Anna Gillen's Grape Pie

Two years ago, nearing the end of October, my friend Jake Hoffman sent me a recipe for grape pie. Included was a story. When Jake's grandmother died, he and his mother found this secret recipe among her belongings. It was "secret" not in the sense that her grape pie was so beloved that she never divulged the true ingredients, but because he had never recalled her making it, let alone ever heard of such a dish himself. A penchant for Concord grapes was in his blood, though,-- he and his mother, as he said, "always enjoyed Concord grape juice together." Curious about what it might reveal about their matriarch, they tried it out. Since then, the pie has become a fall ritual for Jake, when grapes make their yearly appearances at farmers markets and vines in his South Portland, Maine neighborhood. He's been making it every September or October for the past eight years.

I've had a few brushes with grape pie, but had never actually made or eaten one before, at least of the Concord variety. When I lived in North Carolina, I made a Muscadine Hull Pie, with the skins of the sweet, round fig-purple grapes that grow in the area. As for pie of the Concord variety, I'd first heard of it back in 2009, when my friend Angela shared a post here of a version her friend illustrator Jill Bliss had made. A few years later, my parents sent me a souvenir bumper sticker and children's book from Monica's Pies in Naples, New York, after becoming devotees of her signature grape dessert while on a road trip through the state.



As it turns out, Naples, New York is essentially grape pie ground zero. There in the western side of the state, along the Finger Lakes, Concord grapes grow extremely well and much of the region's economy relies on their production and byproducts (read: wine). Grape pie in particular rose to prominence there in the early 1960s when Al Hodges, the owner of Redwood Restaurant began offering a version, made from a recipe he picked up from a local German woman (grape pie is thought to be a German recipe). Demand for the dessert soon outgrew the restaurant kitchen, so Hodges hired Irene Bouchard, now known as the mother of Naples' grape pies. She started a small business out of her home which at its peak, produced 6,000 grapies each season. Bouchard passed away last year at the age of 98.

The Concord grape region where Naples is located actually stretches from Western New York and into Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Michigan. It's within that region that we can situate Jake's grandmother Anna Gillen. Here's what Jake told me about Anna:

"Anna (nee Welsh) Gillen, was born in Hazelton, Pennsylvania, in 1919 and grew up in the Anthracite coal patches of Northeastern Pennsylvania (specifically Jeddo and Freeland). She moved to Bethlehem in her late teens as mining towns were declining and tons of people were finding work with Bethlehem Steel. Mother of 5, and a bank teller, she loved math and always wanted to be a teacher, but never was. She did a lot of baking until her death in 2011. Her oatmeal raisin cookies will never be beat, nor will her apple crumb pie." Turns out, her grape pie won't be either.



I finally got my hands on some Concord grapes this year, and made Anna's recipe. I was initially dubious of the crumble crust, not for taste-sake, but because I wanted to make sure the deep purple hue was visible in the pie. But I found the crumble to be an essential part of the recipe, counteracting the tartness of the grapes with its sweetness, and adding a sand-sugar texture to the syrupy filling. The flavor is rich and aromatic and evocative-- of memories drinking Concord grape juice with mom and grandmother's delicious secrets, of enterprising home bakers and vineyards running through the middle of the country, of a yearly fall ritual I may need to adopt for my own.

Anna Gillen's Grape Pie
Adapted from Jake Hoffman's grandmother's recipe

Ingredients
For the pie:
Nothing in the House pie crust, halved
4 cups or 2-2 1/2 pounds Concord grapes
1/4-1/3 cup granulated sugar, depending on sweetness of grapes
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 Tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 Tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

For the topping:
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup unsalted butter

Directions
1. Prepare half of Nothing in the House pie crust as per the directions, reserving the leftover egg for an egg wash and saving other half of the recipe in the freezer for a future pie. Chill dough at least one hour before rolling and fitting into a greased and floured 9-inch pie pan. Wrap with plastic wrap and place in fridge until ready to use. 

2. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Pop grapes put of their skin and separate pulp and skin into two medium-sized bowls. Place pulp in a medium-sized saucepan and bring to a boil. Once boiling, reduce heat and simmer uncovered, 5 minutes. Run pulp through a seive or food mill to remove seeds.

3. Place de-seeded pulp into the bowl with the grape skins. In a separate bowl, stir together sugar, flour, and salt to combine. Add the lemon juice and melted butter to dry ingredients, then mix into the grape mixture.

4. Pour the filling into the pie crust and brush crust with reserved egg wash. Place pie pan on a cookie sheet and bake sans crumble top for 25 minutes at 400 degrees. Meanwhile, prepare the topping by stirring together flour and sugar, and cutting in the butter until coarse crumbs form. Keep in fridge until ready to use.

5. After 25 minutes, remove topless pie from the oven and scatter the crumb topping over the grape filling. Return to oven for 15-25 more minutes until filling is bubbling and crust is golden brown. Enjoy!

