This afternoon I made the double peanut pie using a butter dough I'd kept frozen for a few weeks (I think it was the remains of the shoofly pie). I rolled it out painlessly and transferred it to the pie plate, surprised to see little green lines speckling the crust. I had rolled the dough on the surface where my dying Valentine's bouquet had just been, and tiny bits of flower were now imprinted in the dough.
Oh well. They're probably edible.
Though the dough didn't make it quite up and around the entire pie plate, it was enough to satisfy me. Pinching the dough up just a little more, covering just a bit more of the glass plate was satisfying work. I did this on our new rolling butcher block feeling very "rustic."
The oven started smoking while preheating, and I had to pause to let it cool down enough before wiping up charcoal remains of pot pie drippings. This prompted a conversation about Sylvia Plath and how to turn off a pilot light in an oven.
The filling is made up of a cup of corn syrup (which I didn't have enough of, so I added homemade simple syrup, hopefully that's fine), half a cup of peanut butter, 3 eggs, half a teaspoon vanilla extract, and half a cup of sugar blended together until smooth, and then half a cup of salted peanuts gets stirred in. It's baking at 350 for 55 minutes, which gives me enough time to clean up the dog's vomit, try and get the cats to be together and not kill each other, and write this post.
Howard and I are going to be quite decadent today, and in addition to our peanut pie he's making a berry cobbler. We're welcoming the night with champagne and once we piece together a dinner, we'll enjoy our rich, comforting desserts on this frigid day.
No comments:
Post a Comment