A simple dessert for National Pie Day

You can bake this delicious Impossibly Easy Buttermilk Pie in less than an hour.

The crust in Impossibly Easy Pie is created as it bakes.

Pie makes everything better.

Just type “pie quotes” in a Google search and you’ll see a myriad of memes to that effect. I think pie’s ability to make us feel better could be rooted somewhere in science, probably something with sugar and seratonin. Maybe it’s as simple as a connection to a memory you have.

One of my favorite movies, Julie & Julia (2009), has a scene with Amy Adams‘ character (Julie Powell) at the stove. She’s had a lousy day at the office and she’s whipping together a chocolate cream pie. While smoothing the mixture in her pie pan, she explains to her husband that she finds comfort knowing chocolate, cream, eggs, and sugar will make something wonderful. Today, I find myself saying, “Girl, you know that’s right” as I wait for my vanilla and buttermilk custard pie to come out of the oven. Sometimes, the world just gets a little heavy and a slice of pie with a cup of coffee is in order, you know?

But for many, myself included—especially when meringue is involved—pie can scare off a home cook. There’s always the pressure of a perfectly flaky crust (or the scowl from your mother-in-law if you tell her it’s store bought) lurking just behind the flour in your pantry.

Friends, let’s look to the past for the answer to this problem. Pull out your mom’s Bisquick Impossible Pie recipe and let's get baking. It’s so easy, a child could make it, yet so completely comforting and versatile that it will satisfy just about anybody's pie craving. Stick with vanilla or add other flavors like chocolate or pumpkin. Go savory for dinner or brunch.

Curious about the history of this tasty classic, I reached out to the media office at General Mills. To my surprise, the recipe doesn’t reach as far back as I’d thought. The first Impossible Pie recipe was published in 1978, with the first Buttermilk Impossible Pie following in 1982. Bisquick users immediately loved the recipe—now referred to as Impossibly Easy Pie—and were hungry for more flavors like chocolate, pumpkin, and fruit. The appeal, for those not familiar, is these are “pies that magically bake their own crusts,” as stated in the cookbook, Betty Crocker Impossibly Easy Pies (2004).

I remember the Impossibly Easy Coconut Pie that Mom or Grandma would sometimes make, but then, Grandma always knew how to make wonderful pies. I have her pie crust recipe, but though I try, it doesn’t seem to turn out as well as she made it. I may give it another shot in honor of National Pie Day on Jan. 23. Thankfully, the American Pie Council offers these tips for making a good pie:

• Cold ingredients and utensils are essential when making the crust.

• Don’t overwork the dough.

• Bake pie in the lower third of your oven to avoid a soggy bottom crust.

Although pie making dates to ancient Romans, the first fruit pies surfaced in the 1500s in England. American Colonists used pie crusts as a vessel—called a “coffyn”—in which a savory filling was cooked. The dough wasn't meant to eat.

You know, that Impossibly Easy Pie looks better all the time. Why not make one for your family and one to take to a neighbor or a friend to brighten their day?

A friend gifted me with spiced Madagascar vanilla extract from the KC Vanilla Company so I used that in this recipe. They also have pure vanilla extract and sell vanilla beans. Check out this artisan vanilla made in Kansas City, Missouri, then cut yourself a piece of pie and put your feet up.

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Gashtel soup

This old-world recipe is filled with beefy goodness and childhood memories.

Gashtels, also called shredded noodles or tiny dumplings, are surrounded by a rich homemade beef broth.

It’s National Soup Month, and I’m tickled to share with you one of my Mom’s signature dishes: gashtel soup featuring homemade beef broth and tiny dumplings.

Americans love soup. According to Statista, 48 percent of Americans consume soup as part of their dinner. Boiling ingredients in a pot is an ancient cooking method that’s been adopted across many cultures. A contributor for ehow.com several years ago dove into the history of soup; if you’re thirsty for more, dig in.

If you simply want a wonderful, old-world recipe for a completely satisfying soup that my mother frequently made, you’ve come to the right place.

I like to think it was her Austrian-Hungarian background that inspired Mom to make us gashtel soup. What are gashtels you ask? A German-Russian dictionary defines them as tiny dumplings. Hungarians refer to them as reszelt teszta (shredded noodles). Whatever translation you choose, you won’t be able to buy them in a store, and making them is a labor of love—probably similar to Italian Nonnas making pasta by hand.

