Fall can be a confusing time. Don’t get me wrong– it’s one of my favorite seasons. (Out of four, it’s probably number one!) For one thing, there is always the crisis of what to wear. Tights or bare legs? Sandals still, or do you move on to flats? Light sweaters in the morning, jackets for an evening stroll. You see– these are serious issues.

Once you have managed to get yourself dressed for the day, there is the issue of what to eat. It’s a good thing that I don’t find this issue quite so vexing. In fact, I rather enjoy these crossovers.

I was at the farmers market last week, and one of the vendors was selling rhubarb. Spindly and springish, this vegetable cum fruit actually grows from high spring to early fall. I bought some, and stuck it in the fridge until I decided what to do with it. A few days later I spotted black mission figs at the market, and knew that the kitchen was calling.

I went home and made a galette– the lazy man’s pie. The tart acidity of the rhubarb mixed with the richness and potency of the figs making the perfect combination. Neither one of these “fruits” is overly juicy, so they were an ideal match for an open-faced dessert, but the juices that they did create were intoxicating.

Simply kissed with sugar, and baked with crushed hazelnuts on top, this galette was just the dessert to eat on a fall day. And to quote Little Edie Bouvier Beale, I even found “the best costume of the day,” to wear while chewing– sleeveless dress, cardigan sweater, and flats.

Fig-Rhubarb Galette

2 cups rhubarb, cut into 1/2 inch dice
1/2 cup sugar
pinch of salt
2 cups fresh figs, cut into quarters
2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup hazelnuts, roughly chopped

1 disc pie dough

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

In a medium sized bowl, toss the rhubarb completely with sugar and salt. Add the figs, flour, and vanilla, and toss gently trying to keep the figs in tact. Set aside.

Roll out the pie dough, approximately 12-14 inches around. Transfer the dough to a parchment or Silpat lined cookie sheet. Spread the fruit filling, leaving about 2 inches free around the perimeter of the dough. Sprinkle on the nuts.

Fold the dough over the filling, gently pressing the dough together as you go. This creates the crust; and the galette will be free-form. If you would like, brush the crust in cream, and sprinkle with turbinado sugar.

Bake for 40-45 minutes, then let cool on the cookie sheet, before slicing.

For years I had heard that there is no better medium for making pie crust than lard. Supposedly, it would make the dough roll out like a smooth, elastic dream, and the crust would be flaky and crumbly. And then cookbook author Jennifer McLagan confirmed the talk in her book, with a recipe for leaf lard pie dough. Fast forward to last weekend, a blustery Saturday morning, when I walked down to the bi-monthly, winter farmer’s market, and stumbled (well, trudged through the snow) upon a pork purveyor. He was having a two-for-one sale on precisely the type of lard needed for pie dough. I bought a pound of the stuff and made my way home.

This weekend I had guests for dinner, so I made decided to ease myself into the world of lard with some pie dough, made with a mixture of butter and lard. My lard was whole, needing to be diced into manageable-sized pieces before being combined with the other ingredients to make the dough. When I cut open the vacuum-sealed package a subtle grassy, barn-yardy fragrance permeated the kitchen. But I forged ahead—of course lard would smell barn-yardy, it comes from a barn yard inhabitant!

I made my dough, and it did come together like a dream. The dough was not sticky, it was silky even, and rolled out with ease. But the scent, that outdoorsy fragrance, never disippated. I was making a galette, and as I piled on the ingredients, a smear of almond paste, some sliced pears, and tiny dollops of cranberry compote, I did have a sinking suspicion that I would be making piggy pie. But I cast aside my fears and popped the galette in the oven.

When the galette was done baking, I pulled it from the oven, and it was beautiful—if a bit stinky. I had to try some crust, for no other reason than to protect my guests from having a surprising finish to the meal. I crumbled a small piece of the crust, and tasted. It was truly odd, tasting of peat and pig; the barn-yardy aroma was now a peculiar taste. I called my mother in California, for no other reason than to alert her of my bizarre cooking event. She admonished me (like any good mother would), saying I couldn’t invite people over for dinner without serving a proper dessert. So I quickly ran around and mixed up a lemon pudding (thank you, Nigel Slater), that was light, creamy, and delicious.

When the dessert course rolled around, I served my guests both desserts, with the story of the day’s activities. Surprisingly, they all ate both sweets, though most detected a swine-like flavor in the galette. Upon sampling, I remarked that the galette tasted like Scotch, not one of my favorite alcoholic beverages to begin with. I pushed the pie away, and opted for the delightful pudding instead. But one of the guests loved the meaty flavor of the dough, and while the other guests each politely choked down their one slice of pie drowning it in softly whipped cream, Bobby had three. Which was fine with me; somehow I couldn’t imagine having that galette with a cup of coffee for next morning’s breakfast.

I wonder however, has my modern palate grown too accustomed for lard-based pastry dough, or was I deceived by the pork purveyor, and sold swiney lard rather than leaf lard? I still have one-half portion of lard dough in the freezer, waiting to be used. Maybe I should make another sort of pie with it—a pork pot pie.

Leaf Lard Pastry
from Fat: An Appreciation of a Misunderstood Ingredient

makes enough for a double crust

2 cups flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 ounces chilled butter
1/3 cup chilled leaf lard, diced
1/3 cup ice water

Combine the flour, baking powder, and salt in a food processor, pulsing to mix. Add the butter, and pulse just to begin blending. Add the lard and and continue to pulse until mixture resembles small pea-sized pieces. About 15 seconds.

Turn the mixture into a large bowl. Pour water over mixture, and mix well with a fork. Squeeze a bit of the dough between your fingers. If it hold together, transfer to a lightly floured board. If not, add additional teaspoons of water, and test again. Gently knead the dough into a ball. Divide the pastry into two disks. Wrap each in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before using. This pastry also freezes well.