Sorry for the long absence! There have been pies made, just not pies blogged. One reason for that is that one of the most recent pies was a disaster. A rummy, creamy disaster, but a disaster nevertheless. This sucked the wind out of my sails. Dumping a liquid pie into your compost bin kind of does that to a girl.
I will not post the recipe for Rum Vanilla Cream pie, because it did not work. I have made many a pastry cream in my life. I doubled checked my measurements as a I went along. I didn’t rush. I was a good little pie baker.
Sadly, after hours of hanging out in the fridge, chillaxin’, the filling was still frighteningly sloshy. This was how it remained. It was its destiny to be so. I knew that as soon as I attempted to “cut” a slice and remove it, the rest of the filling would rush into the hole in a natural-disaster sort of way.
Yep. That’s what happened.
Now, if you’re into drinking pastry cream, this pie was for you. It had a beautiful vanilla / rum flavour that did not disappoint. Just the right amount of booze against the sweet vanilla tones. In fact, the flavour was so good that I really do want to figure this recipe mystery out and make the pie again. That is saying something.
But it was like having a bowl of custard with a pie crust floating around in it. Not cool.
I wish I’d taken a picture but I couldn’t bring myself. It was too sad. Only pies that are not mean to me get to have their pictures taken.
A tune for sad pie making:
And duh, this pie ain’t getting a blue ribbon. No sir.
Either time is slowing down (which would be awesome because my holiday ends tomorrow and I wouldn’t say no to just a few more days / weeks / months), or else I am not keeping up with my “pie a week” plan.
It’s true. Time is slowing down.
No, I admit it. I have not been able to keep up my pie-a-week momentum over the Christmas break. I mean, when you’ve got peppermint bark, spiced butter cookies, gingerbread toffee, a seemingly bottomless Quality Street tin AND mincemeat tarts coming out the wazoo, how can a girl be expected to Keep. Making. Pies. That would be the mission of a crazy lady.
So a little New Year’s Resolution has happened. I have decided that I am going to need to modify my pie plan, ever so slightly, just the slightest of slight changes to the rules, okay? It’s not because I’m a lazy pie maker. It’s not because I am not committed to making many, many pies. It is mostly because over the holiday I realized there may be weeks in the year ahead when a girl just cannot find it in herself to make a pie. I’m going to keep on making pies (promise!) as close to every week as I can, until I hit 52 pies. Another way of looking at this is that I’ve just now declared that this “year of pies” is going to be longer than 52 weeks. Confused?
There may have been a little more rule-bending over the holidays with our New Year’s pie. Have you not heard of tiramisu pie? How about frangelico mascarpone cream pie with ladyfinger crust? Sounds legit, right?
If it’s shaped like a pie. If you can slice it. It’s pie. So say moi.
There are pies I can eat for breakfast. There are pies I could eat every week. This week I have learned that Coconut Cream Pie does not fall into either of these categories. Coconut Cream Pie is not for wimps. It is not for vegans. (At least not the one I made. No indeed). It is also not for people who like to accomplish things after dessert. It is tasty though. Tasty verging on naughty.
Confession: before Saturday, I had never eaten coconut cream pie. This is surprising because coconut is one of my favourite tastes and I’ve not been known to say no to creamy, vanilla-scented pastry cream. When I worked (read: slaved) in the kitchen at the schmancy Belgian bakery here in town, one of my secret walk-in refrigerator treats was a spoonful of pastry cream with a raspberry plopped on top. One bite of cold vanilla fruitiness, and then back to work!
The thing is, I think I’d probably choose a fruit pie over a cream pie nine times out of ten. Is this because I delude myself into thinking that I’m getting something remotely “good for me” with a fruit pie? Perhaps. Blueberries = antioxidants. Peaches = fiber. I think it’s more about the contrast, of flaky crust to syrupy fruit, the sweet tang against slight salt of butter. A cream pie is really… creamy. And this one was mostly sweet, and sweeter. You can’t pretend it isn’t decadent, maybe even a touch insane, to be eating all that cream. I admit I felt a little giddy as I scooped up my last forkful of this week’s indulgence. When I was done, I lay on the couch in a coconut cream stupor and vowed that tomorrow I would run. I would run far and fast.