Very funny. Yes, it’s called Pandowdy, and yes, Ginger Peach sounds like she’s waiting tables at Dollywood, and yes, it’s the finest reward of summer. We’ll make it – but first, let me tell you about that tomato up there, and what it’s got to do with Ginger.

The wonderful Margaret Roach, she of A Way to Garden and The Sister Project, invited me to participate in Summer Fest 2009. The Fest is a regular cross-blogging party: every week a new food-from-the-garden theme gets turned over to several stellar bloggers, including Margaret, Matt Armendariz of Mattbites, Jaden Hair of Steamy Kitchen, and Todd and Diane of White on Rice Couple. Also popping up: Shauna and Daniel Ahern from Gluten-Free Girl, Paige Smith Orloff of The Sister Project, and, for the love of pie crust, me.

And also you! Summer Fest is a great way to find new blogs, get new ideas and contribute a few of your own.

Summer Fest 2009

Tuesday, July 28: HERBS

Tuesday, August 4: FRUITS from TREES

Visit all of these terrific bloggers for amazing recipes, gorgeous photos, funny stories, and to share your own tips!

• Margaret Roach @ A Way to Garden: Peach Clafoutis
• Paige Smith Orloff @ The Sister Project: Plum Tarte Tatin
• Jaden Hair @ Steamy Kitchen: Chanterelle, Bacon and Plum Salad with Blue Cheese
• Diane & Todd @ White on Rice Couple: Refreshing Peach Coolers
• Matt Armendariz @ Mattbites: Apricot Ice Cream
  

Tuesday, August 11: BEANS-AND-GREENS WEEK (either or both, your choice).

Tuesday, August 18: TOMATO WEEK

Hopscotch around these great blogs, find what you like and please leave something to share, like recipes, links or tips. Do you have great tomato plants, a super apricot dessert? Introduce yourself, and comment away.  If you’ve got a blog, grab the juicy red Summer Fest badge (created by Matt) and create a post of your own. You can swing by every breezy, delicious week – it’s summer. It’s a Fest. And all are welcome.

Now let’s return to our heroine, Ginger Peach. For my Fest guest spot this week, we’re making Ginger Peach Pandowdy, and we already know it’s hilarious, a cross between long-legged Daisy Duke and pale old Aunt Em. Oh, Auntie Em. When you live in Kansas, there’s no escaping Oz talk. Not here, of course – I mean the Oz talk waiting for luggage at JFK, or at a party in Santa Monica or on a boat down the Amazon, for that matter. If a rainforest tribesman heard you were from Kansas, I’ve no doubt he’d thump his stick and say, “Dorothy! Toto too.”

I moved here from Chicago and Greg hails from suburban Kansas City, suburbs like any other. Our university town, Lawrence, is full of artisan ales and sushi, scholars and lawyers and Kobe burgers. So what’s the matter with Kansas? Well, you can love the place – we do – but because it’s Kansas you’ll be on the defensive, for the rest of your sensible Midwestern life.  You will, at some point, be confronted by guffawing conventioneers on one coast or another, slapping you on the back and demanding your ruby slippers.

C’est la vie Kansan.

And I’m sharing all this because? Well, I’d originally planned a different dessert, Ginger-Peach Empanadas, but then my mother called, and Josie required a chauffeur, and then a house fell on my head and there were little people. No, it did not work out at all. But I did salvage the peaches and the dough, and used them to make something else.  I must say it was a masterful repurposing, in line with my beloved chef-mentor’s mantra, “We don’t eat our mistakes. We fix them.”

I loved this ginger-kissed bottomless pie, and suddenly full of can-do spirit, I envisioned a philosophical post about beating obstacles, and silver linings. I photographed the dish, sugared and sparkling, but as I breathed in peachy steam through the lens, I realized what I’d actually baked: a Pandowdy.

Now, there are cobblers, crisps, Bettys, buckles, grunts and even slumps – and then, there is the truly old-fashioned Pandowdy: a dessert of fresh fruit baked under pie crust shapes. But Pandowdy did not sound like Ginger-Peach Empanadas. “Empanada did sound more exciting,” said Josie. “Cobbler. Can’t it be a cobbler?”