As a kid, it was an occasion when Mom made gashtel soup. Maybe somebody had a cold, and you’d hear “go ahead eat this; it’s good for what ails you.” Sometimes, I think she made it simply to say “I love you.” That’s certainly the emotions and memories that are evoked when I eat this soup. Mom’s recipe used a rich beef broth to pair with the gashtels, but I’ve also seen recipes using chicken broth. I guess either would work, but I’m sticking with our family’s tradition.

And if you make this soup, please start by making a homemade broth. It’s really not much work, and the depth of flavor in the broth is superior to anything out of a box. Remember, it’s broth and gashtels—that’s it—so use the best ingredients for great results.

Celery, onions, carrots, and soup bones are the start of a hearty homemade beef broth. While it simmers for hours, it's a snap to put together.

For a beef broth, roast the soup bones or short ribs (I used the latter) in the oven before adding to the stock pot. Then you simply hack up carrots, celery, and onions—don’t peel vegetables—before adding water and spices. Then it simmers on the stove 4 to 5 hours while you go about your business around the house. And the aroma that fills the kitchen, well, it transports me to the house I grew up in, and in my mind’s eye, I see Mom at the her avocado-green stove, apron on, stirring the soup pot.

Making the stock is the easy part to this recipe. The gashtels, I’ll be honest, are little devils. The dough has to be very stiff in order to grate by hand on a box grater. So, you may have to experiment to get the right consistency because a soft, pliable dough simply won’t grate.

Flour and eggs combine to make the stiff gashtel dough that will be grated into tiny dumplings.

Generally, the rule of thumb is an egg to a cup of flour for the dough. That’s it, although I also added a pinch of salt. If you’re using large or extra-large eggs, I’d probably start with 1 1/4 cup of flour. But as you knead the dough, keep adding a bit of flour as required to make it stiff. If you’re having trouble getting the dough to come together at all, add a few drops of water. Each time I wrestle with these stinkers, I gain new respect for Mom and the time it took to dry several towels filled with gashtels. But then, knowing her, she likely thought, "If I have to go through this (expletive), I'm making enough to use more than once!"

Use the side of the box grater with the large holes and carefully drag the dough ball along the grater. Gashtels will be in various sizes, some the size of small peas, others will be longer. All will need to dry for several hours on a clean towel before adding them to the soup.

After grating the gashtels, I'm relieved to have all fingers still attached! This was definitely a labor of love in honor of Mom.

When it’s time to bring the soup together, strain the vegetables, bones, and bay leaves from the broth. I like to put the the stock in the refrigerator overnight to make it easier to skim the fat. Bring the strained broth to a gentle boil and add the dried gashtels, cooking them for 8 minutes (until tender).

Mom was always generous with the gashtels, so of course I’d go that route as well. I used 2 large eggs and nearly 3 cups of flour, which created enough gashtels to spread out and cover the surface of a kitchen towel. I’ll likely use these with half the broth I made, freezing the rest of the stock for another soup.

I hope you’ll give this soup a try. It's definitely worth the labor! The gashtels have a satisfying chew to them, and together with the beef broth, it’s comfort and love in a bowl.

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Slow cooker classic Bolognese

This trusty kitchen appliance creates a rich ragû while you can go about your day.

Bolognese with tagliatelle

Only my closest friends know this, but I sleep with the Golden Girls every night.

Let me rephrase; I have to fall asleep while watching The Golden Girls, and have done this for a number of years. I know most of the zingers by heart, down to the timing, and that Sophia’s secret pasta sauce takes 14 hours to make. “If this sauce were a man, I’d get naked and make love to it,” she says while standing at her stove.

My weird obsession for old TV sitcoms aside, old-school Italian cooks know that a good Bolognese is going to take some time to make. I have a dear friend, Kelley DiValerio Gonzalez, who said her Italian Nonna in Philadelphia used to spend five to six hours making her pasta sauce “adding wine periodically.” While I don’t have a drop of Italian blood in my veins, I do have a deep appreciation for tradition. In this kitchen, wisdom and inspiration from home cooks is the peg on which we hang our aprons.

