Snap Out of It: Food memories serve as effective writing prompts

Kim O'Donnel  (© Clare Barboza)

I recently registered for a webinar for writers plagued by procrastination. Frustrated participants described both their creeping anxiety and fruitless coping strategies. Some seemed on the verge of tears.

While following the presentation on one monitor, I was drafting an article and responding to email on another. When a text message chirped on my cell phone, I picked it up and replied. When my desk phone rang, I muted the livestream to take the call.

After about 20 minutes of this, I had a light bulb moment: While I can think of a thousand reasons to not do things I don't like doing, I rarely put off writing. Procrastination is not my issue, though inspiration sometimes is.

"Snap Out of It," a workshop at last week's 2013 International Food Bloggers Conference in Seattle, served as a effective reminder of the power of words and, by extension, the power of writers to assemble them in ways that resonate with readers.

"Writing is a process. We need to attend to it and nourish it," says presenter Kim O'Donnel, a hard news reporter who transitioned to a successful food writing career. Last year, the former Washington Post and USA Today food columnist released her second book, The Meat Lover's Meatless Celebrations. An essay the West Seattle resident wrote about a local farmer is featured in the soon-to-be released anthology, 2013 Best Food Writing.

"To me, food is the entry way to everything that connects us to the human experience.  It inspires the emotional, the personal, the political and the irrational," she says. "It's a way to make sense out of chaos. It's important. It helps us connect, not only with our own lives but what is going on around us."

O'Donnel's message was inspiring and persuasive. Bloggers gathered for her workshop ranged for beginners to those with established followings and revenue-generating websites.  Everyone participated in the same timed drills designed to "re-ignite the fire."

"We all have memory and we all have to eat," O'Donnel says, directing us to take five minutes to jot down a series of single sentences referencing specific food memories. Several were read aloud and earned praise from both teacher and peers for their creative promise.

An additional 10 minutes was dedicated to expanding a chosen sentence with rich detail. Some of the examples were so evocative that it was hard to believe they were cobbled together in no more time than it takes to cook pasta.

To demonstrate the detail necessary to write a recipe that can be recreated by others, the group was tasked with defining how to prepare a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The variety of approaches and degree of specificity was enlightening. Nearly everyone left out some essential detail, though many made their recipes sing with graceful phrases that revealed a great deal about the writer's personality.

"The point is that we have the power; we have it all within our own reservoirs, even when we feel we don't," O'Donnel says. "We always have something to write about."

I was glad to be among a cluster of bloggers who didn't realize the task was meant to simulate the experience of meeting the high standards of a cookbook editor. Several of us left out measurements entirely, using a broader brush to draft a narrative in the manner of an extended head note. Here's mine:

The Secret to a Good PB&J
Everyone knows how to make PB&J, but there usually is an extra step when it's made in my kitchen. The expected jar of peanut butter often has vanished from the cupboard. My husband says it calls to him in the night, beckoning like a Siren until he is compelled to get up and eat a few sticky spoonfuls to restore peace and quiet. He says this with the solemn duty of one who braves the piercing scream of a smoke detector that hungers for a fresh battery.

So, first step, locate the hidden jar of peanut butter from the rotating list of secret places where your preferred brand is stashed. Withdraw it silently, slather some across a slice of fresh bread, and quickly replace it before anyone enters the kitchen. Select any one of perhaps a dozen jars of homemade jam in the fridge - or tiptoe upstairs to grab one from the closet - and generously coat the other slice.

Press slices together, tuck into a napkin and immediately leave the kitchen. Consume somewhere with good ventilation, preferably outdoors, where the tell-tale whiff of peanut butter will be carried away with the wind.

IFBC offers irresistible combination of food and family in Seattle

As a child, I could imagine no career more appealing than being a stewardess. You got to wear really sharp clothes and tell people important things, like how to behave in those tiny space-age bathrooms. 

You were in charge of the rolling beverage cart, whose adorable little bottles seemed to make grownups so cheerful. And you could magically quiet most children by piercing their new travel outfit with a flight wings pin with sharp metal points that looked just like the ones worn by reassuringly handsome pilots. We knew they were good looking because they'd often brush back cloth curtains to move about the cabin, chat and give lucky kids a pack of  airline-emblazoned playing cards.

Best of all, you delivered fancy meals to people who were leaving behind cold New Jersey winters to go to Florida to visit their grandparents. I mean, really. Did it get any better?

