I can accept that I am a food pornographer. Dishes that I make, even only for myself, usually turn out to be pretty danged good, and look good as well. The dinner plate is a beautiful canvas, which is why I like white plates when I am going all-out for friends.
However, my desserts are not the money-shot they should be at the end. The flavors are there, usually, but the goodness just lay there, not spurting up and out in tasteful abandon. Desserts are more science with a hint of finesse rather than a blend and chance to correct and enhance. So much of it requires faith. And patience. Once the ingredients are in place, all one can do is sit back and wait for the results some time later. Even when one sees the errors, nothing can be corrected. At best a pie or torte becomes a cobbler.
Recently, due to an influx of guests and some blueberry bushes that have been producing for the first time since I lived here, I’ve been working on it.
I have the pies down. I have them down cold. I can do pie.
I like pie.
And after sitting with 3 friends at my table last week, their plates topped with blueberry pie, we all took our first bite of what I had worked on and built up over a few days’ kitchen time and perfecting. Firm, but not thick, light and just sweet enough. And I received the most creative compliment on my cooking to this date. After his first bite, one of my guests looked at each of us, finally looking back down at his plate and said:
“I regret my childhood.”
Now let’s see if I can really figure out cakes.
Wow. That must have been, as Dale Cooper on Twin Peaks would have said, some damn fine pie!
I like pie.
You and Eric Cartman.
we’re not really a pie family. it’s the only dessert i don’t know how to make. hence, more power to you, uncle!
also, this may make you cringe, but the first time i ever had some apple pie, i was a sophomore in college. — is that a childhood to regret?
My neighbor’s dad used to take us berry picking. Odd in Southern California but if you knew where to look, you could find lots of berries. Especially blackberries and raspberries. They grew wild along the fence of some houses we knew several blocks away from home. So we’d head over with buckets and pick until our fingers were purple from the juice.
Then we’d head home, nibbling them along the way in all of their juicy sweetness. The hope was that, by the time we got home, there would still be enough to make pies with. Usually there were.
My dad (not my mom – she burns water when she tries to cook) taught me how to make pie crust – light and flaky – and we’d roll it out tot he perfect thickness. Not a lot of ingredients – just enough to bring out the beauty of the berries. We’d make pies all day long and set them out to cool on the counter while we went to cool off with a run through the sprinklers.
After dinner, both of our families would have homemade pies – blackberry and raspberry and a combo pie if there were enough berries left over. If dad was home that day (i.e. a weekend that didn’t involve a business trip) he’d make homemade vanilla ice cream to go along with it.
Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.
Awesome!
After quite a long period of hearing “My mom makes the best pie ever. She wins awards,” I’ve finally made a pie or two that are apparently up to snuff.
“I regret my childhood” is a truly great compliment, though.
Wow. Great compliment.
As for cakes – Christina’s Gooey Cake is a good place to start…