I opened the frig in Takoma Park the other day and saw (again) an enormous plastic grocery bag full of grapes from Misty Mountain, the western Virginia hideaway where I picked them oh, say, three weeks ago. Oh, dear. They must be leaking all over the refrigerator shelf. They must be far past their prime. How will I get them to the compost pile without staining the floor with grape juice on my way?
I first discovered these grapes last year, when their overwhelmingly sweet smell led me to the spot where they hang from a tangled vine, entirely unkempt and temptingly plump. Thrilled to discover this bounty, I made grape juice from them—two quarts of it. I savored the pure, sweet grape-ness of it, in small portions (it was so intensely flavored), then let it sit in the back of the refrigerator in its quart jars and… go bad. Sadly, I had to throw it out.
Unforgiveable.
So this year, I decided to try again. Between other chores at Misty Mountain, I slipped away to fill another bag with these deep purple orbs, carefully stretching to grab as many as I could, knowing full well that I might not be able to do anything with them for some time. But I felt greedy. They smelled so good. And there were so many, tart little orbs ready to burst with juiciness, just hanging from this vine that seems to have sprouted out of nowhere to climb all over a (mostly) dead tree, tangled up and all willy-nilly. I picked and picked and longed to be able to reach the higher portions of the vine, but I ran out of time to rig a way to reach higher, and had to leave with just the one bulging plastic shopping bag stowed in the car, which then smelled sweet for the entire, four-and-a-half-hour drive home. No Staples bag has ever smelled so good.
But there it sat, the Staples bag full of fat and juicy grapes, in my refrigerator, untouched. I had such great intentions: to make grapejuice, and not let it go bad. Can it. Or freeze it. Something. But competing deadlines and business trips out of town and launching my daughter to New York City prevented me from processing any of them. They just sat.
You would think that the smell of fermenting fruit would start to overpower the rest of the contents of the frig, eventually flavoring the butter and wafting out when you reached for the cheese.
But these were, I have discovered, patient and forgiving grapes.
Despite last year’s moldy grape juice and this year’s three weeks of neglect, despite the abandonment of homesteading aspirations, and the prioritizing of working overtime instead of putting up pints of essence-of-grape in jars of juice to line my winter shelves for winter, these grapes came through for me.
When I reached into that Staples bag, instead of mush or shriveled up raisins, I found (mostly) firm grapes, ready to become whatever I deemed best. Or, more accurately, whatever I had time for.
So the other night I made grape juice, and I made a grape pie.
The juice is straining in the frig overnight. I promise it won’t go moldy this time.
The pie was inspired by Lucky’s, a new favorite restaurant in Roanoke; I ordered it for dessert a few weeks ago, and though I didn’t love it, I loved the idea of it. So I made my own version, which I believe is better –but credit must got to Lucky’s for inspiration (and everything else about this place is great).
I’d never have thought to make a pie from grapes. I’m not sure I’ll do it again – but maybe. On a special occasion. It is labor intensive – to say the least. But oh. So. Good.
This recipe is for a (6”) miniature pie, which will feed two hungry people or four people who want a tantalizing taste of grapes for a reasonable after-dinner treat. The flavor is so intense, a small bit really is enough. Or, you could double or triple this and fill a bigger pie tin. Depending on how much time you have.
Grape Pie
2 cups Misty Mountain grapes (or wild grapes. Or I guess you could grab some seedless ones at the store, but they won’t be as tart, tart, tart)
3/8 cup sugar (or so)
1 teaspoon or 2 of cornstarch
Wash the grapes, and pick off the stems and other funny detritus that winds up all over them. Squeeze them out of their skins, and put the skins aside. Take the pulp and put a bit of water on top of them in a pan, heat slowly until they start to soften and their seeds loosen.
Sit down. Call a friend on the phone, or settle down with someone you love. You will be picking out seeds for a long time and good company would be nice.
Once the seeds are picked, combine the now seedless pulp with the skins (which are a gorgeous royal purple/black color) and add the sugar and cornstarch. Let it sit for 15 minutes.
