…this blog goes to 11.
Holy crap: today was so busy, and my brain is so mush, that I might have to make this it….
Well, except for the fact that I’m working on my baked goods for the Food Bank Bake Sale at work: pumpkin whoopee pies with maple cream filling and…what else?
I’m having trouble thinking of the “what else”. What would go over well with a group of financial planners and their staff?
Recently at work, we were able to take a cooking class at the Viking Store at Legacy Village that had been graciously sponsored by a wholesaler.
I had a ton of fun, and got to learn (which, besides getting hammered on complimentary wine, was the point). Specifically: knife skills. I got to use a Shun knife, and let me tell you (what every experienced cook knows) – holy crap, what a difference a sharp knife makes! At home, it takes me an eternity to get through chopping a single vegetable; but during this class, I was actually disappointed as I was nearing the end of the vegetables I had been assigned to cut.
I asked the instructor what he thought some of the best knives were, and he said Wusthoff and Henckels are great brands from Germany, and any knvives made in Japan are great. So, I put three Henckels knives on my Amazon wishlist, with the hopes that I will be able to get them for myself. It makes a huge difference.
I cannot wait to enroll in some of their other cooking classes. They are not inexpensive, but they are definitely worth it.
I spent the early part of this afternoon making both pumpkin whoopee pies and chocolate cupcakes. I like the way the whoopee pies came out (well, I got my father’s approval, and he’s not one to mince his words), but the cupcakes were fairly average. I personally don’t care for chocolate, in the least, so I can’t tell you if the cupcakes were good or not.
I might be a woman who is after a career, and alphabet soup after my name, and aspirations to run my own business and spend my own money on my own things, but I have a very domestic side to me. Martha Stewart Living for December came in the mail the other day, and I’ve already leafed through it about three or four times, marking off different things I want to do this year. I love to cook, bake, decorate and keep house.
I don’t think that these two traits are at odd with one another – in fact, I think it probably ups my street value.
My grandmother was always known as a phenomenal baker, and her piece de resistance was her pies. I have wonderful and fond memories of her making both apple and strawberry rhubarb pies from scratch. I have her recipe for pies, and I’ve tried my hand several time at pies. When I’m successful, I love having baking-accolades lauded upon me: I’m proud of my work as a baker. But oh, how the sun refuses to shine on the days I am not successful – there is no joy in Mudville.
Baking is tough: as Alton Brown says, it’s about chemistry. For the record, I sucked really hard at Chemistry in high school (barely passed with a C-), and I wussed out and took a pseudo-chemistry class in college (and bombed the section about electron clouds in the beginning of the semester). Crusts are about the hardest things I’ve ever had to master. As one of the nuttier tricks I’ve tried, I’ve even resorted to making crust out in the garage because the ambient temperature in the house is enough to ruin the fats in the dough to make it impossible to roll out. I would gladly take custard over crusts.
For the last three or so weeks, I’ve been making pies for work, for The Boy, and for the family. I’ve gotten pretty confident with my crust-making abilities (even after I completely destroyed three pies I was supposed to make for the 4th of July), and so I didn’t have any reason to fear this particular batch.
But woe! I was punished for my pride! I knew the instant I began to add the final tablespoons of water to bring today’s batches of dough together that there was something terribly wrong with my crust. But, I pursued, and tried to roll the dough out. When it began to tear when I tried to turn it, I knew it was done for.
Since I’m such a terrible perfectionist, I wanted to say screw it, and throw everything out. I understand that some people use store-bought crust, and believe me, I wish I could loosen my sphincter enough to just let Pillsbury take care of the tough work, but I can’t. I cannot be conquered by crust. Today, however, I reluctantly gave in and bought the ready-made crust. I tried to doll it up with my raw sugar crust, but I knew I put the proverbial lipstick on a pig.
I think I might have to go on another self-imposed pie-making hiatus.
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