Note: This column appeared in The Chapel Hill News and is reproduced here for blog readers because the newspaper does not maintain its links.I felt like a squirrel. There I was, digging through leaves to gather nuts for the cruel 60 degree Carolina winter days ahead.
The oblong brown shells were a gift from above—the giant pecan tree in Hillsborough’s River Park. During a weekend football toss there, the Spoonstress, my wife-to-be, discovered the pecan motherlode. Were it not for her hawk eye, I would have dismissed them as mutant acorns.
You see, I grew up a bit farther north of these parts. Up yonder, we say Pee-CAN, which explains the title of this column. I’ve tried to use the superior Southern pronunciation but it feels like a President Kennedy or Mayor Quimby impression, and I default to that nasal Northern sound.
The prospect of making a pecan pie forced me to confront my culinary straddling of the Mason-Dixon line. It was bound to happen. I could only spout so many phony ‘y’alls’ and ‘yessirs’ before making peace with the limitations of being a Northern transplant.
I realized I was no Southerner when the thought of using corn syrup in pecan pie made me squeamish. After breaking my blissful ignorance about the classic Southern dish’s ingredients, I reluctantly bought some Karo. But I couldn’t bring myself to use the processed sweetener.
You’re right, I want to have pie my and eat it, too. I never turn down a refill of sweet tea. And I have no problem considering sweet potatoes loaded with butter, brown sugar and marshmallows a side dish, not a dessert. Yet, alone in my kitchen, I just didn’t have it in me to make a regular pecan pie.
Being a practical New Englander, though, I found a way to fuse my chilly childhood with my pecan-lined present: Maple syrup. While flipping through cookbooks in Chapel Hill Public Library, whose entryway 'no guns allowed' sign always reminds me that I’m no longer in Massachusetts, I came across a recipe that bridged my two worlds: Vermont Maple-Pecan Pie.
It was beautiful—trees of the North and South working branch-in-branch to forge a new tradition. With Susan Purdy’s
The Perfect Pie in hand, all that remained was the doing.
I shelled the pecans by hand. Well, not just with my hand, but you know what I mean. With no nut cracker around, my channel lock pliers became the tool of choice. Unfortunately, the big daddy pliers splintered some pecans all over the room. Future inhabitants of my house will long wonder about the abundant brown bits. It’ll be our secret.
Compared to shelling pecans, making the pie was simple. Then again, when your first step is opening the wrapper on the store-bought crust, things are looking up. I won’t dissuade seasoned pie people from making their own crusts, but why waste all that time on the worst tasting part of the dessert?
Back at the kitchen counter, I was surprised that the recipe only uses a third of a cup of sugar. The natural maple sweetness does the rest. I was also curious about whether the pecans would sink or swim in the uncooked maple-butter-egg-sugar goop. Sure enough, they float.
While the pie’s baking, you can pursue another ‘perfect’ idea from Purdy’s book—maple whipped cream. You just whip the cream until it’s stiff and then stir in the maple syrup. The topping is so tasty that I’ve heard tales of some food columnists eating spoonfuls of it plain.
Just don’t get so carried away with the whipped fun that you forget to check the pie after 30 minutes. I got back to the oven at minute 33 and let’s just say I was relieved that it resembled a pecan pie again after cooling. There was some swelling.
That cosmetic issue aside, the end product was pleasing. The Spoonstress, an experienced taster, wasn’t laying it on thick when she said, “It doesn’t taste like pure sugar like some pecan pies do. It tastes like pecans.”
I promise I didn’t feed her that line. You can ask our fish.
I should add that she grew up in ol’ Virginie. OK, fine—Northern Virginia.
The maple syrup had worked. Not only was most of the sweetness coming from non-processed, God-fearing places, it was actually delicious.
Just to be clear, this is no whistlin’ Dixie, regular pecan pie. The pie’s guts, freed from the bonds of Karo, tasted like a maple custard. The pecans were like A Southern Season’s finest pralines, but with a hand-shelled essence. And yes, I made up that last part.
The maple whipped cream was a hit, too. Its subtle flavor worked well with the pie’s maplish pecanness. If you think those aren’t words, you’re right. But they should be; that’s the kind of pecan-do attitude I’m talking about.
If you do meet me halfway and substitute maple for corn syrup, feel free to call it maple pe-CAAAHN pie. That seems like a nice compromise, y’all.
Vermont Maple-Pecan Pie
3 large eggs
¼ teaspoon salt
1/3 cup sugar
½ stick butter, melted
1 cup pure maple syrup
1 cup pecan halves
9 inch pie shell—store-bought or homemade
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Combine eggs, salt, sugar, melted butter and maple syrup with a whisk or electric mixer. Mix well with a whisk or electric mixer, but don’t get it too frothy. Pour filling into the pie shell and top with the pecans. Bake 30 to 40 minutes (probably closer to 30) or until a knife inserted 1 inch from the edge comes out clean.
Cool and serve with…
Maple Whipped Cream
1 cup heavy cream, chilled
5 tablespoons pure maple syrup
Whip the cream to soft peaks, then fold in the syrup. Whip until stiff. You may want to use less maple syrup—I’d taste it after three tablespoons.
Source: The Perfect Pie, by Susan Purdy
I made a trip to Whole Foods today as part of the Freebie Project and let’s just say I didn’t leave hungry. They run a pretty generous ship over in publicly-traded, socially-conscious land.
