If you have not seen Waitress, I suggest that you do not. I spent much of the movie wondering if it would be over soon and snorting over the predictable plot. The truth is that it actually has several threads that are not typical at all, but it seemed as if I had seen it all along. Despite my whining, there was one good thing about the film. Sensual pie making cinematography. Really. It's terribly sexy. The camera is directly overhead; the pie fills the frame, and the action is soft and seductive - draping supple crusts, milky filling poured slowly with quiet purpose. Partially because the scenes are shot as if you are looking down at your own work, I came to believe that I can bake pies. I cannot.
Rather, I cannot make pie crust. When a gift of lemons arrive from S.'s grandparents' tree, he sets to making a lemon meringue. Each time, I gravely inform him that pie crust is hard. It's true. The directions always sternly warn of overworking the crust with no clear indication of how one tells that a dough is correctly "worked" and when it tips over that feared precipice toward "overworked". It's all meaningless to the uninitiated. S., however, makes perfect pie so when I informed him that I was making pie, he helpfully offered to make the crust knowing full well that I had no idea what I was doing. I turned him down with new found Waitress confidence. I could totally picture my slow motion pie technique, and it was awesome.
Except it wasn't. That night, three bites in, the crust thick and soggy on top, ziewback hard on the bottom, I turned to S. to say that this particular pie crust was the worst pie crust I had eaten in my entire life. He didn't say a word, just started whistling a happy little tune and looking innocent and unopinionated.
So I can't make crust, but don't hold it against the Angel Cream Pie. How could you really? I completely fell for it when the instructions quite literally stated that the pie should be baked until "lightly brown on top (golden like an angel)." I love it. I'm kind of clueless about what shade of golden angels typically are, but I love that the Shakers were quite confident of the precise hue of gold to which that directive refers, which leads me right back to the place I often begin - Shakers. They are awesome. This particular pie is yet another reason why. It's milky sweet, a lightly set custard with a subtle bitterness to balance the sugar and a familiar floral scent that becomes immediately recognizable when a mouthful of roses melts on your tongue. A rose scented pie. Really. When I read this recipe, I was impressed that this self-sufficient little sect felt rose water to be a vital commodity worthy of acquiring from Europe. That was before I learned that they distilled it themselves. I mean it's not like I didn't already think they were awesome, and now they're distilling rose water all by themselves! I can hardly hide my adoration (or desire for distilling equipment and an acre of roses). Thankfully the Shakers are mostly dead, because I would not want them to have to meet me.
Despite my status as the Shaker's biggest non-chair-related fan, I was left with the problem of horrible crust not befitting Angel Cream so I ditched the crust and ever so slightly reworked the recipe into little pots de cremes (sort of). Angel Cream seems almost modern in these diminutive little vessels, and I love how it nudges you toward small savored tastes. Served with a sprinkling of candied rose petals and prevented from browning "like an angel", it looks just as it tastes.
Angel Cream
from The Best of Shaker Cooking
2 cups heavy whipping cream
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons rose water
2 eggs, whites only
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Heat cream over low heat until warm but not scalding. Whisk together sugar, flour and salt. Stir in cream and add rose water. Stir until sugar dissolves. In a separate bowl, whip egg whites until they hold a soft peak and gently fold into cream mixture.
Pour filling into 8 custard dishes - filling each nearly full (they don't rise much). Place dishes into a large baking pan and fill pan with water until the level reaches halfway up the sides of the custard dishes. Cover pan with foil. Bake for 40 minutes or until sharp knife inserted into filling comes away clean.
Allow custards to cool and serve. If refrigerated, prior to serving, take the chill off by allowing to sit at room temperature for 10-15 minutes. If desired, garnish with candied rose petals
Sourcing: Natural by Nature Grass-Fed Heavy Cream, Whole Foods 365 Organic Cane Sugar, King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour, Hain Sea Salt, Heritage Products Rosewater, Champion Chicks eggs
Candied Rose Petals
1 rose
1 egg white, beaten
white sugar
Remove petals from rose. Brush each petal with egg white and then sprinkle with sugar, shaking off excess. I found I could get the most even coverage by placing the sugar in a sieve and then gently tapping it over the petals. Arrange on wax paper and allow to dry at room temperature. Drying time will depend on humidity, but should take around 24 hours. Rose petals can be stored in tightly covered container for 1 week at room temperature.
Sourcing: Domino Sugar (a bleached sugar will look prettier here than organic) and Champion Chicks egg. For the rose, I'd suggest an organic one. They're harder to find, but pesticides for the cut flower industry aren't required to be safe for consumption. We don't usually plan on eating them after all.
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