September 12, 2011 § 13 Comments
Along with a whole other set of mild, borderline addictions (like kombucha, smoked fish, and eating pate for breakfast…hey now, don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it!) I have a pastry dough problem. It’s not so much a problem with eating it – though there are very few things in this world that taste worse when delicately cradled in flaky dough. My addiction is to making it (and then I push it on others because one can really only eat so much pastry dough before one begins to take on the look of a stuffed turnover oneself. Not that I don’t also eat plenty myself in the process. And love it.).
Many people see a recipe that calls for making a pie crust, or a tart crust, or any other pastry dough and they quickly turn the page, banishing thoughts of how tasty it sounded from their minds because they are unwilling to confront the process. Or they turn to Pillsbury for help. I was one of those people up until a few years ago. But, one intrepid day I decided I would try it. The crust didn’t turn out all that fabulous, but it was good, and painless enough that I was willing to try again. Then I tried again, and again, and soon I found myself envisioning everything in my refrigerator wrapped up in a tart, just so I could get one more hit of the dough making process.
March 6, 2011 § 6 Comments
Well, now that you know how I felt about cauliflower when I was little, you know how I felt about most vegetables. It’s hard to believe that the farm-share buying, garden planting, vegetable fiend I am now actually grew out of that prissy little girl whose heart grew faint and lip trembled at the thought of eating leaf and root matter of any sort. I had a very few exceptions to my no vegetables rule. A few vegetables that were inoffensive enough I would deign to consider them foodstuffs. I liked cucumbers. In fact, cucumber and mayonnaise sandwiches were one of my favorite summer dinners (this was my escape hatch when all the grown ups were eating their open faced shrimp sandwiches). I would eat carrots if they were shredded and mixed with ranch dressing, and I would eat peas if they were cooked and drowned in my mother’s magnificent gravy. That was about my limit. So, peas and carrots it frequently was.
However, in spite of the lore around peas and carrots (I’ve heard that an old joke/admonishment in many families was to tell the children to “eat every carrot and pea on your plate,” hehe) we never actually ate them together. It was either peas or carrots. Not peas and carrots. I knew, in a sense, that they were supposed to go together. Two of my best friends and I even dressed up as peas and a carrot for Halloween once! But still, never did the twain meet on my dinner plate. Up until a couple of days ago that is. In my mind’s peripatetic wanderings last week I stopped to rest awhile upon this idea and decided that it was finally time to eat peas and carrots together. But, I didn’t manage to stop there. No sooner had I settle on it, I had quickly moved on from the idea of just eating plain old peas and carrots and started thinking of pot pie. And then I started thinking of hand pies. « Read the rest of this entry »