Pumpkin Panna Cotta

The Midwest has its own quirks, as does any region. It isn't until you leave the area for awhile that they suddenly become apparent (and oh do they become apparent). I've moved around a bit in my 20s—living in North Dakota, Minnesota, Montana, and Wisconsin for various lengths of time—but it wasn't until I spent some time in Europe that my Midwestern quirks really began to show.

As a child of the Midwest, I would occasionally see television shows or movies that would mock the Minnesotan "yah, sure, ya betcha" accent (Fargo and New in Town, I'm looking at you). Unlike the classic Minnesotan accent (which, by the way, is greatly exaggerated and I haven't met a soul who actually speaks like that except this woman), the quirks of the Midwest seem to stay in the Midwest. In fact, we hardly recognize we have them.

Lately, I've noticed the Midwestern use of the phrase I s'pose. Let's be clear; it is never "I suppose." It's I s'pose. Around the Midwest, this turn of phrase is used frequently and I've only recently started realizing just how often I use it myself. I s'pose has come to mean I-don't-want-to-talk-to-you-anymore when you are on the phone or I'd-really-like-to-be-going-now when you are visiting someone in person. It's perceived to be very polite, but it's nevertheless effective.

For instance, when on the phone with a relative or friend, simply saying "Well, I s'pose" will signal the end of the conversation and the goodbyes will soon begin. Just recently, when my family had the relatives over for Thanksgiving, everyone was sitting in the living room and it was getting late into the evening. My uncle said the magic words I s'pose in a short lull of conversation and everyone immediately stood up to head on home.

Who knew such a simple, grammatically incorrect phrase could hold so much power?

Perhaps the biggest Midwestern quirk is our pronunciation of very simple words. We use long vowels instead of short vowels in certain situations. Simple words like bag, magazine, or dragon are pronounced with the long a sound (as in baby or mate) instead of the short a sound (as in cat or mat). While most Midwesterners would hardly bat an eye at this, I've found you do get made fun of for it when you venture out into the rest of the world (and I have, on several occasions).

This was never more apparent to me than when I was at a grocery store checkout in England. I was packing my purchases up in my backpack when I realized everything didn't fit and I would need another bag. I asked the lady for a bag (using the long vowel "a") and she stared at me like I had grown a second head. "A bag?"

"Yes, a bag? One of those?" I said, pointing to the paper bags in her hand.

She still stared at me, uncomprehending this seemingly ridiculous request.

"A BAG?" I said once more, confused, resorting to miming the shape and function of a bag to get my point across.

"Oh, you mean a bag." She said, using the short vowel a, looking sorry for me, as if I had gone through my life mispronouncing such a simple word.

What quirks do you notice in the regions where you live?

Pumpkin pie has been a staple of the holiday season for as long as any of us remember (and for good reason, too—it's delicious!). This Pumpkin Panna Cotta is a twist on the traditional pumpkin pie. With the buttery crust gone, the pumpkin filling finally has a chance to truly shine on its own. Panna Cotta is essentially a thick custard and, when combined with the flavors and spices of the classic pumpkin pie, it becomes the perfect substitute to the real deal. Once you taste your first bite, I have a feeling you will forget pumpkin pie ever had a crust.

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Cranberry Sauce

I often find that cranberry sauce is a necessary, but neglected part of the holiday season. Rarely have I found a Thanksgiving table without some kind of cranberry sauce or spread, but often there are only a few spoonfuls missing (and the bowl is never licked clean). While I can understand this phenomenon of the forgotten cranberry (after all, there is turkey, potatoes, vegetables, fruits, breads, and desserts to distract), I'm afraid this doesn't excuse the crime. I am just as guilty as I may have ignored the poor cranberry sauce in favor of my grandmother's famous stuffing on plenty of occasions.