“No,” I told her, with a heavy blogger’s heart, “it’s a Pandowdy.”

And no matter. We accept the names of things and look for what lies beneath, striving to never judge dessert by its topping. Besides, that Ginger Peach – she’s a swell girl, not dowdy at all, and proud to be who she is: homey, sweet, a few piercings. And more than a little bit spicy.

GINGER PEACH PANDOWDY

Pie Dough

3 cups unsifted all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon powdered ginger
4 oz (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut in chunks
4 oz shortening, cold, in chunks
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 extra-large egg yolks, cold
4 tablespoons ice water, or more as needed

To make dough by hand: Stir flour, salt and powdered ginger together in large bowl. Scatter butter and shortening chunks over flour mixture. Using pastry blender or two knives, “cut” the butter/shortening into the flour, crumbling with hands as necessary, until mixture resembles coarse cornmeal. Sprinkle sugar over mixture and stir in quickly. Blend egg yolks and water in small bowl, then pour over flour mixture. Combine everything (using hands) to make a smooth, firm dough. If dough seems dry, add ice water in drops, mixing to combine. Turn out dough onto parchment, wax paper or lightly floured surface, pressing to form a smooth, flat round. Cut dough in half, wrap each half, and chill until ready to use.

To make dough in food processor: Place flour, salt and powdered ginger in work bowl of processor fitted with steel blade. Pulse a few times just to combine. Add butter/shortening chunks over flour and process, using on-off pulses, until fat is reduced to large flakes. Sprinkle with sugar, and pulse 1-2 seconds to blend. Beat egg yolk and ice water in small bowl, then pour over flour mixture. Pulse mixture to combine, using on-off pulses, just until a rough dough begins to come together. If dough seems too dry, add extra drops of water and pulse just until dough combines. Turn out dough onto parchment, wax paper or lightly floured surface, pressing to form a smooth, flat round. Cut dough in half, wrap each half, and chill until ready to use.

Ginger Peach Filling

2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
pinch sea salt
7 large peaches, peeled, pitted, cubed and tossed with 2 teaspoons lemon juice
finely grated zest of 1 small lemon
1/2 cup (approx. 3 oz.) crystallized ginger, chopped in small dice
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 tablespoon milk or half-and-half
1 tablespoon water
Demerara (turbinado, raw cane) sugar for sprinkling (or granulated)

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Whisk together cornstarch, granulated sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon and sea salt in large bowl. Add the peaches, lemon zest, crystallized ginger and vanilla, and toss well to combine. Pour filling into deep oval or rectangular baking dish, and set aside while you roll pie dough. (A lower, wider rectangular dish, like a 9 x 13 pan, will work but will result in a shorter layer of fruit.)

Assemble and bake pandowdy:

Roll out both chilled dough halves on a lightly floured surface, 1/4 – 1/2″ thick. Using a 2 – 3″ round cookie cutter, stamp circles from dough, gathering scraps and re-rolling until done. Set aside a small amount of dough for fluted rim and top decorations, if desired.

Now, starting on one side of peach-filled baking dish, top fruit with rows of dough circles, overlapping to form a “fish scale” pattern. Repeat until all fruit is is covered, pinching edges to sides of dish.

Fluted rim and decorations, optional: using both hands, roll reserved pie dough into long rope pieces. Press ropes around top edges of dish, pinching to join with dough circles. When finished, pinch rope edge down so that short triangles stick up, working around rim until done. Decorations: roll and cut “peach,” leaf or heart shapes, as desired. Brush back of decorations with water, and arrange atop dough circles.

Mix milk (or half-and-half) with water in small dish, then brush mixture over top of pandowdy. Sprinkle liberally with demerara (or granulated) sugar.

Place baking dish on cookie sheet (to catch drips) and bake in center of preheated oven for 20 – 30 minutes, until top crust browns and fruit juices bubble through. Serve warm, with ice cream.

