Not long ago I was on a highway in Georgia and observed that the air had taken on a sort of apocalyptic cast—a hazy yellow, like mustard gas. It lifted my heart with the hope of things that, if the world were ending, could now be avoided: taxes, oil changes, the 2020 Democratic primary. The backroads of Georgia are whereThe Walking Deadis filmed, after all—it’s not a novel thought that Armageddon could begin in the Peach State.
But the haze was pine pollen, issuing from the trees in great buttery clouds. Pine trees blanket this state, where they are admired for their lonely beauty; they even figure intoGeorgia's favorite song. And every spring these trees remind residents—especially those with allergies—impertinently of their presence.
But in spring there’s a better use for pine than inhaling it: making dessert.
Pine has a gorgeous, spiky flavor: herbal, sweet, a little perfumey—like rosemary dressed in a caftan and jewels. It’s a flavor that is often associated with colder weather, and indeed I started cooking with pine last Christmas. But the young buds of spring and early summer offer the most delicate flavor. In Georgia—theotherGeorgia, the former Soviet republic—this is the time to make a wonderful-lookingpine cone jamfrom young green cones. (It’s said to be good for colds, but I think it would also be good for gin and tonics.)
Pine is, too, just there for the taking, provided you live near a pine tree. If you live in North America, you probably do. Flavors differ with the species, whetherwhite pine,jack, orloblolly; and also pine’s coniferous, needle-bearing affiliates, likespruceandfirtrees. They’re all good for cooking with—simply snip off a handful of young buds growing at the ends of the branches in spring. No young buds? Take needles instead.
It was needles I used to make a dessert on Christmas in northern Michigan last year. My sister and I had set out to make acroquembouche—one of those French statement pieces that really should be assembled beforehand lest you find yourself, after the main course, lacking the energy to finish the task. At the last minute, the dessert was downgraded to something that looked humbler but tasted just as spectacular: pine-flavored cream puffs.
I foraged the needles in our living room. The Christmas tree, which had come from the forest across the road, had done its part, and now, like an old rooster who’s laid her last, could be feasted upon.
You get pine flavor in your desserts by steeping it: throwing some pine clippings into a bowl, adding hot milk, and letting it all sit for a while. Strain the milk—you definitely do not want to ingest pine needles!—and like that, your milk will taste like the forest.
In this case, that milk became the pastry cream that filled the puffs. I also added to this mix a fresh bay leaf and a little orange zest. It tasted lovely, dark, and deep.
In spring, I'd go a brighter route, substituting pine anywhere savory-sweet herbs like rosemary, thyme, and lavender are called for. You could, for instance, substitute a handful of pine tips or needles for the thyme inthis Dorie Greenspan banger. Honey and thyme ice cream? Why not honey andpineice cream?
This, from Karen Demasco and Mindy Fox, is for a Tuscan tart made with the seeds of a pine tree—that is, pine nuts—paired with rosemary-infused whipped cream. I say skip the rosemary. Steep pine needles into the cream and pair pine with pine.
It’s strawberry season! Leave the thyme out of this crowd-feeding strawberry shortcake and make the syrup—which flavors both the cake and the strawberry—with pine or spruce tips instead.
It’s also nearly birthday season—mine, anyways—and a couple years ago, thinking about how I celebrated the day as a kid,I created this fancy dirt cake recipefor Epicurious. It combines pastry cream with homemade chocolate shortbread cookies. Try flavoring the cream with the needles of your nearest fir tree. No telling what will grow.
