your high school graduation, tear bread into cubes with your bare hands and your anger.  Throw it in with the sausage like your mom threw out all of your old yearbooks and everything else that ever mattered to you in the whole world when she selfishly moved into that condo.  Crumble in the chestnuts, recalling that in the sixth grade your brother used to refer to your burgeoning breasts as "chestnuts" in front of the whole school bus.

Heat milk, butter and broth in a pot and pour over stuffing.  Crack eggs like you would the skulls of your idiot cousins who prank call you at work every day and mix it into the stuffing.  Season with salt and pepper.

Smear butter all over a large baking dish, the way your drunken sister apparently did with your Marc Jacobs pants she borrowed when she said she was going on a job interview but really was just going out with the guy who sells cell phones at the kiosk in the mall.  The guy that you saw first.

Throw everything in the pan and cook at 350 degrees for about 50 minutes or until golden brown.  Remove from oven and realize that the best part of Thanksgiving is the stuffing. The ultimate revenge would be to not bring it to dinner and eat it all yourself.  Turn off phone, lights and oven.  Enjoy stuffing with peace and quiet.