The pecan grove on my Nanny's farm looked like a magical place to play. A dozen trees held court in the space between the house and the barn. They were gnarly barked, ancient creatures; their branchy fingers far far overhead laced with one another so thoroughly that they could have been one many-footed tree. In this picturesque setting of mossy ground and dappled sunlight, it would be easy to imagine children as Indians or pirates or maidens and knights, creating adventures, beyond time and nearly beyond the back porch call of parents or grandparents.
It wasn't a magical place to play, however, because that's where the babies were buried. My great grandparents, Mitch and Phenie (rhymes with "meanie," and by all accounts she was), had only two living children, one of them my grandfather, but they suffered many losses – miscarriages and stillbirths, no one can recall the actual number. All we children knew was that they were buried under the pecan trees in unmarked graves. With that knowledge, the natural chill from sunlight to shade seemed ominous, and colder than could be reasonably explained. On the path between the main house and Uncle Odie's trailer out back, my brother Ben and cousin Laurianne gave the pecan trees a wide berth. I might have had something to do with that.
Once those babies became known to me, they were reborn into stories that were mostly gruesome and vengeful, tales of pink flesh gone green and putrid, devil-deals in exchange for the body and soul of a living child. Laurianne was at high risk. She had ridden her go-cart through the grove more than once, tearing deeply into the soil as she skidded into the turns, and the babies were not happy about it. I gave them names – Clyde, Henry, Laurianne the First, and the smallest one, Maybe; her story was sad, not scary. I told the stories at night, as we huddled under quilts in the winter waiting for the heat of the hot water bottle to work its way from our feet to our chins, or in summer as we tossed on the creaking iron bed, a fan churning hot air around us. I could make fun of Ben and Laurianne for lying awake, afraid of sleep, Laurianne regressively sucking her thumb, but I came to believe the stories too. We played our games at the front of the house, a grassy field loosely fenced by benign camellias and overprotective hawthorn, and we refused to eat the pecans that fell from the trees.
Years passed and I forgot about the babies. I accepted gallon bags of Nanny's pecans – shelled at the farmer's co-op down the road – at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I had a freezer full whenever I wanted to make a pie or a pound cake. It wasn't until the family farm was sold that I mourned those pecan trees and the babies, both lost to us forever. I don't think current owners know about the graves, those tiny hopeless bones.
Buying pecans for the first time in the grocery store, I was stunned at the price, and regretful at how I'd taken them for granted. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be stingy with pecans, needing to stretch them over a range of holiday recipes. These treats were born of that need. If you make them, don't think of zombie babies. Seriously, don't think of zombie babies. Zombie babies aren't real.
Phyllo Pecan Rolls
Phyllo can be a little fussy, but you get the hang of it pretty quickly. Just work with one sleeve of the dough at a time, and keep the dough covered with a barely damp towel so that it doesn't dry out. Before you start rolling, make sure you have everything ready to go.
2 8 oz packages cream cheese at room temperature
1 cup pecans finely chopped (pecan pieces are far cheaper than whole pecans!)
½ cup mini chocolate chips
½ cup sugar + an additional 1/4 cup sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract
½ tsp cinnamon + an additional 1/4 tsp cinnamon
A pinch of salt
1 package phyllo dough, thawed
2 sticks of butter, melted
Mix together the cream cheese, chopped pecans, mini chocolate chips, ½ cup of sugar, vanilla, ½ tsp cinnamon and a pinch of salt. Refrigerate until the mixture is firm enough to handle.
In a small bowl, combine the additional 1/4 cup sugar and 1/4 tsp cinnamon and set aside.
Preheat your oven to 375.
To assemble, you'll need three cookie sheets – one to lay out the phyllo, one to create the rolls and one to hold the final rolls for baking. You'll need a pastry brush, and a very slightly damp tea towel to keep the phyllo from drying out, and plastic wrap to cover the rolls as they are formed. It also helps to have a damp towel nearby to wipe your hands after handling the cream cheese mixture.
