I had just informed him that we would not be having pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. Emmy, my father's wife, thought my contribution of Hello Dolly Cookie Bars would be sufficient in the dessert category.
"I always eat at least five or six pieces on Thanksgiving," he continued.
Let me remind you, faithful readers, that Dan is five-foot-ten and 135 pounds (dripping wet).
I e-mailed Emmy to tell her that she and I had been vetoed. I would bring Hello Dollies and a pumpkin pie.
I had a nice-sized pumpkin in my kitchen. I decided I would cook pumpkin pie for the first time with real pumpkin instead of with my old stand-by - canned pumpkin. And then I would blog about what it's like for a not-very-domestic, semi-unskilled cook to bake a pumpkin pie from an actual pumpkin. I was sure it would prove to be hilarious. I could write about being grossed out by the stringy stuff that resembled brain dendrites or about attempting to toast the seeds and instead almost burning down my kitchen (which could easily have happened).
I cut out articles in my cooking magazines. (Even though I am a semi-unskilled cook, I still like to look at pictures of food.) I looked up "how to cook pumpkin" on the Internet. And I bought a can of pumpkin just in case my foray into cooking with real pumpkin went horribly wrong. That way, Dan would still be able to happily eat his annual five or six pieces of pie.
It was soon after my extensive research efforts that I discovered my fresh pumpkin had gone bad. Its bottom was squishy and moldy, even though the rest of our winter squash was still okay. Thinking I could still salvage my awesome blog topic, I went to the grocery in search of the last of the orange fall vegetable. I returned to my kitchen empty-handed. Apparently, pumpkins go bad earlier than other types of squash. I mentally kicked myself for not having pureed and frozen the fresh pumpkin earlier in the season.
So I used canned pumpkin after all, resulting in this not-so-awesome blogging attempt. I did add a little toasted coconut to the top of the pie, a unique twist to my typical made-from-the-can fare.
I could have attempted homemade crust; that would have probably resulted in tragedy and made for good blog material. Even my crusts-from-the-box baking is sketchy at best. During this latest endeavor, some of the crust broke off as I removed it from the oven, the edges shrunk and cracked more than I would have liked, and it looked a little browner than the beautiful, golden, flaky pictures on the box. In fact, I am looking at my pie right now and am slightly embarrassed at the sight of the crust.
"You can just break the edges off all the way around," Dan suggested. I should mention that he had preceded this statement with "It smells good in here," as he walked in the door from work.
"I already did that, kind of."
"We'll just tell them the crust broke off in the car. It probably would anyway on the two-hour drive," he said.
Then he reached for a Hello Dolly as I simultaneously slapped (I suppose "love-patted" would be a better way of saying it) his hand away.
No comments:
Post a Comment