The role of flight attendants has grown a great deal more serious, of course, and one bite of a barely thawed snackwich makes it hard to believe that fine dining and hot towels were once as standard as screening passenger sneakers for explosives. 

As with the course of airline amenities, my journey also veered in a different direction: I have been a working writer for more than 30 years, first as a newspaper reporter, then as a state government communications director, and now as an editor (PhilanthropyJournal.org) and freelance food writer.

And yet, at the mid-point of a cross-country flight to attend the International Food Bloggers Conference in Seattle, I find myself considering similar obsessions. Food and drink will be a big part of my four-day visit, including a tour of one of Washington State's premiere wineries, Chateau St. Michelle. Instead of being awed by the flight crew - our stout male attendant was cheerless and stingy with the Biscoff cookies - I am giddy at the prospect of meeting keynote speaker Dorie Greenspan and presenter Kim O'Donnel. And I am eager to connect with food writers I know by social media avatar but wouldn't recognize if we  bumped while reaching for the same sponsored food sample.

And while my long-gone grandparents will not be there to greet me, I will be met at the baggage carousel by Jennie Schacht, a first cousin I discovered by chance via Facebook about two years ago. The author of several successful cookbooks, she is the granddaughter of my grandmother's sister and my grandfather's brother - that's right, two sisters married two brothers. I never met or knew much about this close branch on the family tree due to a mysterious, almost 70-year rift that we think we've pieced together. 

There are lots more Schachts, mostly on the west coast. I have been invited to have dinner with Jennie's parents, who are still stylish and vigorous in the 90s. I am bursting with anticipation. I will have been up about 18-plus hours (on three hours' sleep) by then and hope that I do not spoil this long-awaited moment by doing something goofy.

I've talked myself out of attending other costly food conferences but didn't even try with this one. The attraction of family, food and food writing - and in a great city like Seattle - was too much to resist. An IFBC survey indicates that many of the more than 300 registrants are just like me: writers with blogs and and big dreams.

In the past year, I have been fortunate to leverage my blog to land steady freelance work, first and most frequently with the award-winning alt-weekly INDY Week, which has a terrific editor and loyal readers. My slice of the food section includes personality profiles, quirky topics and the occasional restaurant review.

More recently, I have written a few pieces for The Local Palate, a lively new food and culture magazine out of Charleston, SC, and Our State, the beloved 80-year-old glossy that celebrates the best of  North Carolina. I hope to eventually see my name on the pages of Edible Piedmont, which has been recognized  for excellence by the Beard Foundation.

As a former newspaper reporter, I am comfortable with deadline writing and am especially looking forward to participating in IFBC's live blogging workshops. I'm interested in advice on how to beef up my blog and and make it  a more effective resource for reaching new readers and editors. I trust I won't be the only one in renowned New York Times food photographer Andrew Scrivani's workshop with an aged point-and-shoot digital camera. Actually, I'm hoping it will be somewhat skewed to camera-phone technology as I'm considering upgrading soon to have better still- and video-image options.

And, needless to say, I look forward to the tasting events where sponsors will show off their products and services and, fingers crossed, want to make connectionsi with new voices. Upon recommendation of folks who have been to IFBC before, I have packed lightly to allow plenty of room for samples, swag and business cards.

Empanadas: A pie by another name

Sandra Gutierrez will be the guest speaker for Culinary Historians of Piedmont North Carolina's (CHOP NC) launch of its fall event season at 7 p.m. Wednesday, Sept. 18, at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill. Snacks will be provided, including samples from Gutierrez's new book, "Latin American Street Food" (UNC Press).

Empanadas often feature savory ingredients, but this
simple recipe yields tender hand-held pies with
a filling of melted cream cheese and fruit paste.

A confession: I would sooner have pie than nearly any other dessert.

I spent hours, maybe weeks, cumulatively, gazing greedily at sweets featured like sparkling jewels in rotating display cases near the hostess stand in the diners of my New Jersey youth.  I was especially intrigued by the impossibly tall slices of lemon meringue pie and felt respect – no, giddy affection – for servers who managed to extricate slices without losing a single curl of toasty browned goodness.  

Today, I’m more inclined toward seasonal, two-crust concoctions stained with the volcanic eruptions of fresh fruit and sugar – not too much sugar, but just enough to leave a sticky trail on a plate that, if one is at home, one may lick clean without worry that some may tint the tip of one’s nose.

Another confession: I am a pie cheater.

