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 |    My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| PROMPT May 4th Describe your cooking or baking ability. What was the last thing you cooked/baked that you were proud of? Are you a recipe-follower or freestyler? If I do say so myself, I am a pretty good baker. Just last week I delivered the homemade-only-Mom-can-bake oatmeal/cocoanut/chocolate chip cookies to my favourite and sole son. Four months into his Christmas gift of monthly batches of fresh cookies and he's content. I'm certain my physique is that of a successful baker. Taste-testing is a necessity as any baker worth her salt knows. Not to pat myself on the back, but I have mastered most delectables created from flour, cookies, cakes, loaves, muffins, cupcakes, breads, buns and biscuits. Noticeably absent from that braggart's list are pies and tarts. Oh, I can and do fashion the innards of these pastries. The crust is another irksome matter. Despite numerous attempts pastry and I cannot be said to be sympatico. We disagree like oil and water. This is my Achilles heel of baking. Pastry is my baking Kryptonite. If I crave a pie, I purchase a pre-formed frozen pie shell. I believe I am struggling with the curse of the pastry crust. Years ago or as I remember it, billions of consumed calories ago, I toiled as a personal support worker. I visited people in their homes to provide quality of life care and support. A bachelor of advanced years requested that I bake a pie for him, specifically a raisin pie. Hopeful that I would agree, he'd purchased ingredients and piled them on his kitchen counter. How could I refuse? I set about measuring, mixing, kneading, rolling and more. I did explain that I could not be trusted with pie crust, but he shooed my caution aside. He pointed out the legible instructions printed on the shortening box. Ah yes, reading and comprehension were not my issues. I dunno if I lack in the execution department. That raisin pie wannabe set an enticing aroma wafting throughout his home and I must admit it looked like a pie when I set it out on the counter before I said my goodbyes. The next morning I returned to the raisin pie connoisseur and the first thing I noticed was the pie plate on the counter, front and center. None of the raisin filling remained, but the crust still nestled where I'd left it. I shot my client a questioning look, the one with arched eyebrows, and he shrugged. "That raisin bit sure tasted mighty fine. That crust though..." It's as if he feared to insult me. I had warned him, so I laughed. I poked at the petrified crust with a fork and I swear the tine's bent back in on themselves. We then set about identifying practical applications for my pie pastry. I envisioned more than a life as a doorstop. Clearly, it qualified as a weapon of mass destruction. Thank goodness my secret recipe had never fallen into the hands of the Nazis. Imagine my pastry reconfigured as bombs raining down on England. I'm sure it could be used to build impenetrable tanks and submarines. Ah, if it's that strong it could replace Kevlar in bullet-proof vests. This is why I purchase pre-made pie shells. Wait a minute, my particular pie crust could be used to repair or replace turtle shells. It's a possibility and much safer than consumption. I offered to repave my bachelor's driveway, or reroof his house. He politely declined and never again asked that I bake him a pie. Hey, my curse knows no boundaries. Several Thanksgivings ago, my eldest grandgiggle insisted we were going to make pumpkin pies. Poor naïve Sydney had only known my baking successes and dismissed my rather silly excuse of a pastry curse. Swept up in her youthful optimism, I dared hope. We perspired side by side as we created not one, but two pumpkin pies. As in the past, the filling tasted delicious and appeared presentable. I cannot truthfully say the same about the crust. To describe it as amateurish, or even as pie pastry would be putting too high a gloss on it. For some unfathomable reason, our pie pastry shrank in the oven. Aww, Sydney had been so optimistic. She bluntly and I believe sarcastically referred to our hard work as, "They're one of a kind." I chose to present those pies as a new pie trend "light -crust pies." No, Syd had a differing perspective. They were "where's the crust pies." For some reason, we've agreed by our absence of further efforts not to build another pie crust. By my estimation, this makes five generations who have been stalked by this blight I've dubbed the curse of the pastry crust. My maternal grandmother, my mother, moi, my daughters and now my grandgiggle cannot seem to master the art of pastry. I'm convinced we're related to Marie Antoinette. Our family motto is "let them eat cake." In fine print on our family crest/shield there's a disclaimer. "Beware the pastry, though it is thick enough to stop a bullet no one has ever been harmed disposing of it." |
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