Related recipes:

Muscadine Hull Pie

Quince Biscuit Pie

Sweet Cherry Pie with Cornmeal Streusel

Whole Wheat Plum Crumble Tart

Nearly-Fall Fruit Tart with Goat Cheese and Almond Shortbread Crust

As the New Yorker informed us all last month, figs are pretty goth. The fruit, which is actually an inverted flower, has developed a symbiotic relationship with a tiny insect known as a fig wasp. The female wasp pollinates the fig, lays her eggs, and then gets trapped inside, and dies; the fig eventually breaks down her carcass into protein.

This new knowledge just adds to the cloud of mystery that for me, surrounds the fig. Of course, growing up in the midwest, we didn't have much access to fresh figs-- the only variety I knew came dried from the bulk bins at the co-op or stuffed in a Newton. The first real fig I ever had came from the market in Aix-en-Provence, France when I studied abroad there my junior year of college. A visit to the center market, lined with tables of a Mediterranean bounty of dates and Italian plums, pistachios and grapes,  honey and olives, and the plump purple figs striped with narrow flecks of green. The farmer, whose sing-song list of her wares, rang out clearly in her thick Provençal accent above the market din, offered me a sample and my first bite was otherworldly. I felt like I was eating something from another planet, the fruit bursting with its pink alien brain insides, and succulent, floral flavor.  Later when I moved to North Carolina for grad school, figs became more familiar, but never lost their subtle mystery. Year later, on the first date of a rekindling romance, my counterpart called to tell me he'd be a bit late; he was picking me figs.

Here in West Virginia, I fortuitously got myself employed by an organization with an office fig tree. Since I started there last November, I've been eyeing the tree every time I enter the building, anticipating the moment when I can pull one of the tree and plop it in my mouth. Early last month, I overeagerly jumped the gun a bit, picking some that were a little too green, but luckily they ripened in the fridge. 

This tart was conceived out of the first real fig harvest, though splitting the share with my coworkers, I didn't quite have enough figs for a full tart. This proved advantageous though, from both a decorative and flavor standpoint, and I ended up with a veritable fruit salad atop this goat cheese tart. It turns out that an artful arrangement of fruit also gives you a lot of bang for your buck, in terms of oohs and ahs and... well... some Instagram likes. This style of tart, with fresh fruit atop a cheese or custard filling is also highly adaptable to season; top the goat cheese interior with whatever fruit you have on hand, and time of the year, and it should serve you well.

Nearly-Fall Fruit Tart with Goat Cheese and Almond Shortbread Crust

Makes one 11-inch tart (though a 9-inch tart is pictured)

Ingredients

For the crust:

1 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
1 cup almond meal (make your own by grinding almonds in the food processor)
3/4 cup confectioner's sugar
10 Tablespoons (1 stick +2 Tablespoons) unsalted butter
4 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon almond extract
1 Tablespoon ice water

For the filling:

8 ounces fresh chèvre

8 ounces mascarpone

4 large eggs

2/3 cup + 2 Tablespoons sugar

Zest of 1 orange

For the topping:

Assortment of fresh fruits, such as figs, plums, raspberries and blackberries, about 1 cup each.

Directions

For the crust:

1. Combine flour, almond meal, and sugar in a food processor and pulse until well combined. Add cold butter chunks to the almond mixture and process until mix is the size of small peas. Add egg yolks, extracts, and ice water and pulse just until dough begins to form. Remove pastry dough from the food processor and wrap tightly in plastic wrap. Chill for at least one hour and up to 1 day.

2. After dough has chilled, lightly grease the bottom and sides of an 11-inch tart pan. Remove the dough from the fridge. Roll out dough between two sheets of parchment paper and transfer to the tart pan, forming the crust up the sides (dough will be crumbly, so you may have to piece it together). Fold dough over the sides to ensure that the tart will have a strong edge. Prick all over the bottom with a fork. Chill for 30 minutes. Meanwhile, prepare the filling.

For the filling: 
1. Preheat over to 350. Blend chèvre, mascarpone, eggs, and 2/3 cup of sugar. Zest the orange and combine with the 2 Tablespoons of sugar. Combine the chèvre & orange mixtures until smooth. 

2. Pour the mixture into the tart shell, place on a cookie sheet and bake for 45 minutes until crust is golden brown and filling is set. Let the tart cool on a cooling rack.

For the topping & assembly:

1. Just before serving, artfully arrange fruit on top of the tart (you may want to slice some fruits, such as figs and plums).

2. Serve immediately and enjoy! Leftovers can keep in the fridge for 3-4 days, but I'm not sure you'll have many.

Related recipes:
Cranberry Goat Cheese Tart with Almond Shortbread Crust
Fig-Pistachio Tarte Tatin
Fresh Fig Tartlets with Goat Cheese and Red Wine Syrup
Pear and Cardamom-Fig Pie