Lay out one sheet of phyllo on your assembly cookie sheet with the long side facing you and use a pastry brush to cover with a thin layer of butter. Peel another sheet off the stack of phyllo and lay on top of the buttered sheet. Butter that sheet. Continue the process until you have a stack of six sheets. Try to keep the sheets as flat on top of one another as possible, with no large air pockets between the layers.
Take a handful of the cream cheese mixture (about the size of a racquetball or a zombie baby's skull -- which is somewhere in between the size of a golf ball and a tennis ball) and roll it in your palms to make a snake that's about ½ inch in diameter. Lay it along the long edge of the buttered phyllo stack and roll the phyllo around the cream cheese. Place the finished roll on a cookie sheet, brush with butter and cover with plastic wrap while you create the remaining rolls. You should have enough cream cheese mixture and phyllo for six rolls (with some phyllo sheets leftover).
Sprinkle the rolls liberally with the cinnamon sugar, and then, using a serrated knife, score the rolls diagonally, just through the phyllo layer, into individual pieces about 1 inch in size.
(Here they are ready for the oven.)
Bake for 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. (I use insulated cookie sheets, which significantly increases the cooking time, but promotes even browning. Using a standard cookie sheet, especially one that's dark, check the bottoms at around 20 minutes and adjust cooking times from there. If the bottoms are golden before the tops are pretty, use the broiler to finish the tops. I like to get them quite dark because the phyllo seems to pale a bit as it cools.)
Let cool completely before storing in airtight containers. They are best if eaten within two or three days. If you don't want that many tempting you, you can easily half the recipe.
Variations: The combinations are endless! I've made them with finely diced dried apricots and chopped almonds and a savory variety with cream cheese/goat cheese, sundried tomatoes, basil, pistachios and lemon zest.
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Comments
*wipes dripping chin*
Those look yummy. ummmm....
Jane -- I did read your earlier post about the French Toast Casserole, and I plan on making it soon.
Mission -- They are good with coffee!
Elijah -- I relate better to skulls than to sporting balls.
Sophieh -- I hope you enjoy them. The first time I made them, many years ago, the phyllo flustered me. Now I just slap them together.
Dirndl -- Pecan trees are the most beautiful of all trees, especially in winter when the leaves are gone and you can see the intricacies of the branches. And they make PECANS! Perfect.
Jonathan -- Thanks!
Bea -- I probably should have posted this at Halloween!
Felicia -- I'm serious when I say I had no idea at how much they cost. I was in my thirties before I ever had to buy them. I'll be driving by the old farm in a few weeks and I'll wave to "our" trees.
And a magnificent recipe too!
You're amazing, Bell. The Bell of the Ball.
Rated with hugs
Bakers steal everything. I enjoyed this. A few nuts fall from every Family Tree.
When I was 27 years old I invested #300.00 in a small local Savings and Loan Bank.
I did this as a Stock.
Banks merged and stock split.
Several years ago O realized this`
I was no longer receiving paperwork.
The stock was worth over$2,000. Oy!
I researced records. I still have bank papers.
I spent a small-fortune wondering where is $?
The value was enough to buy a mule or horse.
The last effort failed. No records of stocks?
That was what I was told. Banks sure stink.
I almost began smelling these sweet treats.
Ya burn snacks? Ya can give to bankers.
Bankers today are cut-throat-bad-thugs.
I was sniffing great smells as I read this.
Thanks.
I feel like eating some ice cream. Gelato.
Today's
breakfast`
honestly.
R
::No Zombie Babies::
I said that these would last about 2 or 3 days at my house.
They would.
I live alone.
But I am envisioning a whole novel based on the title and the story. Can you please write it?
***Runs out of house to get ingredients****
The inexactness of zombie baby skulls is bewildering and yet completely entertaining. These sound great. I may try.
Pilgrim -- I'm not proud of "Laurianne the First." That caused a lot of thumbsucking. She got her revenge by sleeping with me, up under me, making me lie awake and sweat profusely.
Boan -- It's not *that* bad. What's two sticks of butter among friends??
