Holding on to pasty season

The days are getting longer again.  Last night, when I drove to swim practice at about 6:50 pm, the sky was still decidedly light.  A dull, greyish, cloudy light, but light nonetheless.  This weekend it will be daylight saving time, and then it will be light out until nearly 8 pm - I'm so excited I can hardly stand it.  Just around the corner after that is the equinox and, according to the calendar, the start of spring.  In Baltimore, the trees will start to sprout little green buds around March 21st, and the whole city will erupt in glorious, fragrant white blossoms just a week or two after that.  For the first time in five years, I won't be there to witness it, and it breaks my heart just a little bit.

 

Here in Michigan, it will take a little longer for spring to show up.  Though temperatures are slowly beginning to creep up, we're still getting an occasional inch or two of snow - our trees are carpeted in white, too, but it's not quite the same.  But we Michiganders are tough - our motto is, who needs cherry blossoms in April when you get oodles of fresh cherries all summer long?  So we'll hold out for the strawberries - which are probably already showing up fresh from the Carolinas in my old Baltimore farmer's market - and rhubarb for a few more weeks.  After all, we've still got plenty of root vegetables, and who wouldn't want to extend pasty season on as long as possible?

Pasties (pronounced past-ees, not paste-ees) are something like simple Cornish savory pies.  They're also popular up the U.P. (that would be Upper Peninsula for all you non-Michigan folk out there).  Traditionally, they're made from beef, potatoes, rutabaga, and onions, all wrapped in a pie dough crust.  Back in the not-so-good old days of U.P. copper mining, pasties were a lunch and a lunch box all in one: the crust was made tough and unpalatable to keep dust and dirt out, and to keep the fragrant filling in.  Today, they're usually wrapped in a flaky, delicious crust.  In my house, seeing as how we're just having pasties for supper at the dinner table, rather than in a mine shaft, we typically bake the pasty in a pie plate under just one layer of crust rather than wrapping the filling like calzones. 

I've gone back and forth about writing about pasties, because let's face it: without that fancy-shmancy pie crust, it's just 4 ingredients.  There's no real ratio of how those ingredients should be combined, and if you wanted to toss in other root vegetables, you can do that too.  With its roots in the British isles, there's no crazy seasoning going on; I don't even add in salt and pepper.  Once the pie crust is cut, there's nothing to hold the filling together, so serving a pretty piece is all but impossible.  There's a lot working against pasties, but luckily, they've got a lot working for them, too.

Without heavy seasoning, the ingredients themselves are the stars.  After an hour in the oven, the rutabaga softens and sweetens to have an earthy tang that is an excellent foil to the fluffy potato.  The onion contributes with a mellow sweetness throughout, and the beef adds a little bite, while the flaky crust adds another layer of interest and a superb buttery counterpart to the rich wholesome vegetables.  And the traditional accompaniment (at least in my house), ketchup, brings some sweetness with a touch of acid to the party.  The pasty may be humble, but the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.

Another advantage is that making a pasty is as simple as turning on the oven - there's nothing to it.  Oh, except the chopping.  There's lots and lots of chopping.  But once you're past that, it's as easy as pie.  And though it'll be a little while yet till we see our first robins and eat our first rhubarb crumbles, we'll keep eating our pasties as the daylight lasts later and later and be quite content.

Pasties

Rutabaga, also sometimes called swede or yellow turnip, shows up in the grocery as a large (between the size of a softball and a small bowling ball), heavy, unpromising-looking vegetable.  The skin, coated with wax to help it keep longer, needs to be removed before cooking.  Once peeled, it is hard to cut through - make sure you've got a good, sharp knife for this one.  While pasties are traditionally filled with rutabaga, potatoes, beef, and onions, any root vegetables can be used: sweet potatoes, carrots, and parsnips would all be great.  I've left amounts intentionally vague, since the ratio of ingredients isn't too important.  Salt and pepper can also be added, of course, during cooking or at the table, but I don't miss it.

Making pasties takes quite a while by oneself with all of the chopping, but it makes enough for many dinners - it keeps well in the fridge for several days.  If the pasty hasn't been cut into, just stick the whole pie back in the oven and reheat at 350 degrees for 20-30 minutes, until warmed through.  Slices can always be microwaved, too, but the crust will lose its lovely crisp texture this way.

For three 9-inch pies-worth:

1 good-sized rutabaga
4 pounds or so of potatoes
1 medium onion
1 pound beef

First, make your pie dough (a basic recipe follows).  Let the dough rest while you chop everything else.

Chop everything:
The rutabaga should be cut into strips about an inch square, and then diced into 1/8-inch slices.
The potatoes should be cut into pieces about the same size as the rutabaga, and put into a bowl of water until ready to be baked so as to prevent browning from air exposure.
The onion should be diced.
The beef should be chopped into bite-size pieces.

Then, assemble the pasties: drop a layer of rutabaga in the bottom of the pie plate, then add in a layer of potato, then onion and beef.  Repeat once more, until the pie plates are full.

Roll out your pie dough into thin sheets, and cover the pie plates.  Poke the dough with a knife to let steam escape.

Bake at 350 degrees for one hour, or until the crust is lightly golden brown, the filling is bubbling, and the potato and rutabaga are cooked through.  Serve immediately with plenty of ketchup.

Serves 6


Pie dough

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
10 tablespoons (5 ounces) cold unsalted butter, diced into small bits
5 tablespoons ice water

Sift together the flour and the salt, then cut in the butter using a pastry cutter, two knives, or your fingers, until the butter is pretty well incorporated - there can still be some pea-sized chunks left.  Add a few tablespoons of the water and stir together with a fork, then keep adding the water little by little until the dough will hold together.  Divide the dough into three balls, then wrap each ball in plastic wrap, flatten each ball into a thick disk, and let rest for at least half an hour on the counter.   If you're not making three pies-worth of pasties, the extra dough can be frozen for use at a later date - just let it thaw out for a few hours before rolling.

When you're ready to roll out the dough, do so on a well-floured counter.  Keep the dough as round as possible, and roll until quite thin and large enough to cover the pie plate.  After covering the pasty filling, fold in any extra dough to form a loosely crimped crust, or rip pieces off to be coated in cinnamon sugar and baked for a quick dessert.