Pumpin Pie -or- Why I Should Listen to Food Network Hosts When They Say They Use Canned Pumpkin

My Green Bean Delivery bin had been offering pie pumpkins, so I thought to myself, "I should bake a pumpkin pie from scratch!" and went ahead and ordered two. I suppose I was feeling in the holiday spirit with Thanksgiving just around the corner. So much so, that I thought further to myself, "And I'll make the crust too!" Although I did not amend my original stupid idea of baking a pumpkin pie from scratch, I did quickly change from traditional pie crust to the equally yummy yet much much easier graham cracker crust. My first and last wise move of the venture.

Like most of my baking adventures of late, the evening started when my baking assistant Eli arrived in a fully coordinated baking outfit and brought with her the standard baking necessities: authentic Italian truffle honey, Iberico cheese, and boxed red wine.

 

The pie started simply enough with a successful attempt at a graham cracker crust. I will remember that I must only bake pies that go well in a graham cracker crust.

Next I tried in various ways to hack my way into the first pie pumpkin. This was the beginning of a very long and arduous learning experience. After I eventually cracked the first pumpkin shell (with a butcher knife in the end), I found myself facing its guts. It was explained to me that my next task was to remove all seeds and strings and cut the pumpkin meat into chunks for boiling. So, I reached in and started to work. First with my fingers, then with a spoon, then with my fingers again, then a spoon, then a knife. 

After approximately 15 to 20 minutes of cursing and drinking (and minimal gut extraction), my invaluable assistant suggested slicing the pumpkin like cantaloupe and then paring the string from each slice. Genius.

 

Next step: boiling the pumpkin meat and then removing the skin. My assistant at this point showed her severe lack of patience.  Apparently it was problematic for her to wait for the pumpkin to cool before paring, so she blew on it, placed it in the freezer, and eventually settled on torturing me by insisting that we pare the pieces while they were still scorching (and it turns out I have sensitive fingers). 

After eating a delicious dinner of curried chicken prepared by JD, I returned to my pie making. I was in need of a potato masher and had none. I briefly entertained using my blender to mash the pumpkin, but then I decided to be a purist and just went at it with my fists. 

I would like to say that it was then that I found the satisfaction of digging into my baking full-force, but that would be a lie. It was squishy and slimy and unpleasant; however, I did gain satisfaction from my efforts. The result was a pumpkin pie filling with fairly even consistency. I hear this is a rare skill (and the reason why Food Network hosts use canned pumpkin). Take that, Food Network Hosts. 

 

After some now-forgotten time in the oven: viola, pumpkin pie! And not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I had never had real pumpkin pie, and I was told that it would taste a little different from what I was used to. It did. It was awesome. I may or may not undergo this particular baking venture again in the future, but I am glad that I conquered the traditional pumpkin pie at least this once. It was enjoyed with an equally traditional topping: Cool Whip.

Lessons learned:

1) Baking instructions can make very complicated and difficult tasks appear easy and simple.

2) You never know when you will need the butcher knife that has been laying unused in a kitchen drawer for almost 10 years.

3) Pumpkin pie needs to cool in order to firm. Do not lose heart.

4) Boxed red wine from Target is surprisingly drinkable and one should be careful since it is difficult to tell how much has been consumed due to its opaque packaging. Hint: probably more than you thought.

Macaroons

It turns out that my brother Aaron has been needing someone on whom to unload some dessert cookbooks. We have lots of chefs in the family, but apparently no bakers...until now! Convenient for me and him. On his most recent visit to Louisville he gifted me two especially yummy looking books, and as soon as I saw the over-sized photo of the chocolate-dipped macaroons in Ready for Dessert, I knew my mission.

The evening of baking started like any other: my favorite apron, lots of ingredients strewn all over the counter, and wine. However, this time I had my first groupie, er, audience: Eli! Now Eli would soon become an instrumental part of the macaroon experience, but I am getting ahead of myself.

It just so happens that I was watching The Cooking Channel the other day and some chef was separating eggs with his hands. Anyone who knows me knows that I do not like getting messy--seriously--and separating eggs with my hands definitely falls in the messy category. I realized however that if I am to ever be considered a serious baker, I needed to set aside my OCD tendencies and crack that egg into my palm. Ladies and gentlemen: it was cold and goopy. I did not enjoy it.

Overall the macaroon mixing experience was uneventful--other than Eli daring to question whether there was enough liquid ingredients to soften the giant mound of shaved coconut. Rest assured there was. After mixing, the concoction was placed on the stove where there were very specific directions to remove from heat once it started to simmer. It was necessary to obtain a second opinion on this matter, so Eli made her skills available.

As it turns out, both of us are the opposite of deaf. We apparently hear things that are not there. Like simmering. This becomes a slight problem when attempting to form the "pyramids" of coconut for baking. Only one thing could solve the issue at hand: more wine. Again Eli lent her expertise to the cause.

The wine in fact only helped to make the "pyramids" more mound-like, but I have learned in my now-vast baking experience that imperfection is endearing, or something. Either way, macaroons luckily have little discernible shape. Moving on...adding the hand-melted chocolate warrants no special description, other than to note that there was not near enough chocolate to go around (my macaroons may have been a little larger than intended).

