The Three Hour Pie

One of my coworkers is due to have a baby in a few weeks.  We are having a little celebration for her Tuesday.  She asked that we serve pie instead of cake.

One can't help but wonder if a person requesting pie in place of cake has ever actually MADE a pie.

Well, one wonders that if one is catty, which I'm sure you most certainly are NOT Gentle Reader. And the girl requesting pie totally DESERVES pie.  After all, I still haven't completely recovered from my mother in law refusing to get fried chicken for me after Bookworm was born as she claimed "nobody wants to mess with fried chicken.  I will just go buy some."  And then she bought rotisserie chicken as she decided nobody truly WANTED fried chicken.  Never mind that the new mom wanted fried chicken. 

Excuse me, did I go on a rant?  My point was that while I didn't want the hassle of a pie, the pregnant lady DESERVES pie if that's what she wants.  Simply by virtue of being pregnant and nearing the very end of her pregnancy and still working.  So.  Pie she hall have...

I could have bought a Pillsbury pie crust.  I usually have a box on hand anyway, as we use them for chicken pot pie on weeks that I'm on call and Brent wants to use up the leftover grilled chicken...However, far be it from ME to buy a pie crust.  I'm entirely too domestic (read here stubborn and stupid) to BUY a crust.  Besides, an entire container of shortening is about the same as one box with two crusts.  And the cheapness buried deep in my soul rejoices at the thought of making twelve pies for the price of two bought crusts...

So, today (which is Sunday) I decided I had better make the apple pie I agreed to bring, as I'm on call tomorrow and my luck if I tried to make the darn thing tomorrow night, I'd end up working half the night.

Good thing I decided to attempt it today.

It was a disaster.

Of epic proportions.

I realize as I list the difficulties I've had, many of you will feel compelled to offer helpful advice as to why my crust did not work.  Please refrain (read here: shut up) because I've made many, many pie crusts.  And never in all of my born days have I had as many problems as I had today.  Seriously.  It was as if I'd never seen a pastry blender or made a pie in my life.

To begin with, I couldn't find my normal recipe.  I have no idea as to how this was possible as I had it very neatly shoved tucked in with all of my dessert recipes on a hastily scribbled neatly typed piece of paper.

So, I resorted to good old Betty Crocker.  And I noticed she had instructions for using a food processor!  Well, my MOM uses her food processor and if she can do it, surely I can too!

Wrong.  It was so sticky.  It was as if I was working with sugar cookie dough.  So I added a tad of flour.  And then it fell apart.  So I added water.  And then it was tearing.

And so then after no less than 30 minutes I tried making an entirely new batch with my trusty pastry blender, which I probably should have done in the first place.

It rolled out nicely, but when I picked it up, it fell completely apart.  Like in a million pieces apart...

So, I rolled it back out.  Then I cut it into strips.  Then I sprinkled it with sugar and cinnamon and baked it...

And I only nearly cried about twelve times.   Because the song "Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy boy, Billy boy?  Can she bake a cherry pie darling Billy?"  kept going round and round in my head.  So, clearly I'm somehow incapable of baking a cherry pie in a blinking of an eye, and I'm  NOT a young thing who cannot leave her mother.

Speaking of mothers:  I attempted to call her for reinforcement at one point, but she was unable to get to her phone.  So I called my sister.  Who pointed out I'd probably over worked my dough in my efforts to salvage it...

So I gave up and threw half of it away, and in the  midst of cleaning up the war zone that was once a tidy kitchen my mother called back.

And I did not answer...Because I knew I'd end up just annoyed with her for no reason, so instead I sat down with a cup of coffee and my butter basted cinnamon/sugar sprinkled crust and sat down to pour my woes out to you.

And, yes I do feel better.  So, now I shall go wash my sink full of dirty dishes and clean the kitchen floor which mysteriously has bits of pie crust all over it...

Oh, wait!  I forgot to mention that I used every last drop of flour in my house in my futile efforts to make a pie.  Tonight after church I will be running to the store.  And I will buy a pie crust.   And I will slice up some granny smith apples and throw it in the oven.  And I will have to shamefully say on Tuesday, "No, I didn't make the pie crust.  Please do not ask."

But then because I'm me, I will inflict the entire sordid tale on anyone who mistakenly asks...

Or even those who fail to ask, but mistakenly even randomly mention pies, apples, flour, kitchens or complete and total emotional break downs.