Or maybe my tart-lipped, gussied-up cousin is all “I-say-nothing” just because she’s made in France.

Yeah? Well, look at me!

I’m pressed too! Pressed right here on the counter.

So what if they bring that fresh lemon juice right to the table on a shiny tray, with a pitcher of water and tiny sugar cubes and a precious silver spoon. What of it?

So what if everybody gets to mix their sugar by themselves over there and, you know, adjust the taste?

I get my sugar dumped in, my friend. Dumped. One size sweetness fits all. Oh dear – I guess that isn’t very refined…but…but…I refresh them! I have a purpose!

Still nothing, eh? Okay, Citron Presse, that is enough.

You think Maitre d’ Antoine down there cares about serving you more than me? You are le wrong, cousin. You are just euros in the bank to him. But me, Limeade…

…they love me in Kansas. They worship me, pal, they need me. They sip me and guzzle me and when it’s 100 degrees they would like to shower in me.

Especially that Josie. She doesn’t care about your ooh-la-la drinks and your fancy chairs and lemony pressay-voo, no sir.

Crap.

Oh, fine.

Look – now I am le fancy Limeade. But don’t expect this every time.

Good Kansas Limeade

5 limes
about 1 quart water
1/2 cup sugar (to start)
2 cups ice
extra limes for slicing

To get the most juice from them, roll and press limes with your hands. Cut limes in half and juice, manually or with juice press. Pour juice into pitcher, add sugar and few lime slices. Mix together and stir in ice cubes. Begin to add the water, stirring and stopping to taste. Adjust limeade by adding water or sugar.

Serve over ice with more lime slices and, if desired, other fruit garnish.

Get Fancy! For a true Kansas City treat, make Cherry Limeade by adding maraschino cherries and their juice.

Where is the ultimate limeade meal? Click and see.

Surely it’s no coincidence that we moved back here and they win again. Our pleasure to help out, Coach Self – any time!

In other news (there’s other news?) Lawrence landed on Prevention magazine’s list of the 100 most walkable cities in America. Woo-hoo, number 38! If you live near the historic center of this college town, it’s true – you can walk to school, banks, drugstores, restaurants, movies…and a lot of very good coffee.

I was going to write a whole serious-sounding piece on why it’s really important to have walkable cities, but last night’s basketball bonanza reminded me why living near a lively downtown full of sidewalks isn’t just important…

…it’s fun!

Oh yes indeed it’s fun to run right out the front door, walk two blocks and take your kid to a drunken all-night street party. It builds character.

Are we parents of the year, or what?

Rock Chalk Jayhawk — ’cause who knows when it will come again.

The 1988-2008 circle is complete. I can now resume my schedule of not really caring about sports – until next season.

Editor’s Note: Readers have been asking why my husband and daughter look green, and well, a lot of people looked green that night, and also hurled at policemen’s feet – but that’s not it. Their green faces are attributable to our beautiful old downtown street lamps, which cast a greenish white light over everything.

It made the party even more surreal, like an alien championship win!

Last August, the new old house needed a chimney, and as we are not third-generation bricklayers, someone else was going to do it.

Builder Dan gave us a list of proposed subcontractors. He wanted Company X, or maybe Company Y, but he did not want Dick Chilton. As in, “I hope we don’t need to go to Dick Chilton.”

Why? It seems Dick was a masonry prima donna, and had built two reputations: one as “the best around,” and the other as an abrasive, thick-headed jerk.

When X and Y weren’t available, we were forced to go with Dick, and he more than lived up to his reputation. He worked at a glacial place without interruption, glaring at assistants and scowling at bricks. He also scowled at mailmen, truck drivers, birds, leaves, and the stupid people who were paying him well.

We started referring to him as “Dick Chimney,” and don’t bother asking why – I don’t remember, and who among us knows how private jokes begin, anyway? He didn’t speak to us, he would not be introduced to us, would not look at us, but his name was Dick and he worked on the chimney, so he was Dick Chimney.

