Whirled Peas

I don't getz it either. Today I realized world peace is not possible -- if you define that concept by celebration of what we have in common and respectful tolerance for our differences. I don't "getz" how we can attain that lofty goal when you have the basic problem of potato salad. Let me 'splain . . .

It started out innocently enough. There I was, browsing through one of my favorite food blogs (see Pioneer Woman Cooks in the sidebar) and checked out Ree's version of potato salad. She always presents her recipes with scads of great photos and this one is no exception. What was unusual, though, was the tenor of the avalanche of comments in response to the recipe.

Now, you know and I know there are a kajillion different potato salad recipes out there. Everybody has their own way of doing it but, while some folks are involved in the adventure of different salad styles, others are totally committed to specifics. (The difference between involved and committed is best illustrated by an egg and ham breakfast. The hen is involved but the pig is committed.)

The point of contention began with the fact that Ree fixed a salad with potatoes that had been pushed through a food mill -- or a ricer, I forget which. Okay, mashed potatoes. Well! You'd have thunk she was advocating the advent of the antiChrist. "That's not potato salad," came the protests. "That's -- blech! -- cold mashed potatoes with stuff added."

There was a great rattling of sabers and the rumble of tanks and the thunder of artillery. It was like a religious war, with everyone declaring they had the handle on the One True Religion. Over here was the Vaunted Church of the Redeemed Peeled Potato and over there was Our Lady of the Unpeeled Red Potato. Every now and then someone with a beard and sandals strolled by wearing a sandwich board that proclaimed the need to add bacon or the End of the World would ensue.

It got more complicated as the comments rolled on. There were specialized splinter groups peeled off (you should excuse the expression) from the main churches. Some preached Mayo and called Miracle Whip a tool of the devil. The Miracle Whip folks, of course, were convinced the Mayo folks were false prophets. The Sour Cream contingent has a smaller church but their hymns have a catchy beat.

From there, we had arguments over whether or not to add pickles and how coarse or fine they should be chopped and which was best, sweet or dill. Same-same for hard boiled eggs. And for what kind and how much onion. Celery in or celery out. Likewise olives. And paprika. And mustard. Strangely, nobody responded to a minor blasphemy proclaiming the virtue of adding apples to the mix.

I hasten to point out that I am exaggerating just a bit for effect. The commentors on Ree's blog are unfailingly considerate and there was certainly no flame war going on. It's just that this particular instance displayed an unusual degree of adamant opinion about what is "right" and what is "just wrong." It got quite exciting.

Me? I don't belong to any of those churches, although I'm willing to visit. Mostly, I'm just a simple food pagan, perfectly willing to stick a fork in whatever isn't moving. If it flinches, I pass it by. My recipe for whirled peas.

Puffy Fireworks

Do I know how to celebrate the Fourth of July or what? See that plate of raspberry puff pastry turnovers? That's what I did today. And then I ate two of 'em, and all the crust scraps that I'd sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar. And then I took the pictures before I went completely nuts and ate all the evidence. Because it IS puff pastry.

Yeah. Puff pastry. Light and buttery and built of nothing but tender flakes and air and unicorn magic. Okay, I know it's terribly rich and not one of the ten healthiest things you can eat but you have to let it all hang out once in awhile. Especially when it comes to pastry. Listen, puff pastry is to ordinary pastry what champagne is to Annie Greensprings wine. Trust me on this. And this is especially true when you stumble across a really easy recipe.

I already had an easy puff pastry recipe but thanks to our friends at King Arthur Flour, I now have a super-easy version. You can go here for the recipe (you can choose to read the measurements by volume or weight) for Raspberry Puff Turnovers but be sure to click on their link at the beginning of the article and go to the blog called Baker's Banter. On that page you'll find a really terrific photo tutorial that takes you step-by-step through the whole process -- with options for mixing the dough with a food processor or by hand. I noticed the hand version made use of the Danish dough whisk. She didn't mention it by name but one of the photos shows part of the business end and I know KAF sells 'em. Besides, I had already pulled out my own rug beater to do the job.

I really don't know how a recipe that simple can turn out to be so abundant in flakes. Just look at those tender layers! They just go on forever.

Yes, I know . . . there is a certain amount of filling ooze going on. My fault entirely. You're only supposed to put about a teaspoon of filling on each pastry square and I kept getting just that silly little bit more. Heck, I had stuff oozing out of the durned thangs before I even got them on the cookie sheet. It doesn't turn out to be a big problem. You don't lose much and the dribbles thicken up rapidly when you put the turnovers on the rack to cool.

Not having any of the large-crystal sugar that they used at KAF, I didn't bother putting any on the turnovers before shoving them in the oven -- although I did brush on the egg wash. Then I sprinkled a cinnamon-sugar mixture on them after they cooled. I guess you can see a little of that in the above photo. Which is not as sharp as it should be but sometimes I don't seem to hold the camera as steady as other times. But that's okay. You get the idea.

Speaking of ideas -- I was thinking how terrific these turnovers would be in a savory version. Can you imagine a filling of some kind of salmon or shrimp spread? With maybe some tasty cheese included? And some coarse crystal kosher salt on top? Oh dear. Somebody talk me down. I simply cannot allow myself another dose of puff pastry too soon. One needs to space royal treats out in a more stately fashion, pace the bliss, so to speak. I'm pretty sure that's in the fine print somewhere.