Too much at the market.

Lewisburg.

Ah, farmers' markets. The impulse-buy opportunities alone are a wonderful means to expanding the range of cooking experiences. Novelties in central Pennsylvania are few and far between, but just the act of buying too much of this or that forces a certain sort of creativity. This week, a surplus of pears and a sign for Cornish game hens was all I needed.



They're definitely small birds; though the price per pound's higher than your average pasture-raised bird, they still make for an occasional treat. Plus, everything takes less time and makes less mess.¹ Brining takes just a few hours, and the birds cook so quickly that they'll race to overdone if you let your attention lapse. Roasting would make for a nice, if a bit precious, presentation, but I wanted some more char.

I'd strongly considered the grill, and I'm sure it would have worked well.² But the extra effort and time to get the grill going meant we wouldn't eat until late. The broiler, however, fires up in moments. It may not have much in the way of smokiness to offer - except for occasionally setting off the smoke alarm - but it does get very, very hot. After butterflying³ the birds, just sixteen minutes⁴ under the broiler had it over and done with. A fresh mesclun salad and some buttered, whole wheat spätzle rounded out the meal.

Dessert was an equally rustic⁵ affair. I'd bought too many pears, and they were all turning ripe and threatening to become overripe more or less immediately. If they'd been apples, maybe I'd've made a pie. Or applesauce. Pears aren't the best pie fruit, though, and while I like adding a few to applesauce for variety, it's not exactly their forte. A galette, though, had a few things going for it.



For starters, my pie-fluting skills are adequate at best. And though a pie is a good way of using up lots of extra fruit, I didn't have that much. I had four. More than we were going to eat that night, but hardly enough to fill a pie pan. So I sliced them, tossed with a little sugar and flour, piled them atop a thin layer of blueberry jam on the crust, and called it good enough.

The galette - pretty much a fruit pizza - is supposed to look rustic. Or so I tell myself. And less filling means there's more crust to enjoy; more buttery, flaky crust. Which I'm finally beginning to get the knack for. (Note: the food processor makes it nearly idiot-proof.) And, in one of my favorite realizations, I found that there's no worry about burning the rim of the crust. Without the worry of undercooking the filling - without a two-inch-deep layer of apples to soften - the galette's done as soon as the crust looks perfectly browned.

Would I make it again? Inasmuch as I now have too many apples sitting on the countertop... the Magic 8 Ball says, "Signs point to yes".

* * * * *

¹Assuming you don't count that point where you decide it's much easier to eat with fingers rather than utensils.

²Especially with some wood chips to add a smoky flavor. I'd done that with a sirloin tip roast just a week or two earlier, and it was a reminder of just how spectacular a carefully cooked piece of meat can be.

³Cutting out the spine with a pair of scissors, then pressing it all flat. Flattening the bird means it'll cook through much faster and more evenly, and puts almost all the skin on one side for controlled crisping.

⁴Ten minutes on the "skinless" side, followed by six minutes of charring up the skin to crispy deliciousness.

⁵Read: lazy.