I confess that between us, we have a lot of private names for people. But this one struck us as especially hilarious, because let’s face it, the title had a certain X-rated ring.

”Who’s on site today?” we’d say. Heh.

“Dick Chimney.” Heh heh heh.

I think we play this shorthand game as a function of both humor and ignorance. We are either cowards who snigger at people from afar, or we really just don’t know their name. Maybe it’s funny, or maybe it’s not, but it is an unbreakable habit, the naming.

Let’s take the petite young barista with a haughty tone – clearly it was our privilege to receive her coffee – Princess Pissypants. Credit Josie for the brilliant Pissypants part.

It is a neverending list of shame. The waiter who rushes dinner is Abrupt Guy. The crunchy fifty-something Nepal trekker is Buddhist Woman. (my e-mail to Greg – “Buddhist Woman’s here. Headed home.”) A pear-shaped retiree holds court in the coffee shop daily at nine. He is Pontificus Blohardus.

Our friend’s southern husband, the one who looks like Morrissey? Kentucky-Fried Morrissey – KFM to those in the know.

I’m sure that listening to us would be quite appalling. I might hate us.

The pale local weather girl is Ghosty. Dreemy is the Thai food server from another planet, and the restaurant host who habitually over-estimates the wait time is The Voice of Doom, as in, oh great, the Voice of Doom is working today.

Some of our other Hall of Namers include Chuck Wagon (sweaty and stout, brings onion sandwiches to the library) Suspicious Guy (why is he looking at us?) and certainly Senor Crappuccino, a barista who repeatedly made lousy drinks and what’s more, filled them only halfway.

But we talked, he improved, and guess what? Senor Ex-Crappuccino.

I’m afraid it’s too late for Josie, who frequently knows people by their pretend-names. Regarding one young college neighbor who likes to run in a rather bouncy manner:

“Booby Girl got home really late last night,” she’ll say. “She was wearing shorts and she was not alone.”

I fear that both of our moms are right, that we are in fact mean and terrible people, but then again, we amuse ourselves and we hurt no one. Come on, if a guy worked on your house every day for six months wearing a black t-shirt emblazoned with “P-O-R-N,” wouldn’t you call him Porn T-Shirt Guy?

The Name Game generally doesn’t apply to anyone we like, and though we’re not looking too kind right now, believe me, there are a few. There was the nice quiet guy our handyman used to bring around – the one with no nose. It’s true – he lost his nose in some freak prison accident years ago, and now breathes through two little holes like a gentle, pint-sized Voldemort. So we named him No-Nose.

Mean! Oh, mean, you say? Don’t kid yourself. Once you see a guy with no nose, that is their name.

And then there is Old Shoe. Old Shoe has since moved away, but one night, years ago, his wife drank too much Pinot and casually told me that sleeping with him was like putting on an old shoe.

Oh, Shoe, I’m so sorry. In our little naming world, you are among the sad and unjust. Don’t get me wrong, it gives me a giggle, a fine old Dick Chimney giggle.

But Shoe, I’m just so glad you don’t know who you are.

Dick Chimney at work. Don’t talk to him.

You probably think I want everyone to move to Lawrence, Kansas.

But I don’t.

See, I wasn’t the first to spread the word, and now many, many more people live here.

Too many. We’ve seen bumper stickers that read “Welcome to Lawrence. Now get out.”

Oh, that is not very friendly. I’m sorry about that, newcomers.

No, really…welcome! Join us at Sylas & Maddy’s for some nice cold ice cream.

Right now there is pistachio almond. In the summer, they’ll have fresh peach.

Stroll Mass Street. Shop the galleries. Feel nicely bohemian, even if you are not.

If you have a long afternoon, ask the guys at Free State Glass if you can watch them work.

They are pretty laid-back dudes and will probably say yes.

You must be a laid-back dude to be a glass-blower. It is a requirement.

So laid-back that they let us hang around while they spun hot bits of glass into three new lamps – kitchen pendants, and the last fixtures to go up at the new old house.

