Pies. Who knew they were so appreciated? Especially the ones that people don’t have to share with anyone else. At lunchtime, after my 4th period class, my library aide Ricardo told me how much he liked the pumpkin pie I made him. I received a phone call around one o’clock from my friend and fellow teacher, Chawn, telling me how good the spicy pecan pie with Southern Comfort was. I seriously thought they would wait until they got home!
Another pecan pie in the oven, but this one is problematic. I ran out of white sugar and had to use brown. Ten minutes after I put it in the oven I realized I hadn’t mixed in the melted butter. Out the pie came and I very gingerly stirred the butter in and crossed my fingers. When the timer rang I realized at some point I’d turned the oven off. I heated the oven back up and baked it for another thirty minutes. It looks done.
But what to do? Do you think the pie will be OK to give away? I don’t know. I may have to leave this one home and bake a different one tomorrow. What do you think?
At the grocery store, I let a man with one item cut in front of my cart: my random act of kindness for the day.
Tomorrow I’m off to the Spanish grocery store to see if I can find unhydrogenated lard. Every cell in my body cringes at the thought of lard, however, it is clearly the way to go with pie crust. I am a bonafide convert to this dark side of the pantry. Unfotunately, I read the label. It’s hydrogenated! Hydrogenated anything makes it really, really bad. I know trying to find unhydrogenated lard must be the culinary equivalent of putting lipstick on a pig, but I feel duty bound to try. I looked online (where it is ridiculously expensive), but Chawn tells me there is unhydrogenated lard in a red can with white writing that people use to make tortillas and I should be able to find it in any Hispanic market.
My expedition is set for tomorrow.