My family is sentimental. We like to hang on to things. I think my dad's parents—my oma and opa—instilled that in him. They came from Europe with nothing. All their keepsakes and things from childhood, pictures, even the country they were from (Yugoslavia): gone. So, I'm sure he grew up with that hang-on-to-everything you have mentality. My mom's parents, on the other hand, were children of the great depression. I remember a story about my grandma Carol's house burning down when she was a girl in Oklahoma, taking all her toys, clothes, and belongings with it. I'm sure that has something to do with my Mel's predilection for keeping things. Then Mel and John left the rural Southern California town they were from to come to Washington, and because of kids and finances and life, they don't make it back there as often as they'd like. I think this makes them sentimental for the places, people, and memories from their past.
They passed this on to me. Every time I go home, I pour over old pictures, old things from my childhood. I take Evan around the property that he's seen a million times, pointing out spots where I used to play, the tree that I used to think I'd get married under, the place where I killed the spider that Amanda never forgave me for.
My parents still have a lot of my childhood toys. Barbies in one bin, treasure trolls in another. And books. My RL Stine collection lives on—Fear Street from my middle school days, Goosebumps from elementary school. I had a lot of RL Stine books. And the picture books from when Amanda and I were little. I love looking through the books.
My parents still have a lot of my childhood toys. Barbies in one bin, treasure trolls in another. And books. My RL Stine collection lives on—Fear Street from my middle school days, Goosebumps from elementary school. I had a lot of RL Stine books. And the picture books from when Amanda and I were little. I love looking through the books.
Whenever I'm thinking of what to make with summer squash, I get a fleeting glimpse of a book from childhood—Squash Pie. So, when I went home last weekend, I dug out the book Squash Pie… to go along with the bounty of zucchini Mel was sending back to Seattle with me. The book (which is from the 70s and was passed down from my cousin Barb…and has Barbie, Room 8, written inside) is about an old farmer who plants summer squash because he's so stoked for squash pie. But every time the squash is just about ready to pick, someone steals it. The book doesn't actually pin it on her, but the farmer's wife is obviously the culprit. The night-thief's shadow is wearing a dress just like hers, and she's always trying to convince him to eat other kinds of pies—apple, cherry, etc—but he only wants squash pie. My favorite part is when she throws a bunch of ripe peaches on the ground, bakes them into a pie, and yells "there's your squash pie!". A real fiery lady, that farmer's wife. Anyway, I think she eventually gets fed up with his squash pie obsession, and they finally have a squash pie…which she admits is way better than all the other pies. Even the last squash pie, which just tasted like a peach pie.
I always wondered what the squash pie they had tasted like. What it looked like. I was a weird kid that way. So I brought the book back to Seattle with me, and looked up squash pie. Apparently there's a sweet pie made with summer squash—that must be what the farmer was after. I, however, was after something a little different, something savory. Mel's been trying to get me to make this rustic summer squash tart for like five years now (it's one of my dad's faves), but I was never really interested. She photocopies and sends me the recipe every summer, and every summer, it gets deleted. I guess I'm kind of like that farmer's wife, because I finally made the damn squash tart, and whadaya know, it was delicious. I changed it up quite a bit—added caramelized onions and pine nuts, used oregano instead of thyme (simply because I'm out of thyme), omitted the roasted pepper, sprinkled parm on top.
Even Evan, who claims to hate zucchini and was appalled by the idea of squash pie, loved it.
PS: I know you're all in fall-mode now: butternut squash and pumpkins and what not, but you surely have a basket of late-summer squash and tomatoes still hanging out, begging to be used before you switch over completely. And this tart, while using up the last of summer's produce, taste a bit like fall with the blue cheese and pie crust. Just make it, already.
Summer Squash & Tomato Tart
Adapted from this recipe
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 tablespoon butter
1 medium yellow onion, sliced
2 cups-ish sliced (in rounds) mixed summer squash (zucchini, yellow squash, pattypan)
2 shallots, thinly sliced
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon(s) chopped garlic
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts
slat & pepper
Your favorite pie crust, chilled and rolled into 2 8-inch rounds
1 cup crumbled blue cheese
2 medium tomatos, sliced
1 large egg, beaten
Handful of parmesan cheese
Heat oven to 400°F.
Add olive oil and butter to heavy-bottomed skillet, and heat over medium. Add onions and cooked until caramelized (here's a good how-to for caramelized onions). Add squash and shallots and cook, for a few minutes. Remove from heat and stir in oregano, garlic, salt, and pepper to taste.
Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, and lay out the 2 dough rounds (you may need to bake in two batches, or just make 1 big tart). Sprinkle the blue cheese evenly over the two rounds, within 2 inches of the edge. Top with onion and squash mixture, and then with sliced tomato. Fold edge of the crust over and brush crust with beaten egg.
Bake 35 to 40 minutes until crust is golden. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Let cool slightly before eating (so the juices have time to settle).