I feel troubled for the cranberry sauce. The vegetable tray already knows there will be plenty of leftovers to go around (in a battle of sweet potato casserole versus a celery stalk, there is a clear winner), but the cranberry sauce still holds hope within it's small berries. It has big dreams of finding a home arranged across a slice of turkey breast and those hopes so often fall flat.

Homemade cranberry sauce differs greatly from canned cranberry sauce. For one, homemade cranberry sauce doesn't make that awful slurping sound as it falls out of the can (once heard, it can never be unheard. Beware). Secondly, it doesn't hold its shape. When the ribbing from the can is evident in the final product, I'm not sure this is something you'll want to serve to your guests. Now I know not all store-bought sauces feature the rim-lined, gelatin appearance, but I will still argue that they won't be as delicious as a simple homemade spread.

And certainly never as delicious as this particular one.

If you are hosting a holiday this year, but scoff at my claims that homemade cranberry sauce is really worth the time and effort, let me make my case.

Cranberry sauce is surprisingly easy to make, requiring a handful of ingredients and roughly 10 minutes time (with only a few moments you actually need to pay attention). Subtle changes and adaptations will customize the sauce to precisely fit your tastes, neither too sweet or too tart. And, the kicker—you can make this cranberry sauce today and it will keep fresh until the special day.

Today.

Now you don't have any excuses.

What are your feelings on cranberry sauce? Do you also feel it is a necessary, but overlooked component of holiday meals?

This Cranberry Sauce is fresh, light, and perfectly suited to your holiday meal. Instead of cooking my cranberries down in water (which so many recipes call for), I cooked them in orange juice, which adds fantastic orange tones to the final product. I also spiced the sauce faintly with cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice which brings the sauce a well rounded, full-bodied flavor without tasting like a dessert. This recipe is adaptable, so feel free to adjust the amount of sugar for a sweeter or tarter cranberry sauce to suit your taste buds (you can start with less sugar and add more upon taste testing). If you have any leftovers, they are perfect as a dressing for leftover turkey sandwiches or a topping for your next bowl of ice cream.

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Caramel Apple Tart

I love caramel apples. In fact, they make the short list of my not-so guilty pleasures. Around autumn, I slowly begin to have a singular focus for those sweet bites of heaven on a stick. Eventually it builds to a climax and I suddenly find myself in the candy aisle buying sweets I never allow myself to buy the rest of the year. Butterfingers, Twix bars, M&Ms, roasted peanuts, Snickers bars, toffee...

I turn into a sugar monster, leaving the store with an extra fifteen thousand calories in tow.

Unfortunately for me, I have only successfully made caramel apples once, long ago, before I had a place to share beautiful food with you. Once. Nevertheless, my caramel apple cravings don't cease. Every year I give them another try, if not twice or thrice, hoping this will be the year they turn out. I can gather the apples, freshly picked from trees, and buy copious amounts of sugar and chocolate, but I can never seem to get the caramel to hug the apples. Instead, it sinks to the bottom of the apples forming sweet, mournful puddles.

The recipe doesn't seem to matter, nor does the intensity in which I watch the mercury rise in my candy thermometer. Perhaps I am cursed, never to produce beautiful caramel apples again (though beautiful or not, those sweet apples are promptly devoured anyway).

So this year, after my caramel apples failed to turn out yet again (curse you, caramel apple gods!), I turned to new ideas and recipes to share this flavor combination with you. Perhaps the saving grace to come out of this sad situation is that, if I didn't have such poor luck with caramel apples, these gorgeous tarts may have never been born.

Now that would be truly devastating. The world needs more cinnamon apples drowned in an orange citrus caramel overflowing a sweet, almond shortbread crust. Don't you agree?

These Caramel Apple Tarts are a perfect treat served warmed on a cold fall day. Apples are coated in cinnamon and orange zest before being covered in an orange citrus caramel and set in an almond shortbread crust to bake. The hint of orange really lends a greater depth of flavor to these tarts. Though the recipe may appear intimidating in length, the steps are not difficult. I simply went into greater detail than usual to help you along the way.

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