Glazed Apple Pie Squares — The Kitchen Remembers Everything

The Damiano Center on Thursday: wild rice soup, fifty gallons, the same recipe I have been making for twenty-some years now. The constancy is the point. People come into the basement of that building hungry and uncertain and what they find is a fifty-gallon pot of wild rice soup that has been there every Thursday of every year, and they find Linda Johansson, who has been there too, and the constancy is the message: you can come back. You can come back. You can come back. Lena (Anna's youngest, college freshman) is in college now. She calls me sometimes. The calls are about boys, mostly. I listen. I do not give advice. I am eighteen-year-old's grandmother. My credibility on boys is suspect at best. I tell her the kinds of things a grandmother is supposed to tell her: be careful, be brave, trust your gut, do not date the one who reminds you of someone you do not like. She thinks I am wise. I am, in fact, just old. The two get confused sometimes in the right direction. Jakob (Anna's middle, recently graduated) has a job. He hates the job. He is figuring it out. He called me Tuesday for advice. I told him: that is what your twenties are for. The first job is supposed to be unsatisfying. The first job teaches you what you do not want. He said, "Grandma, that is not super helpful." I said, "It is the truth. Helpful is not always the same as comforting." He laughed. He hung up. He kept the job for now. He will figure it out. I cooked Saffron buns (lussekatter) this week. Twelve threads of saffron soaked in warm milk, the milk turning the color of late afternoon. Butter and egg and sugar and yeast and flour, kneaded soft, risen twice. Shaped into S-curves with a raisin in each curl. Baked golden. The smell of saffron and butter and yeast is the smell of the Lucia morning of every Swedish-American childhood. Damiano Center, Thursday. New volunteer this week — a young woman named Sara, just out of college, looking lost and brave. I showed her how to ladle. She caught on quickly. She asked me how long I had been doing this. I said: "Long enough that I do not count." She laughed. She will be back. The good ones come back. Paul's chair is at the head of the table. His glasses are on the shelf. The arrangement is permanent. The arrangement is the love. The arrangement has been remarked on, gently, by various people over the years — Anna, mostly, and well-meaning friends. The arrangement persists. I do not require justification for it. The chair is the chair. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. I have started, in the last few years, to think about what I will leave behind. Not in a morbid way. In a practical way. The recipes are written down. The notebook is on the counter. The kitchen is in good order. The house is in Anna's name (we did the legal work in 2032; the kids agreed; it was the practical thing). The grandchildren and great-grandchildren each have a few small specific things — a wooden spoon, a bread pan, a particular cast iron skillet — that I have already labeled with their names on small pieces of masking tape. Nobody knows about the masking tape labels. They will find them when they find them. It is enough.

The saffron buns were already cooling on the rack when I thought: something else needed baking this week, something with apples, something that smells like the season turning. I have been making apple things in the fall since before Anna was born—the kitchen does not require a reason, only the apples and the will to use them. These Glazed Apple Pie Squares are the kind of thing you cut into a pan and bring somewhere, or leave on the counter for grandchildren who call on Tuesdays and Thursdays with their questions and their jobs they hate and their boys—the kind of thing that is just there, the way the soup is just there, the way I am just there.

Glazed Apple Pie Squares

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 5 minutes | Servings: 24 squares

Ingredients

• Crust & Topping:
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 cup (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
• 1 egg yolk
• 1/2 cup cold milk (plus more as needed)
• Apple Filling:
• 6 cups peeled, cored, and thinly sliced apples (about 5 medium; Honeycrisp or Granny Smith recommended)
• 3/4 cup granulated sugar
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
• 1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
• 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
• 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
• Glaze:
• 1 cup powdered sugar, sifted
• 2–3 tablespoons milk
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

1. Heat the oven. Preheat oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9×13-inch baking pan.
2. Make the pastry dough. Whisk together flour and salt in a large bowl. Cut in the cold butter using a pastry cutter or two knives until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs the size of small peas. Stir together the egg yolk and cold milk, then drizzle over the flour mixture. Stir with a fork until the dough just comes together, adding milk one tablespoon at a time if it seems dry. Divide dough in half.
3. Press in the bottom crust. On a lightly floured surface, roll one half of the dough into a rectangle just larger than your pan. Carefully lay it into the prepared pan, pressing it up the sides about 1/2 inch. If it tears, simply press it back together.
4. Prepare the filling. Toss the sliced apples with the sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, flour, and lemon juice until evenly coated. Spread the apple filling in an even layer over the bottom crust.
5. Add the top crust. Roll the remaining dough half into a rectangle to fit the top of the pan. Lay it over the apples, pressing the edges to seal. Cut a few small vents in the top to allow steam to escape.
6. Bake. Bake for 38–42 minutes, until the crust is golden and the filling is bubbling through the vents. Let cool in the pan on a wire rack for at least 30 minutes before glazing.
7. Make the glaze. Whisk together the powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla until smooth and pourable. Drizzle evenly over the cooled bars. Allow the glaze to set for 10 minutes before cutting into squares.
8. Cut and serve. Slice into 24 squares. Store covered at room temperature for up to 2 days, or refrigerate for up to 5 days.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 185 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 8g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 110mg