Easy As Pie

Be honest. How do you feel about phyllo dough? If you say, "calm" or "cool" or "collected," then I will think you are lying! Or, at least, I will think that you have never read a phyllo dough package or dealt with phyllo at all! Which, actually, makes me admire you. You are smart! There is, in fact, a part of me that wishes I'd have never tried to bring phyllo into my life. It's arrogant! Finicky! And it's astoundingly delicate for something that claims to be a wrapper, a harness, a sheath. For crying out loud, this is a protective layer that is, well, the neediest, most delicate protector I have ever encountered.

For those of you who are new to the scene (and, again, you are far wiser than me), I'll give you an update. It's these dough sheets, these thin, thin sheets of unleavened flour dough. "Phyllo" comes from the Greek word for "leaf" or "sheet," and the translation is appropriate. Imagine the thinnest sheet of dough in the universe, thinner than typing paper but sort of the thickness of tissue paper. But much less durable. Imagine deciding to make, say, a pie, and you decide that, instead of using pie crust, you will use twenty kleenexes that have been soaked in water. Okay, get the idea?

Phyllo is used for making the outer wrapping for Greek, Turkish, Middle Eastern, and other regional snacks. Okay, so not always snacks, but usually. And here's where my reasoning comes into play. Phyllo makes things delicious. When all the layers are stacked together, wrapped around something, and baked, they become delectable. If you've ever had baklava or borek or spanakopita, you know what I mean. They end up flaky and buttery and golden. They crunch on the outside, and yet the inner layers of dough take to the filling and become slightly chewy and just perfectly divine.

There's all this hype with phyllo's delicate nature, though. It seems like no one ever wants you to use phyllo. Recipes will tell you things like BE CAREFUL! USE CAUTION WHEN USING THIS PRODUCT BECAUSE IT WILL TEAR AND YOU WILL DIE INSTANTLY. And the phyllo package itself (yes, I am totally a phyllo package person, and no, I don't foresee myself actually making homemade phyllo dough anytime soon) is equally as frightening and intimidating. Approximately half the words on the package directions are in caps. DO NOT OPEN THE PACKAGE YET! COVER THE DOUGH! HOLD ON! NOW WORK QUICKLY! FOCUS! DO NOT TOUCH THE TOP LAYER! HOLD STILL! NOW MOVE, DAMN IT! FASTER! GO!

Just reading all this makes you so nervous that you have to really have to take some Valium before you start. In order to psyche myself up, I found myself saying things like, "It's just dough. It's just dough," kind of like the first time I ever dealt with a whole turkey, and I had to pull it organs out of its inside, er, region. That time, though, I think I was doing some sort of reverse psychology, telling myself, "it's not really a bird, it's not really a bird." But I got through that, and I've gotten through phyllo endeavors, and so will you!

The thing with phyllo is that it is, in fact, just dough. It just happens to dry out faster than other kinds of dough because it is so, so thin. So once it exits its plastic wrapper, time is of the essence. I am living proof that the phyllo experience is worse when you are a nervous wreck. This means that you need to have a martini and then calmly remove the dough from its plastic. Then, calmly unroll it, calmly pull off the amount of sheets that you need (guess, don't actually count!), calmly roll up the sheets you don't need, calmly place them in an airtight bag, then calmly plow through the assembly process. You can do it!

I made spinach pies yesterday. They are a lot like spanakopita and a lot like hand pies. (Seriously, isn't that they best-sounding thing? Hand pies. Portable pie. Brilliant.) I had this package of phyllo dough in my freezer for a very long time, and there it was, with its expiration date of March 1984, staring up at me every single time I opened the freezer. Ha ha!, it would say to me, you can't handle me today! You're not ready! And every time, that dough would be right. Until yesterday. I was digging through my recipe files, looking for my cream puff recipe, when I came across this old spinach pie recipe that I had urgently and excitedly copied down at a party after having been served these most savory spinach pies. I made them obsessively at home after that party, and had since forgotten about them. It was time for spinach pies. They were, after all, easy as pie to make. Right?

The good thing about this phyllo business is that it forces you to have all the ingredients prepped before you begin. What you'll do with this phyllo dough, which is rapidly drying up and turning into the consistency of chicharrones, is fold it into a book. Then, you need to lube up all the layers. Once they are lubed, they will be much less sensitive to the air, so you'll feel better. So, you make your book and then, starting with the second sheet, apply either spray oil or brush on oil or melted butter. The brushing-on seems to take me quite awhile, although I know some cooks who can fly through beautifully through that procedure in mere seconds. For this reason, I usually will just use a spray cooking oil or spray olive oil. After you've oiled your layers, oil up the top one and then start assembling. Many recipes and advice columns will tell you to cover the dough that you aren't using as you go, but I think this takes too much time, so I just try to work fast instead. To me, this "covering as you go" is the equivalent of setting down your pen between sentences, or setting down your knife after each spread of the butter on your toast. Just go for it, I say. Plus, at this time, your sheets of dough will be properly lubed and much less susceptible to the moisture-sucking air.

Working with a few sheets at a time, plop some of your filling in and wrap it up. You can try to be fancy, and go for the triangle shapes of traditional spanakopita, or you can aim for perfect squares, but keep in mind that they will be delicious hot pockets no matter what. Just make sure that they are wrapped in tight packages (okay, not super tight, but just makes sure they seem secure) and you'll be good to go.

Alright, here we go, then! Spinach pies. You can do it!
Keep in mind that you might want to buy a couple packages of phyllo dough, so you can have one for back-up. There is absolutely no shame in trying until you get it right! I have been known to throw out some sad, dryed-up sheets of phyllo in my day, and I think that's just part of the learning process. Once you decide to not be afraid of the phyllo dough, you will be a champion!
Once you move beyond the stress that the phyllo might bring to you, they are extremely easy and very simple. And afterwords you will not be afraid of anything!

Spinach Pies

8 oz frozen spinach, thawed and drained really well
2 scallions, sliced and then chopped
6 oz feta cheese, cut into small cubes
1 egg, beaten
1 T dill, either fresh or dried
1/2 t black pepper
half a package of phyllo sheets
olive oil for brushing or spray oil

Mix the first six ingredients. Preheat your oven to 375 F. That's it! Now you're ready.

Do the book thing with the phyllo and then, working with one full folded-in-half sheet at a time, fill with the spinach mixture and fold it up. I usually make about 7 or 8 hand pies from this recipe, but you could also make them smaller and it would make more. Place your creations on a cookie sheet and bake for about 20 minutes, or until the tops are as golden as Poseidon's crown. Eat immediately, burning your mouth and grinning blissfully at your incredible talents.