• Mr. Handsome’s Birthday Pie

    October 9, 2008

    He’s 35 years old today. Getting ancient, I’d say. He goes around complaining about his aching hip and his sore back and he’s not faking it, either. If he continues on this way he’ll be a real mess by the time he’s a teetery-tottery old man. But I’ll still love him. And I’ll still fix him an apple pie for his birthday, if that’s what he asks for.


    We just had an apple pie earlier this week, so I guess the fact that he’s calling for an encore means that it passed his taste-bud test. The birthday pie is cooling on the stove top, so the pictures here are of the first pie.


    Apple Pie
    The recipe was discovered and adapted from Better Homes and Gardens New Cook Book by none other than the Birthday Boy himself. We’ve been making it for years now. (Do you hear me? The way I said that makes me sound like I’m at least 75 years old!)

    Tart apples, about 5-10, depending on the size of them
    2/3-1 cup sugar, depending on the tartness of the apples
    1/4-1/3 cup flour
    1 teaspoon cinnamon
    a couple pinches of nutmeg
    some butter, for dabbing on top of the apples
    more sugar and a bit of cream, for adorning the top crust
    a double 9-inch pie crust

    To prepare the apples, wash, core, peel, and slice them. I then mound the apple slices in the pie plate itself, to make sure I have the proper amount. Heap them up good, because the apples will condense as they bake.


    Dump the apples into a mixing bowl, and rinse and dry the pie plate. In a small bowl, mix together the sugar, flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Pour the mixture over the apple slices and gently toss the apples until they are coated with the spicy sweetness.


    Put the bottom crust in the pie plate and fill the plate with the apples. Dot the top of the apples with pats of butter (1-2 tablespoons).


    Lay the top crust (in which you have cut some decorative slits to let the steam escape) over the apples,


    and crimp the edges to seal.


    Brush the top of the pie (not the crimped edges, though) with cream and liberally sprinkle with sugar. Set the pie on the bottom rack of the oven which has been preheated to 400 degrees and bake for 25-40 minutes. The crust, both the top and bottom, should be a (dark) golden brown.


    You can test to see if the apples are tender by piercing them with a knife through one of the steam slits. If the crust edges get brown too quickly, lay a piece of tinfoil lightly over the pie.


    Serve the pie, still slightly warm, with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. Leftovers, with a tall glass of cold milk, make a good breakfast.

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  • Blow Out

    October 9, 2008

    This is what happens if you don’t dock the bread properly, or if it hasn’t been proofed all the way.


    In this case, both factors were present. The bread was under-proofed (right around 58 degrees instead of 62) so I should have made a deeper cut when I docked it.


    But I didn’t, and you can see how the bread contorted itself as it struggled to find room to expand.


    So now it sports a Novocaine-induced chipmunk face—a loaf of bread that has had dental work. How about that … a genuinely toothsome bread.

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  • A Fundamental Lapse In Judgement, Perhaps?

    October 8, 2008

    When I started this blog, I decided that I wasn’t going to write about politics. That does not mean that I am not interested in politics (though, mostly, I’m not) because this year’s political scene is definitely interesting.

    It’s so interesting, in fact, that Mr. Handsome and I have allowed the devil-in-a-box to enter our home.

    In our twelve years of marriage we have never had a TV. Ever. In my entire life, I have never had a TV. Never. I hate the thing. Passionately.

    But, I do like movies, the occasional DVD (we subscribe to Netflix—two DVDs a month for $5.95—and if you decide to subscribe after reading this post, please note our names so that we can get whatever bonus they are offering at the time) or video. For years, we would borrow Matt and Crystal’s TV/video combo thingy when we needed to veg. But then we moved to the country and didn’t have easy access to anything, so we borrowed (kind of permanently, but shhh, don’t tell the kids) an old TV monitor/video player from Matt and Monica (Matt did not get remarried—they are different Matts).

    At least I thought it was just a monitor.

    On the night of the first debate, Mr. Handsome called me up to our bedroom, and lo and behold, there he was, just standing there in the buff… (I’m kidding! Though that sometimes is the case. Of course.)

    Lemme try again: Lo and behold, there he was standing beside the old TV monitor and on the TV were the fuzzy faces of McCain and Obama. What??? Here he had rigged the thing up with cords—one was running up the side of the window and draped over the curtain rod. I don’t know what he did; all I know is it was electrical and ugly and messy. It wasn’t the best connection, and sometimes the images dissolved and the buzzing sound overtook, but we learned that if Mr. Handsome sat next to it, leaning his body just so with his hand over the top of the TV (in a perverse sort of blessing), the picture came through satisfactorily.

    Soon we heard a scuffling noise outside our bedroom door. I tiptoed over, opened the door, and there were Miss Becca Boo and Yo-Yo Boy crouched down, trying to listen under the door. So I invited them in. Miss Becca Boo said, “What movie are you watching?”

    Mr. Handsome shushed her and said emphatically, “It’s not a movie. It’s history.”

    “Oh,” she said, and snuggled down to watch.

    Since that night, Mr. Handsome and I have watched the following two debates. When we’re watching, a bowl of popcorn between us, it seems just like a movie, but then afterwards the ads come on (some of which I can not follow and do not understand) and all the fast-talking reporters and then I remember that it’s a TV we’re watching and I get a yucky, tired feeling and we turn it off and go to bed.

    So, can I still say that I’ve never owned a TV? Have I crossed The Line?

    And in regards to politics, I’m not going to tell you who we’re rooting for. (The yard sign, our first ever, isn’t up yet, and even if it were, you couldn’t see it, right?) Can you guess?

    Ps. I’ll reveal the answer if I get twenty (20!) guesses. If not, I’m keepin’ mum.

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