No matter which respected chef or cookbook writer tells me how easy it is to make pie dough, I just don’t see the point. Mrs. Pillsbury has long been one of my dearest friends, followed closely by Mrs. Harris Teeter. With their able assistance, I have baked many pretty pies and rustic galettes that didn’t last long enough to fret over whether or not to refrigerate.

Now that we’re all friends, imagine me comfortably tucked into a stackable white plastic garden chair at Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh, where I arrived early last week to attend a launch event for my friend Sandra Gutierrez’s second cookbook, Latin American Street Foods: The Best Flavors of Markets, Beaches and Roadside Stands from Mexico to Argentina (UNC Press). Since I couldn’t daydream at the pie case, I pondered what I might write about for today’s #LetsLunch theme of pie. Now imagine my delight when I heard her describe empanadas – for which she’s currently drafting a definitive compilation to be published by Stewart, Tabori & Chang – as hand-held pies.

See where this is going? Follow me. As soon as I returned home I flipped through my copy of the book, which is beautifully photographed by Fred Thompson. I found what I was craving on page 234: Guava and Cream Cheese Empanadas. Si, mi amiga. Muy bien.

This is my kind of pie. It requires just four ingredients, two of which you likely have in your fridge. Instead of refrigerated pie dough, this calls for a visit to the freezer case for frozen pastry dough; ie, Mrs. Pepperidge Farm. Do not be confused or tempted by the phyllo dough, unless you want to repeat my crazed attempt to corral all those papery sheets and roll them into a 12-inch square. La gringa es loca.

While this no doubt would be heresy in Cuba (and most of Latin America), I substituted fancy packages of fig and plum paste I had hoarded in my cupboard for the guava. Be sure to crimp the triangular packets well to ensure that the fruit paste and cream cheese stays inside the pastry while baking. Mine leaked prodigiously, creating a surprisingly tasty mess that could be lifted in ribbons to top the meltingly delicious empanadas. Not the prettiest result, but hey – it’s all good when you’re eating pie.

Guava and Cream Cheese Empanadas (Empanadas de Queso y Guayaba)

Reprinted with permission of the University of North Carolina Press from LATIN AMERICAN STREET FOOD: THE BEST FLAVORS OF MARKETS, BEACHES, AND ROADSIDE STANDS FROM MEXICO TO ARGENTINA by Sandra A. Gutierrez. Copyright © 2013 by Sandra A. Gutierrez. 

In this classic Cuban turnover, nectarous guava paste meets tangy cream cheese and flaky puff pastry. Guava paste has a consistency similar to softened gumdrops—a bit pasty, very thick, and truly luscious when it melts. In a pinch, use the more readily available guava jelly. Make these pastries ahead of time and freeze them before you bake them; there is no need to thaw them. If in the middle of the afternoon you’re secretly craving one (or two or three!) of these decadent empanadas, simply throw them in a toaster oven, bake, and eat them to your heart’s content. It will be our little secret.

Makes 18 empanadas.

2 ready-to-bake puff pastry sheets (1.1-pound package), thawed according to package directions
10–12 ounces guava paste, sliced into 2-inch-long by ¼-inch-thick rectangles (see note)
10 ounces cream cheese, sliced into 2-inch-long by ¼-inch-thick rectangles
Egg wash made of 1 large egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water

Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. Preheat the oven to 400°F. On a clean, lightly floured surface, roll out one puff pastry sheet to form a 12-inch square; using a sharp knife or pastry wheel, cut it into 9 (4×4-inch) squares.

Brush a pastry square with egg wash. Place one piece of the cream cheese on top of a guava paste rectangle and place the stack on the diagonal in the center of the pastry square. Bring the two opposite corners of the pastry together to form a triangle; seal the edges with your fingers and then crimp the edges decoratively using the tines of a fork. Repeat with the rest of the ingredients.

Place the filled empanadas on the prepared sheets and brush the tops with egg wash. Bake until golden, about 15–20 minutes. Serve them warm or at room temperature.

Note: If you’re using guava jelly, you’ll need 1 tablespoon for each empanada.

Turkey, Sweet Potato and Black Bean Enchiladas

My husband has declared war on our pantry. Until items can be withdrawn without making others tumble forth - and, ideally, until what's in the back can be seen from the front - there is a moratorium on the purchase of staples.

Frankly, this is a good thing. Our cupboards reveal me for the sort of spontaneous shopper that supermarket designers dream about. I cannot resist a display of  unfamiliar grains. Cans of heirloom whatever seem to magically spring from the shelf to my basket. And let's not forget the multitudes of home-canned goods upstairs, which Tim frequently observes "will get us through a nuclear winter."