The hot glass looked red, and then pink – but like magic, the finished lamps would cool down to a beautiful brown-streaked green, as we’d requested.

Blowing glass is the wildest thing.

Above, a lamp begins to cool down and the color slowly changes from smoking-hot red to green-streaked outside, white inside. While he spins the still-warm lamp, a cleaver helps build up the top.

Did you know? The National Endowment for the Arts ranks Lawrence in the top 12 U.S. cities with the largest percentage of working artists.

That is a lot of artists. And you know, not all of them are so great.

But some of them really are artists – and do things mere mortals can’t do.

Like form liquid into light.

they started out red, but cooled to green – three new lamps hang in our kitchen.

And that is a useful, beautiful, very bright art.

It’s one of our favorite used bookstores – or any bookstore – anywhere.

Another unforgettable bookstore that comes to mind is Powell’s, in Portland. Powell’s stretches a city block long and brims like a thousand libraries; you can get lost in the stacks for days.

You won’t get lost at the Dusty Bookshelf.

But you may lose a very pleasant hour or two.

Or just find like-minded, bookish friends.

At The Dusty Bookshelf, whatever you wish has a way of finding you.

Where is your favorite bookstore?

Tell Alice here about it (but she’ll keep her gig in Lawrence, thanks).

I didn’t really mean all those things I said about winter. It’s not prettier than you. You look really good in white, and white is just making winter look fat.

Honestly.

You’re definitely the prettiest, summer! You’re not all bleak and old and miserably dried up, like that winter. So…do you think you might come back?

If you do, I won’t complain about how hot it is or the mosquitoes you’ll bring. I will not worry about all those bad boy tornadoes you run with – well, okay, I will pretend not to worry. For you, summer, I will pretend.

Summer, if you bring bright juicy things back…

…and wave your summer wand over them…

…I will make us something delicious. And we can eat them outside, on the patio. Maybe with a little vanilla ice cream, and some nice minty iced tea?

How many times do I have to say it?

I’m sorry, summer, for shooting my mouth off about how I love winter and the cold is so great and how I like my nostrils freezing up. I’m cold, and it’s gray, and I’m really tired of all this exfoliating. So just think about it, summer, and please don’t take too long.

If you could, send a robin to let me know.

Please?

So it’s time for a lazy and beautiful post.

When I am not with my house, I will feature…other houses!

Who doesn’t love historic Old West Lawrence (Kansas) eye candy? I mean, these people, above, brought a conservatory – yes, you heard me, conservatory – from England, painted it purple, and attached it, piece by piece, to this gorgeous house.

Big and small, humble and grand, Victorian, Tudor or Foursquare, you’ve got to love the wacky beauty that is this old, old neighborhood.

I know all those House Voyeurs must love it.

Lots of people who visit just to look at the houses love it.

And we certainly love it.

Um, isn’t that one cute?

Nearly everyone loves walking through Old West Lawrence, including Cleo.

Until I’ve snapped one too many pictures. Then it’s “house shmouse…let’s move it!”

What’s next? Sad Sack Saturday?

The above bag is not vintage – it’s full of flour and I bought it just a few days ago at Dillon’s.

I don’t know if I adore Hudson Cream flour more for their happiness-inducing cow illustration or its magical, feather-light pastry powers. The flour is produced by Stafford County Flour Mills in tiny Hudson, Kansas, where it’s been milled for over 100 years.

Hudson Cream apparently has a web site, which I naively hoped they wouldn’t have. I was kind of hoping the miller’s golden-haired daughter was still passing out hand-printed leaflets in town in her white eyelet dress.

Anyway, it’s delightful:

“…how does a cow symbolize flour? In the early 1900s when the mill was built, many people owned their own cows for milking and it was commonly believed that the Jersey cow produced the best milk and cream. The mill’s founder chose the Jersey cow and the word “cream” to symbolize the white richness, smooth texture, and high quality of the flour.”

These people are serious about their flour. I love them.