However, while I’m unloading my dark secrets on you, let me also confess that for weeknight pasta dinners, I have been known to open a jar of sauce, doctor it up a bit, and add pasta for a quick supper. Italian Nonnas everywhere are clutching at their hearts and gasping “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!”

But listen, Nonna, few people can spend several hours babysitting the perfect Bolognese. That’s why this slow cooker ragû Bolognese is the perfect marriage of convenience and low-and-slow. Plus, January is National Slow Cooker Month, which makes it a perfect time to haul out that trusted kitchen appliance and make something comforting for supper.

But first, a quick detour to share some Missouri trivia. The crock-pot’s inventor, Irving Naxon (Nachumsohn), sold his business in 1971 to Kansas City’s Rival Manufacturing when he retired. His “Naxon Beanery” was inspired by the Jewish cooking tradition of taking crocks to town bakeries in order to prepare the Sabbath stew known as cholent. Rival successfully marketed the crock-pot as the first slow cooker, taking Naxon's invention to another level.

Of course, the history of ragû Bolognese goes much farther back in time—to the 18th century—when a cook served the dish to Cardinal Barnaba Chiaramonti. The cardinal later became Pope Pius VII and his cook, Alberto Alvisi, was credited for creating a heavenly dish that is cherished even today.

One of the first written recipes for Bolognese appeared in a late 19th-century cookbook that called for the meat (veal) and vegetables to be cooked in broth—not tomato sauce—and that cream should be added to finish the ragû. Over the years as the recipe evolved, tomato sauce would become a common ingredient, but garlic, a staple of Italian cuisine, would not be added. I see lots of garlic and herbs in recipes from celebrity chefs to church ladies, but it’s not traditional.

In fact, according to the Italian Academy of Cuisine, a classic ragû Bolognese should include beef, pancetta, onion, carrot, celery, tomato purée, broth, dry white wine, milk, salt, and pepper. And while many Americans serve Bolognese with spaghetti, tagliatelle is the pasta you’ll find in this dish when visiting Italy.

DiGregorio's Market on The Hill in St. Louis is a mecca for Italian cooks.

For me, any respectable Bolognese begins with a trip to The Hill, St. Louis’ Italian neighborhood, and DiGregario’s Italian Market for canned San Marzano tomatoes from Italy, tagliatelle, pancetta, and Parmesan. Missouri Baking Company sells Italian bread worthy to mop up leftover sauce.

With shopping complete, it’s time to start the sauce. I’m going to let it simmer in the slow cooker overnight, but the steps prior to mixing everything together and switching the button on are crucial. Softening and lightly browning the soffritto (onions, celery, and carrots) helps to deepen the flavor, as does browning the meat in the frying pan.

Next, let’s talk canned tomatoes. Busy cooks tend to like shortcuts and either buy diced or crushed tomatoes, but these are overly processed, and many experts agree it changes the flavor. Use the whole tomatoes and just gently crush them by hand. It’s what Nonna would do. Actually, she’d probably go to her garden, pick vine-ripened tomatoes, roast them with olive oil and a pinch of salt, and then crush them by hand.

Also, trust tradition and add the milk. Other than being part of this recipe since the 19th century, milk helps to tenderize the meat and balance the tomatoes’ acidity. Don’t worry; it won’t curdle using this low heat. In the end, you’ll have a meaty and rich sauce to swoon over.

You also may ask is it worth a trip to buy the ribbon-style pasta versus the box of dried spaghetti you have in the pantry. Think of it this way: surface area. The ragû clings better to the wider pasta, not to mention that tradition thing, but if you’d rather not make a trip to the market, what’s in your pantry will work.

Oh, let’s face it; I’d eat this ragû right out of the slow cooker with a spoon and a piece of Italian bread. Actually, it’s best to toss the pasta with the sauce; don’t just ladle the ragû over the cooked pasta. This allows the sauce to cling to all the noodles, and it won’t hack off Nonna.

This recipe will create enough to feed six to eight people, so if your family is smaller, the sauce freezes beautifully. Better yet, put some in a jar and share it with a neighbor to celebrate National Spaghetti Day (Jan. 4).

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