A forced assessment of one's stockpile can be an invitation for easy, creative dinners. When I first described this one to Graham, he gave me a look that suggested he might instead sup on any one of a dozen cans of soup on hand. He later declared that it look great and tasted delicious. A cook once, eat twice recipe, we finished it for today's lunch.

The only thing I had to purchase for this meal was fresh ground turkey and a package of tortillas. It can be easily tweaked with whatever you've got stashed in your pantry and fridge.

Turkey, Sweet Potato and Black Bean Enchiladas  
Six servings.

1 tbsp. vegetable oil
3/4 cup onion, diced
salt and freshly ground black pepper
2/3 lb. ground turkey, preferably thigh meat
dash of red chiles
1 pint black beans, rinsed
1 15-oz. can sweet potato puree (or pumpkin or squash)
1 ear of corn, cut (or about 1 cup frozen, thawed)
1 8-oz. package shredded mozzarella
6 large tortillas
1 15-oz. can sweet potato puree (or pumpkin or squash)
Shredded cabbage or salad greens
1/2 avocado, diced
Hot sauce and lime wedges

Preheat over to 400 degrees.

In a large skillet, sauté onion in oil over medium heat. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and cook until translucent.

Increase heat and add ground turkey and dash of red chiles to the pan, breaking up turkey with a heatproof spatula. Cook until no turkey is longer pink; do not drain. Remove from heat and cool 5-10 minutes.

Transfer rinsed black beans to a large bowl, lightly mashing about half of them. Add sweet potato puree, corn and cooked turkey mixture, stirring well to combine.

Dampen each tortilla with drops of water then place on a microwave safe dish and cover with plastic wrap. Cook on high for 30-45 seconds, or until warm and pliable.

Arrange about 1/4 cup shredded mozzarella and generous 1/2 cup mixture down the middle of each tortilla. Roll each snugly and tuck seam-side down in a 9x12-inch casserole dish lightly coated with vegetable oil spray. Pour enchilada sauce evenly over stuffed tortillas. Add about 2 tablespoons of water into the sauce pouch, swish, then pour along inside long edges of the casserole pan. Top with remaining mozzarella cheese.

Cover with foil and bake about 15 minutes. Remove foil and cook about 8-10 minutes more, until cheese is melted. Serve over a bed of shredded cabbage or salad greens and top with diced avocado; offer hot sauce and lime wedges on the side. Remember to take a picture before it's all gone.

Chef Michael Twitty explores the culinary traditions of African slaves

This article first appeared in Indy Week. For information about the Sept. 7 event at Historic Stagville, call 919-620-0120 or email ernest.dollar@gmail.com.

Michael Twitty, a descandant
of North Carolina slaves, as he
appear swhen presenting
historic interpretations.

The Southeastern seaboard is where thousands of shackled, malnourished African slaves emerged from hellish journeys to find odd comfort in growing conditions reasonably similar to their homelands.

Historian and chef Michael Twitty has dedicated his life's work to the study of African slave foodways and how they spread from the Southeastern plantations and farms.Here, displaced Africans longing for a taste of home developed a sort of fusion fare by blending their native traditions with available resources.

Those lucky enough to be assigned work in hot kitchens understood that their job was to cover huge tables with elegantly presented foods and stay out of sight while their white mistresses became renowned hostesses. They were powerless when keepers claimed the recipes as their own, sometimes publishing popular cookbooks that now serve as roadmaps to culinary historians.

Twitty's efforts to reveal these much-discounted labors and to genetically connect contemporary citizens with their slave roots have been recognized by the Smithsonian Institution, Colonial Williamsburg and Monticello, among others. On Sept. 7, during a fundraising event he will lead at Historic Stagville in Durham, he intends to disclose findings of his own genetic testing.

Previous research confirmed Twitty's connection to Halifax County fields that once were the property of his great-great-great-grandfather, Richard Henry Bellamy. This in turn confirmed at least two direct links back to Africa.

Twitty was intentional about coming to Stagville, which comprises the remnants of one of the largest plantations of the pre-Civil War South, to learn more about his own story. In 1860, about 900 slaves worked its almost 30,000 acres of land.

"On the eve of the Civil War, a third of the population of North Carolina was enslaved. That's a critical fact," he says. "I am a descendant of enslaved North Carolina people and planters—both sides of the fence. I take it with me everywhere I go."