In the end, the macaroons were delicious. Shared by JD, Eli, and my lucky co-workers.

Lessons learned:
1) I bake better when I drink red wine than white wine.
2) The term 'simmer' leaves too much for interpretation.

Lessons yet to be learned:
3) A week later, there is still a macaroon in the fridge. I'm not sure if it's still safe to eat. I don't think I am going to find out.

Rolled Sugar Cookie Fiasco

OK, so people show up all the time with sugar cookies in the shapes of cute little characters. They are all over Kroger's, all over television, all over everything. So, you know, should be easy, right? Rolled sugar cookies. Got it. Let's get rollin' (no pun intended).

I get my recipe for my Halloween Ghost Sugar Cookies from Southern Living. You definitely cannot go wrong with Southern Living. I mean, it's the staple of the baking world. Dive in, no questions asked...And then something's not quite right. I am not exaggerating when I say that I could knock JD out with the dough. And that's before it's refrigerated for an hour. Now, don't get me wrong: I was tempted to slam JD upside the head, but I did not test out my theory. As frustrated as I was (and JD was in nearest striking distance), I utilized the coping skills I teach my clients every day and took a deep breath and tried option B: the recipe on the back of my cookie cutter packaging. They turned out light and fluffy:

And then just to see what would happen I rolled and cut, with great difficulty and heart-ache, the first recipe. They turned out, well, less fluffy:

Luckily icing was uneventful, and most of the cookies actually resembled ghosts. In the end, both of the recipes worked out. The first looked (and felt) more like shortbread cookies, and the second looked (and felt) like real-life actual sugar cookies. All were eaten and presumable enjoyed by all (well, at least JD and work associates).

Lessons learned:
1) You CAN go wrong with Southern Living (if they misprint the amount of butter needed).
2) Rolled sugar cookie baking is not for the feint of heart.
3) Random acts of violence do make you feel better, but will ruin perfectly decent cookie dough.

The Coconut Cake

 
Alright. My first major cake undertaking: a coconut cake compliments of the Barefoot Contessa. So I donned my Anthropologie apron to feel more official, and went at it full steam. What followed was a lesson in getting draped in whiteness: flour, confectioner's sugar, coconut, sugar, cream cheese...there's A LOT of white in a coconut cake and it gets EVERYWHERE. The plus side: I did it right, apparently. The cakes baked beautifully and after an unfortunate icing experience it actually tasted like coconut cake! JD found it to be pretty darn delicious, and when I took part of it to work, the office ladies (all of whom are country-style bakers) gave their vote of approval. Yay!
 
Now, I learned a couple of key lessons during this maiden baking voyage:

1. I bake well while drinking white wine.

2. Let the cake cool completely before attempting to ice it.

3.  I don't like coconut cake.

Lesson yet to be learned: How long can cream cheese icing sit out and still be safe?

Starting to bake is easy as pie...

So what better way to start my baking experiment than with a little pear pie. It sounded like a good place to begin, as I have previously baked a pie without any serious mishaps, and our Green Bean Delivery had three pears included. So, reason dictated that pear pie was a safe and convenient starting point. I will admit that part of my preparation included the purchasing of pre-made pie crusts. Now, before you judge, hear me out: I am not pretending to be an honorable baker.

Moving on...
The recipe came from Southern Living. Who can go wrong with that? Backyard Pear Pie, I believe is the name. I am certain that my pears came from a backyard somewhere. I'm sure they did. Authenticity is of utmost importance in my kitchen and in my blog.

On a Friday afternoon I got home early from work and set myself to baking. Well, as I've learned from this experience, more prepping than baking is actually involved in baking; so, I set myself to cutting four pears into thin little slices, all the while telling myself, "This is calming. You like this. You are baking a pie and this is fun." Ladies and gentlemen, this was boring. However, I somehow managed to make it through the tedium and onto the good stuff of conjuring a kind of pear potion. The aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the kitchen, bubbling in my Le Creuset (thanks Aaron and Malinda), and all during what would normally be my working hours. It was magic.

In the end, the pie was slightly under-baked, but beautiful in Grandma Amstutz's pear-decorated pie plate (I prefer to bake in themes) and yummy when partnered with some ice cream. And during a Sunday Colts' game in early autumn, it was just about perfect.

Let the baking commence!

So the other week I got bored. Card making became too tedious. Climbing too strenuous. Shopping too expensive. Facebooking and television too mind-numbing. So, I did what I do best and decided to launch a new hobby. While polling my ever-supportive husband, he promptly (and selflessly) suggested: "You should bake." Sounded like a good idea. I like sweets, and the pictures in my Barefoot Contessa book were pretty. So why not? I would bake and those around me would reap the benefits. Nevermind that I have my father's temper and even less of his patience. I was going to be a natural. I could feel it.

And so it began...I started baking...and JD started taking pictures. Then JD gave his second suggestion: "You should write a blog." Sounded like a good idea. A way for family to share in my triumphs, and inevitable disasters. So out of one hobby came another. With this post, I am not only a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed baker, but I am also officially a blogger.