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Posts Tagged ‘Pie Corps’

“There’s a Jazz Festival at Governors Island in late August,” my sister said.

All right.

“Oh, and there’s going to be a major food event at the New Amsterdam Market—something like a dozen vendors will be bringing their homemade ice cream for public tasting.”

You guys know me by now, right? Show of hands—who thinks I went?

I put on a thirties-style dress and matching jacket, white gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat. When my sister, brother-in-law and I got to the Market, a guy stopped me and told me I looked like I just got off the Titanic. Which really doesn’t makes sense, seeing as no one got off the Titanic.

But there was food to be eaten. I didn’t argue with him, and instead did the intelligent thing: I took off to buy a fruit tart.

Ahoy.

Pie Corps is a one of the nicest ideas I’ve ever heard of: from-scratch pies, tarts and hand pies, and a dizzying selection on their one little stand. The below knocked me out. It’s a s’more baked as a tart, with a graham-cracker crust, a layer of ganache (a chocolate/cream icing) and toasted marshmallow fluff bruleed on top. Killed me that I didn’t try it, but it was giant and I wanted to save my dessert appetite for ice cream.

Guess what's inside?

Instead I got the below, an Eccles tart, named after a city in England. It’s a wonderfully flaky crust filled with raisins, brandy, nuts and other things that taste Christmasy together. I know, I should have had lunch first. But one of the best things about being a grownup is that no one makes you.

Next stop was to Hudson Valley Duck Farm’s stand, behind which stood a smiling guy. Well, he sells duck salami. Rich, gamey, salty, tender. Prettiness on a stick.

Jewel-like heirloom cherry tomatoes.

Okay, okay, time for actual lunch. Worth the wait when it’s Luke’s Lobster’s half crab sandwich: bun spread with melted butter, doctored-up mayonnaise, and cold, shredded sweet crab. Oh heaven.

Couldn’t believe it—they were selling sarsaparilla! If you’ve never had it, this comes from a root, like root beer does. (Really? What gave it away?) and it tastes like a lighter version of root beer. Awesome, kicky, bubbly—not syrupy or too sweet. I pronounce it sass-pa-RILL-a, the way the voice-over guy from Schoolhouse Rock did back in the ’70s when he sang about pronouns: “Rufus Xavier Sarsaparilla.”

So here’s how the ice cream thing went: You buy a bunch of tickets, and one ticket gets you one little baby ice cream. Most of the flavors were made with locally-sourced ingredients, which always makes me happy. It’s an all-around win: the farmers and purveyors don’t have to go far, the produce can be picked at its most delectable ripeness, and we get to taste, and can take pride in, what we grow right at home. We ate ice cream made with wild beach plums from south Jersey,  from sweet corn grown in Flemington, from homegrown chocolate-mint.

We smiled all the way home.

Rapidly-melting ice cream shot with my sticky fingers.

Two happy customers.

bent spoon (Princeton). I loved their salted caramel.

Beach plum ice cream--tart and yummy.

Buttermilk-espresso cookie ice cream.


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