Twitty has traveled throughout the South on his crowd-funded research trips, including last summer's Southern Discomfort Tour, which launched in Chapel Hill with a presentation to Culinary Historians of Piedmont North Carolina. He has been invited to present on his work, including the Stagville event, at a culinary justice conference held in August in Denmark.

Given all this, it seems like poetic justice that his labors received an unexpected boost this summer from a most unlikely source: a woman, once celebrated for her deep-fried Southern excess, who got caught using the N-word in a legal deposition about harassment of a black employee. His eloquent treatise, "An Open Letter to Paula Deen," was posted quietly on his Afroculinaria website on June 25 but quickly went viral. Twitty not only dismantles Deen's romantic notions of slave life but also invites her to start making amends by volunteering to help at the Stagville fundraiser.

"I wanted her to see the remnants of that world and walk through those cabins, which is a very different place from the magnolia plantations some people prefer to think about," he says. "I haven't heard from anyone in her camp so I can't assume that she knows about it. If she was to show up, that would be cool. But it's not going to be the basis of my day. I want to have authentic food on the table and educate people."

Acclaimed Atlanta chef Hugh Acheson, author of A New Turn in the South, has volunteered his help and will speak at the event. "His pea soup is a recipe that really speaks to all of these roots in a modern context," says Twitty, who also has established partnerships with several Triangle and Piedmont providers, including farmers of color. "It's a beautiful message about collaboration and the continuum of history."

Daytime events at Stagville, which are free and open to the public, will include demonstrations of plantation life, including rustic cooking methods. The evening fundraiser features a $75 dinner in the former Horton Grove slave quarters.

"I want people to know that menu is not fancy. It represents the narratives of enslaved people," states Twitty, who spent months researching what was grown and consumed from slave gardens. "Almost everything on the menu is from the mouth of an enslaved person in North Carolina."

Options will include slow-smoked pork and chicken barbecue, roasted sweet potatoes, savory cornmeal kush and sweet peach cobbler.

"We want people to think about the everyday reality of their lives and how food shaped their culture," he says. "We want them to get into the heads, as well as the bellies, of enslaved people."

Quick fig jam

Tim bought a bowlful of small turkey figs at the farmer's market on Saturday morning. Their sweet perfume was like a magnet, drawing anyone near to stop what they were doing and nibble a handful.

This morning, their sweetness was already yielding to some not so delicious soft fuzz. I figured I better turn them into jam quickly or risk having to throw them all away.

Since I barely had 1 1/2 lbs. of figs left, I added a firm, coarsely grated pear as an extender. Some sugar, lemon juice and zest - and a finishing splash of Cointreau - and I had seven 4-ounce jars of jam. It's good on toast and would be a welcome accompaniment to a cheese plate.

Fig and Pear Jam

1 1/2 lbs. diced fresh figs
1 large firm pear, grated (with skin)
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 tablespoon freshly grated lemon zest
2 tablespoons Cointreau (optional)

Combine first four ingredients in wide, heavy-bottom canning pot. Stir to combine and let sit at least 30 minutes.

Sterilize seven 4-ounce canning jars and prepare lids and rings.

Bring mixture to a boil and cook, stirring often, for 8-10 minutes. As jam thickens, it will pull away from bottom and briefly leave a gap as you stir through. Add lemon zest in the final minute and stir to combine.

Remove from heat. Pour in Cointreau and stir. Using a wide-mouth funnel, fill jars and wipe rims with a damp cloth. Add lids and rings. Place in water bath and boil for 10 minutes. Remove and arrange on a heatproof surface to cool.

Miriam Rubin: 50 Shades of Tomatoes

This post first appeared in Indy Week.

For several months, Miriam Rubin lived a life of cruel irony. The author of Tomatoes, a volume in the Savor the South series by UNC Press, had been receiving positive feedback since its March release. As late as June, however, she was suffering tomato envy in her chilly southwestern corner of Pennsylvania while Southern friends were standing over sinks slurping juicy sandwiches.

"I have always been a tomato fiend and really missed ripe ones," says Rubin, longtime food columnist for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette and colleague of UNC culinary historian Marcie Cohen Ferris. "There's just nothing like it. It's the taste of summer. Holding a fresh-picked tomato makes me want to carry it off to the kitchen and have my way with it."

Rubin tasted countless varieties in preparation for Tomatoes, which includes nearly 50 ways to enjoy them. Recipes are organized in eight categories, ranging from starters and soups to tomato salads, main dishes (including pies and cobblers) and sides, sauces and gravies, and preserves and juices.