Alysa -- Living in France, I'm sure you've come upon many atmospheric groves. I wish I could wander there.
Linda -- Thank you mightily!
Art -- You sure do know how to hijack a psyche. Reading your comment I'm trying to dovetail my daddy's bank with zombies and flaky pastry, knowing you're really the ONLY one would might could pull it off!
Joan -- When you visit, I'll make them!
Christine -- They are sublime little bites. I'm not a cookie-maker in general so I usually double the batch and bring them to any cookie-trade party.
Lea -- That's awfully sweet!
Caroline -- When I heard about the babies, I was like -- WHAT!!?? -- We've been digging out there!! With that kind of plot spur it didn't take much to set me off.
Trilogy -- I don't know what you're talking about. Zombie babies aren't real.
Linda -- You too! I know you will.
Oryoki -- Says who? The bible is pretty gruesome. Just sayin'!
Steve -- I do still think of them, my unborn ancestors. Our family is so small that we would probably welcome green, putrid zombies if we didn't have to sit across from the same four people every Thanksgiving.
Stim -- So THAT'S why they tasted so good! And why the trees dripped blood after every hard rain.
Sparking -- Good luck with your baking frenzy. I know you'll come up with some delicious treats.
XJS -- They won't last two days in my house either. I've had to pack them up for neighbors and co-workers. Otherwise it's easy to say, "These are best the same day they are baked. They won't be as good tomorrow. Might as well...."
Sarah -- Thank you!
Blue -- I really was a bad cousin. She got me back when we were teens.
Scanner -- The picture doesn't do them justice.
Kate -- There's an endless supply of zombie baby stories. I know you could tell a few...
Fernsy -- Now you've made me recall some terribly gruesome scenes from David Lynch movies. I wasn't quite at that level as a child. Almost...
Lucy -- Those stale, bitter, poorly-shelled pecans. I've had them, and raged.
Vanessa -- No lie, you could make phyllo rolls out of corned beef and they'd be delicious. (I'm working on the novel...but there are no zombie babies in it.)
Scarlett -- Here in the South there is only one nut -- the pecan. I was an adult before I ate other nuts (other than peanut butter and boiled peanuts). In any recipe I automatically substitute pecans for walnuts, cashews, almonds, etc. I do force myself to branch out, and sometimes - sometimes - I'm glad I did.
Antoinette -- I find lots of food porn on OS. I think blogging has forcibly made writers take up photography -- and that's a good thing.
Liberal -- They are great tasting. No real way to mess them up even if you do everything wrong. I live in the realm of dashes, pinches, dabs and hints. Doing up recipes for the blog has forced me to measure. I guess a zombie baby skull is as good a measure as any. At least *they* think so.
Growing up in Texas I had an abundance of pecan trees to snack on whereever I was. I recently bought pecans at the store (to use as the crust to a cheesecake. A good gluten substitute) and I too was shocked by the price. Oh well!
Rated!
Ann -- That's a high compliment! It's funny how the things that seemed ordinary when we were children when viewed from adulthood take on a new personality.
Emma -- I'm glad you liked it. I ate the very last piece this morning. Now I need to make more.
Femme -- Ooh! Let me know how they turn out.
Angel -- Is that the one with the cayenne pepper water, maple syrup and apple cider vinegar? Some gals at work did that. They got really really grumpy!
Linnn -- I really did scare myself with those stories.
Anna -- We used to use whole pecans as ammunition, just throwing them at each other, handfuls at a time. Now I see that we were throwing money at each other.
There wouldn't have been one left by tomorrow morning around here, and it's just me. Poor hubs'll have to hit the 'slice and bakes' at the grocery. Now that's the Christmas Spirit!
Matt -- Well this was a huge grove, with plenty of burial space in the middle, and the trees were a lot smaller back when the great grandparents were reproducing -- but I wouldn't discount the idea that someone was pulling legs.
Algis -- These days I wouldn't be scared to play there. I'd give anything to be able to roam around. Alas, the land no longer belongs to our family.
Gabby -- I'd be happy to come give a phyllo lesson! PM me date and time.