I’ve always wanted to collect vintage flour sacks. It’s one of my most frequent searches on eBay: “flour sack,” “vintage flour sack,” “kansas flour sack,” and, of course, “old flour bakery kansas sack crazy collector woman.”

Ideally, they are from old mills that no longer exist. Like this one.

Let me extend my apologies right now. I’m sorry, mill – and town, and townspeople, and mill workers, and the good folks who drive the delivery truck. But I need that gorgeous sack.

Here in funky, college-town Lawrence, I am not country-kitchen girl. But I am obsessed-by-flour girl, and when I get my hands on an old flour sack, I want to find a stale sprinkling at the bottom. I want to hear the creaky bin roll across the mill floor, and I want to inhale the hot, windy air around the Kansas wheat.

If I don’t smell the burnt flour at the bottom of the oven, if I don’t hear Marge unlocking the back door to the donut bakery at sunrise…well, that sack’s just not old enough.

I can’t always get the bakery treasures I want. But here’s a few tiny ones for you; a very, very good thing to make with your own flour. Enjoy.

Cream Cheese Biscuits

I love biscuits, and will make them out of whatever is within reach. In a freak occurrence, I had very little butter in the house, and reached for cream cheese.

2 1/2 cups flour
1 tbsp baking powder
3⁄4 tsp salt
3 oz cream cheese
2 oz butter
2/3 cup milk (or plain yogurt)

In a large bowl, mix together flour, baking powder, and salt ingredients. Using a fork, knife or pastry cutter, cut in cream cheese and butter.

Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in milk (or yogurt). Mix to form a rough ball of dough.

Turn out onto lightly floured surface and knead until dough just comes together.

Pat out to desired thickness (I like them fewer and taller – 3/4″ thick or so) and cut into rounds. Brush with milk or melted butter.

Bake on cookie sheet 10-12 minutes at 425, until lightly browned top and bottom.

Maybe she and El Casbah have catfights in the middle of the night. I don’t know.

The other side of Jayhawk Hotel proclaims “Air-Conditioned Rooms,” and that’s got to be tough. One can only be so sexy when talking about air-conditioning. But number one or not, I love the “Jayhawk Hotel.”

This enormous metal sign came into our lives back in 1993; right before our wedding and right after we’d bought a place in Chicago with sign-ready walls. We were visiting Greg’s parents in Kansas City and though we normally drove that trip, we had flown.

So when we found this Midwestern beauty leaning against a wall in a Lawrence antique mall and could not get her home, we did what any sensible young people would do; we rented a van to drive it back. Back in Chicago, we had to practically rivet it to the tiny sun room wall of our first place.

She presided over our first real married dinner at home; over a few early, disastrous dinner party attempts (smoke alarms, undercooked meat, overflowing disposal) and later, over several vastly more successful post-culinary school dinners. She enjoyed having company.

We both worked long crazy hours in 1993. Opening the door to the words “JAYHAWK” and, even better, “GOOD FOOD” never failed to lift tired spirits.

When we moved to Lawrence a few years later, it was a homecoming of sorts for the old girl. I can’t tell you how many people came through our house and said “oh, I remember the Jayhawk hotel,” or “I used to pass that place all the time!”

Here’s what I know about the Jayhawk Hotel (aka Hotel Jayhawk):

Built in downtown Topeka in 1925 (it’s no longer a hotel) the building is now on the National Register of Historic Places. Topeka is the capital city, and a Kansas history site notes that “when the legislature was in session, the hotel swirled with political intrigue.” Intrigue!

The hotel register boasts visiting celebrities like Groucho Marx, Bing Crosby, Roy Rogers and Dale Evans.

As if swingin’ Bing wasn’t enough, the hotel was also apparently a popular place for proms and glittering rooftop parties. A few people recall that if it wasn’t too sweltering, you could dance with your sweetheart to a live orchestra under the stars. Take that, El Casbah!

She’s seen some action, this girl. She’s properly rusted. So what if she doesn’t wear the crown?

This sensible, solid beauty keeps her secrets.