Pour it into a waiting pie crust and put into a 400-degree oven. Turn the oven down to 350 and bake for about 20 minutes.
Yum.
I first discovered these grapes last year, when their overwhelmingly sweet smell led me to the spot where they hang from a tangled vine, entirely unkempt and temptingly plump. Thrilled to discover this bounty, I made grape juice from them—two quarts of it. I savored the pure, sweet grape-ness of it, in small portions (it was so intensely flavored), then let it sit in the back of the refrigerator in its quart jars and… go bad. Sadly, I had to throw it out.
Unforgiveable.
So this year, I decided to try again. Between other chores at Misty Mountain, I slipped away to fill another bag with these deep purple orbs, carefully stretching to grab as many as I could, knowing full well that I might not be able to do anything with them for some time. But I felt greedy. They smelled so good. And there were so many, tart little orbs ready to burst with juiciness, just hanging from this vine that seems to have sprouted out of nowhere to climb all over a (mostly) dead tree, tangled up and all willy-nilly. I picked and picked and longed to be able to reach the higher portions of the vine, but I ran out of time to rig a way to reach higher, and had to leave with just the one bulging plastic shopping bag stowed in the car, which then smelled sweet for the entire, four-and-a-half-hour drive home. No Staples bag has ever smelled so good.
But there it sat, the Staples bag full of fat and juicy grapes, in my refrigerator, untouched. I had such great intentions: to make grapejuice, and not let it go bad. Can it. Or freeze it. Something. But competing deadlines and business trips out of town and launching my daughter to New York City prevented me from processing any of them. They just sat.
You would think that the smell of fermenting fruit would start to overpower the rest of the contents of the frig, eventually flavoring the butter and wafting out when you reached for the cheese.
But these were, I have discovered, patient and forgiving grapes.
Despite last year’s moldy grape juice and this year’s three weeks of neglect, despite the abandonment of homesteading aspirations, and the prioritizing of working overtime instead of putting up pints of essence-of-grape in jars of juice to line my winter shelves for winter, these grapes came through for me.
When I reached into that Staples bag, instead of mush or shriveled up raisins, I found (mostly) firm grapes, ready to become whatever I deemed best. Or, more accurately, whatever I had time for.
So the other night I made grape juice, and I made a grape pie.
The juice is straining in the frig overnight. I promise it won’t go moldy this time.
The pie was inspired by Lucky’s, a new favorite restaurant in Roanoke; I ordered it for dessert a few weeks ago, and though I didn’t love it, I loved the idea of it. So I made my own version, which I believe is better –but credit must got to Lucky’s for inspiration (and everything else about this place is great).
I’d never have thought to make a pie from grapes. I’m not sure I’ll do it again – but maybe. On a special occasion. It is labor intensive – to say the least. But oh. So. Good.
This recipe is for a (6”) miniature pie, which will feed two hungry people or four people who want a tantalizing taste of grapes for a reasonable after-dinner treat. The flavor is so intense, a small bit really is enough. Or, you could double or triple this and fill a bigger pie tin. Depending on how much time you have.
Grape Pie
2 cups Misty Mountain grapes (or wild grapes. Or I guess you could grab some seedless ones at the store, but they won’t be as tart, tart, tart)
3/8 cup sugar (or so)
1 teaspoon or 2 of cornstarch
Wash the grapes, and pick off the stems and other funny detritus that winds up all over them. Squeeze them out of their skins, and put the skins aside. Take the pulp and put a bit of water on top of them in a pan, heat slowly until they start to soften and their seeds loosen.
Sit down. Call a friend on the phone, or settle down with someone you love. You will be picking out seeds for a long time and good company would be nice.
Once the seeds are picked, combine the now seedless pulp with the skins (which are a gorgeous royal purple/black color) and add the sugar and cornstarch. Let it sit for 15 minutes.
Pour it into a waiting pie crust and put into a 400-degree oven. Turn the oven down to 350 and bake for about 20 minutes.
Yum.
yum! i wish I could've been there to pick seeds with you...i missed our homesteading activities this year.
ReplyDeletenext summer we'll have to do this
xoxo