Well, despite the best of my efforts I once again fell apart for September and October! To be kind to myself, I think I fell apart to much lesser degree than any prior year, which is positive I suppose. It’s just so frustrating, disappointing even. No matter how much I stomp my feet and clench my fists and order myself not to crumble like a moistened house of cards, this time of year just wriggles and gnaws through my flesh like a maggot, deep into my soul where it lays eggs of misery.
It’s extra annoying because by all rights this should be my favourite time of year. The muggy heat of the summer gives way to cool air and warm sunbeams, everything and everyone seems to slow down a little as the days shorten, cooler nights let you snuggle in a blanket all warm a cosy and halloween, the best season, creeps into shops and over the front houses.
But the smell of pumpkin spice makes me feel sick like someone is going to beat me and all the nice things make me remember some very bad things no matter how much I wish they wouldn’t.
It’s not fair.
Still, I’m trying to make the most of the season and a good way to do that is to do NEW things because new things don’t arrive with bad memories. So I made an apple pie!
It’s been a while since I posted my cookie recipe. That was the result of several weeks of baking and refinement and hyper focus; this is the recipe for a pie I made once, but what is a recipe if not the story of how a food was made?
Seasonal Regret Pie with Apples and a Kiwi
Firstly, be surprised by all the apples. Where did they all come from? Why are there so many? Did someone buy these all at once or maybe they were a gift of fruit or maybe the pile is the result of weeks collecting small amounts but not eating any? Do you need to eat some fruit? When did you last eat fruit? What do apples even taste like? Why are there Kiwis? What does it MEAN!?!?
Peel some apples. Imagine they’re people you don’t like if it helps, slowly and methodically removing the skin with a little smile, it’s okay because it’s not real haha. How many? What variety? That doesn’t matter. What matters is that there are apples and they must be skinned, peeled, and then cut into little bits for reasons that will become apparent later in the recipe. Keep going until they have suffered enough, till either the apples that are left are frozen with terror or none remain at all.
At this point you must decide you are making a pie. Look at the pile of diced and minced apples, and a kiwi who got unlucky, and think “I need to hide the evidence” then become the Sweeney Todd of apples. Order someone to order you some raw pastry because making pastry from scratch is hard and makes a lot of mess and you can’t do it so don’t even try, get both shortcrust and puff because you’re not sure which one is what you use for making a pie and there’s no time to look it up because you need to dispose of this horrible evidence before someone finds out!
The pastry will be delivered in 40 minutes, throw the murdered apples into a pan with a knob of butter to hide them in the mean time. Fry them up, try to look casual. Is this what people do when making apple pie? Who knows, hopefully no-one who sees what you’re doing knows either. How would you explain yourself? “Why are you frying apples in butter, that’s not something you need to do for a pie, are you a psychopath?”, That’s probably what they would say, better add some sugar and water to the pan quickly so that you can lie and say you’re making apple jam or something if they ask. The perfect cover. How much sugar and water? You don’t know, you’ve never made apple jam either but you go for it because you’re in too deep now.
Add some cinnamon to disguise the scent of your steamed victims.
The pastry is here now! You don’t have a pie dish so panic and use a skillet put some pastry in the bottom and fill it with what you made from what remains, thick and gloopy, then cover it with the other pastry. Out of sight, out of mind. Put some little apple shaped pastry decorations on top because you fell terrible for what you did, then stab them one last time because you really do hate them and they don’t deserve your guilt.
Bake for 15 minutes at 200C and then a further 40 minutes at 150C or until the crust is golden and puffed, assuming you put the puff pastry on top. Allow to cool for 20 minutes before turning out the pie and enjoy with imaginary custard or whipped cream because you don’t have any.
I can’t write any quantiles or clear instructions because I don’t know, I can only assume my complicated feelings were just because the pie was delicious; A pie baked with hate, remarkably sweet.
Anyway, I love you, I am feeling better now, Thank-you for being here XOXO