(back)

Discerning Diner...with Elan Head
Holiday pie crust rated G (for good!)

A few months ago, a friend and I had dinner at Duane’s Prime Steaks and Seafood, at the Mission Inn in Riverside, Calif.

Duane’s is a terrific old-school steakhouse, a place where you can get (and we did) Oysters Rockefeller, lobster mashed potatoes, and steak with béarnaise and bordelaise sauces. If you want a special evening in Riverside, Duane’s is where it’s at.

The reason I mention it, however, is because the maitre d’ had, prior to my arrival, read last year’s Thanksgiving food column online.

Remember that one? The one about the mating habits of top-heavy turkeys?

The thing about the Internet is this: You can’t control what you’re known for.

Well. This year we’re talking about pie crust, and we’re going to strive to maintain a G rating.

Pies have remained a Thanksgiving staple--a fixture on the American landscape generally--despite the fact that no one really makes them anymore.

At least, we don’t make them like we used to.

Back in those days when “lunch” was called “dinner,” industrious homemakers churned out pies for breakfast, dinner and supper. But the only person getting in serious pie time now is Mrs. Smith.

For that, I blame the crust. In the modern world, the humble pie crust has two strikes against it.

First, it’s perceived to be high in empty calories. No argument there.

But pie crusts are also thought to be difficult, and that’s not necessarily true.

I grew up in a household that relied exclusively on refrigerated Pillsbury pie crusts (a product toward which I’m still quite nostalgic). The first time I was confronted with making a crust from scratch was in college, when I tackled a recipe for mocha-pecan pie.

Directions for the crust went something like this: With your fingers, cut six tablespoons of cold butter into one cup of flour until the mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Stir in ice water (about 3 tablespoons) until the dough hangs together. Pat into a ball, wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 15 minutes. On a lightly floured surface, roll into a 10-inch circle. Transfer to your pie pan.

That’s it. I didn’t know enough to be scared, and the crust turned out fine.

To be sure, pie crusts can be as complicated as you’d like. The recipe I now favor for my Thanksgiving pies calls for salted butter, unsalted butter and shortening in exacting proportions, plus small amounts of salt and sugar. It’s two pages long and takes six hours from start to finish.

(And I like it. Why? Because I’m insane.)

There are also tricks for making any pie crust better. To minimize shrinkage and maximize flakiness, for example, use a two-step process before baking the pie shell: After the dough has been rolled out and laid in the pan, let it relax in the refrigerator for 20 minutes, then freeze briefly before baking.

But the fact is, even a basic butter pie crust, simply made, is pretty good. If you use the recipe above, your pie may not win a prize at the county fair, but you probably won’t be disappointed with it.

A few things to keep in mind: the butter should be cold when you cut it into the flour. (You can also combine the butter and flour in a food processor.) Mix in as little water as possible, and don’t knead the dough, or you’ll make it tough.

Chilling the dough makes it easier to roll out. When you roll your dough into a circle (with a rolling pin, naturally, though I’ve used clean wine bottles in a pinch), use a minimum of flour; just enough to keep it from sticking.

Follow your recipe’s instructions for pre-baking the shell, if necessary. A Pyrex pie plate makes it easy to see when the bottom is nice and brown.

Finally, if you want to get fancy, glaze the crust: beat together one egg yolk and a tablespoon of heavy cream, then brush this mixture on the crust before baking. It will give it a beautiful golden finish that’s every bit Blue Ribbon worthy.

(back)