While she ardently urges consumers to choose locally grown tomatoes, the former chef admits a particular passion for those raised under Southern sunshine. The practice of growing tomatoes in the South began in the late 17th century, but the once dubious member of the nightshade family did not commonly appear in regional cookbooks for another 100 years. Rubin's research identified no particular variety that is original to the region but notes that Alex and Betsy Hitt, legendary growers at the Carrboro Farmers Market, favor the sturdy Cherokee Purple.

"They're especially good for growing in your area," Rubin says. "Because of the heat and humidity, tomatoes crack. There's no scientific evidence, but I believe it's true that the purple skin helps to keep them intact."
Rubin suggests that fresh tomatoes of nearly any pedigree gain instant Southern provenance, however, when tucked between soft white bread and coated with a slather of mayonnaise. The same goes for tomatoes stewed with okra and onions or, if still green, pressed into cornmeal and fried to a golden crisp in an old iron skillet.

Rubin is keen on the Zebra, which is green when ripe, and she is among the many devotees of the Sungold, the tiny orange orbs some consider tomato candy. "My newspaper editor's son loves them. He'll eat the whole plant's worth, like he's a deer," she says.

As that child has already figured out, tomatoes are best, and should be enjoyed in abundance, at peak season. Minimize handling picked tomatoes until they are ready to use to avoid bruising, which hastens rot. And for the love of all things Southern, do not refrigerate them or expose their innards to the elements unless you are ready to dine.

"They are are very sensitive—or maybe I am," Rubin says. "A chilled tomato, or one sliced hours before, is just not worth eating."

Rubin has about 30 tomato plants in her garden of 21 varieties. She is one of those people likely to leave a box of tomatoes on your doorstep without a note or clue. "But not in my own neighborhood," she says. "Everyone grows them here. I have a hard time with the idea of 'too many tomatoes,' but it does happen."

When fresh varieties are unavailable, Rubin suggests options for using those canned at peak flavor. Avoid the "bad old cardboard supermarket tomato, shipped green, gassed with ethylene so it 'pinks up.'"

While reluctant to pick a favorite among Tomatoes' recipes, Rubin says she often makes the Open-Face Tomato Pie as soon as she can harvest juicy orbs from her own garden.

"I'm always grateful to have leftovers for lunch," she says. "Problem is, it's usually gone in one sitting."

---

Open-Face Tomato Pie

Makes 4 main-dish servings
Pastry for a 9-inch single-crust pie (can be store-bought)
4-5 medium, firm-but-ripe tomatoes (1 1/2 pounds)
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt, divided
1 1/4 cups shredded sharp white cheddar cheese, divided
1/2 cup plain panko crumbs
1/4 cup thinly sliced red onion
3/4 cup mayonnaise
1/3 cup chopped basil
2 tablespoons thinly sliced chives
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Fit the pastry into a 9-inch pie plate and form a high, fluted edge. Prick all over with a fork. Pit a sheet of foil inside the pastry and fill the foil with dried beans or rice. Bake until the pastry is set and white at the edges, 10-12 minutes. Remove the foil and beans or rice, return the pastry to the oven, and bake until it's brown in spots, 8-10 more minutes. If it starts to slip down, press it back in place with a spoon. Cool on a wire rack.

Halve and core the tomatoes and cut them crosswise into 1/4-inch thick half-moon slices, discarding the ends. (You should have a heaping 3 cups.) Place the tomatoes lives on a double layer of paper towels and sprinkle with 1/2 teaspoon of the salt. Let stand for about 5 minutes.

Toss 1/2 cup of the cheddar with the panko crumbs in a small bowl. Sprinkle half of this evenly over the bottom of the cooled crust. Arrange half of the tomato in an overlapping circle on top of the crumbs, filling the center with more slices. Sprinkle with half of the red onion and 1/4 cup of the cheddar. Arrange the remaining tomatoes in the same manner of top; sprinkle with the remaining red onion.

Mix the mayonnaise, basil, chives, remaining 1/2 cup cheddar, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt in a small bowl. Spread of tomatoes with a rubber spatula, cover them completely, using your fingers to help since the mixture is thick. Sprinkle with the remaining crumb-cheese mixture.

Bake the pie until the top is browned and the filling has started to bubble at the edges, 45-50 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack and let stand for at least 30 minutes for easiest cutting. Serve warm or at room temperature, cut into wedges.

Reprinted with permission of Miriam Rubin from Tomatoes, UNC Press (© 2013).