Life Gets in the Way

Yes, hi, hello. Let’s get the niceties out of the way quickly because HOLY SHIT last week was a fucking week.

I’m tired just thinking about it. That’s how much week was packed into last week. And no, I’m not talking about work — work is great, work is manageable, work is a creative outlet (hello, graphic designer).

I’m talking about the bullshit that the Senate pulled. I’m talking about Brett fucking Kavanaugh getting confirmed to the Supreme Court. I’m talking about a man who screamed and cried during his job interview, STILL getting said job in the highest position in his field. I’m talking about the juxtaposing fact that had he been a woman he would have been referred to as “hysterical” not “passionate”.

I am sick of this shit.

I am sick of being referred to as hysterical because I’m upset that a serial abuser lied in front of the Senate Judiciary Council UNDER OATH and nothing happened. Don’t you dare sit there and tell me that he didn’t lie. Stop gaslighting me. Stop gaslighting women in your life, or anyone in your life. Just fucking cut that shit out.

I don’t care if you think this is about being partisan or whatever bullshit Fox News is twisting into news, Brett Kavanaugh lied. Multiple times. So fuck him and fuck the system that allowed him to even get that far. UGH there is so much to unpack in that fucking sentence, I cannot get into it today. Unpacking aside, FUCKING VOTE. Over 117 million people didn’t even vote in the 2016 presidential election. If you didn’t vote, you don’t get to be angry. So if you want to be angry like me, go fucking vote in November. Jesus Christ, even Taylor Swift chose a side. Be like Taylor (only time I will ever say this).

MOVING ON.

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Look, I tried to end the week on a high note. So I baked. Yes, me—Erin, not Rose—BAKED. With food. Shocking I know. It made me feel better for approximately three hours. But hey, three hours is better than the zero it would have been. I have to stop reading the news.

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Okay so cool, now that my anger about Brett has subsided—LOL KAVA-NOPE—let’s talk about pie. Pie is my favorite food group. Pie is the perfect food. For literally anytime. Breakfast pie, lunch pie, pie when you’re sobbing on your kitchen floor, dinner pie, dessert pie, times when you can’t eat anything els—oh wait, did you say pie?

In addition to being able to eat pie all the time, you can also make ANYTHING into a pie. Apples, cherries, pumpkin, shepards, pecans, chocolate pudding, cheese—the list goes on.

The pie that I made to be the cherry-on-top of a crap week was from a recipe in the Fall 2018 issue of Sift Magazine (this recipe isn’t available online so go buy a copy, you’ll be glad you did). There are a lot of times where I read recipes from magazines and think “oh yes, I will definitely make this!” and then, seven months later, when I find the magazine in a stack under my coffee table, I remember that I’m a trashcan human and I never actually did it. But this time, I actually freaking did it! High-fives all around! (err… self-fives, whatever I’m lonely)

Not only did I actually buy ingredients and get myself together and bake a pie, I baked an intricate pie. In the article, Erin McDowell (if you don’t follow her on instagram, do, because she is the PIE KWEEN) created the most beautiful apple pie I’ve ever seen. And for some reason, masochism?, I saw that pie and thought, “I can totally do that”.

Don’t get me wrong, I fucking did it! But the whole thing was a “fake it ‘til you make it” situation. The silver lining of FITYMI situations is that I literally only ever have FITYMI so I’ve gotten pretty fucking decent at it. I can’t be the only one who has no idea what I’m doing, so that means you can do this too! Also, let’s get one thing straight, I’m flying by the seat of my pants, so bear with my lack of actual recipe following. Be cool.

Let’s do this.

First things first. You need the bedding for your filling to sleep so comfortably in. I’m talking about the real MVP here: the crust. Pie crust sounds scary, but never fear, I work for a baking company and have all the pro secrets, literally all of them (I sound confident, right? LOL). Did you know you can make pie crust in a MIXER? Yeah, life changing. Also, I know that there are three ingredients in crust, but I’m extra-super lazy, so I use a mix. This is my favorite.

After you add in all the butter—that shit better be cold!—throw everybody in the mixer for about 5 minutes on the second speed. Get yourself a beautiful, sandy texture and then get ready for the ice water. Good pie crust is all in the cold temperature of the ingredients you add. The butter has to be cold because you want large chunks to remain, the water has to be ice cold because you don’t want to melt the butter. Easy. Look at you now! Master baker, GBBO here we come.

Once your pie crust is a cohesive dough, pull it out of the mixer and wrap it in plastic wrap (this mix makes enough for two crusts, so I separated them) and throw those bitches in the fridge to chill out.

Moving on to apples. Here is where my mother worries most about me: with knives. I have the tendency to cut myself almost immediately (like while camping in August, I arrived and within five minutes had sliced my finger open washing a knife. cool.), so the fact that this recipe calls for thin, almost transparent apple slices, terrified me. To be fucking honest, I did not cut my apples thin enough. I had a DUH moment a few days later that I should have used a mandolin, fucking duh, Erin.

Fortunately, my roommate, who left me high and freaking dry two days before rent was due (and by this I mean, just fucking up and moved out), moved out in such a hurry that he forgot a pretty decent knife. Hey asshole, you can have your knife back when you pay me electric. Oh wait, that’s right, you won’t respond to me (grow the fuck up, dude). Yes, this experience also contributed to last week being an absolute shit pile. Yes, I am still angry. Yes, I cried angrily about entitled white men to my boyfriend (who also happens to be both white and male).

Anyway, poorly sliced apples and misplaced emotions aside, all that was left was to combine the filling. Dry ingredients—sugar, apple pie spice, instant clearjel, flour—first. Because of the intricate manner of this pie, the dry ingredients and the wet ingredients—boiled cider, vanilla extract, lemon juice—need to be separate until the very end.

Okay, cool, so we have our apple slices (whatever they’re as good as I’m gonna get them) and our filling and our pie crust—lovingly placed over a pie pan and then aggressively pinched to perfection—we’re ready to begin.

Start by dusting the pie crust with a bit of the dry filling (a fucking dusting, NOT ALL OF IT. I made this mistake, learn from me), then start circling the apple slices around the outside of the pan, slightly overlapping. When you’ve completed the first layer, dust more of the dry filling around the apples. Then start again. Keep circling the apple slices until you get to the middle and then cry, because if you’re me and didn’t cut your apple thin enough, this is impossible—make a cute little curl of apple and place in the middle.

Drizzle with the vanilla, the boiled cider, and the lemon juice and throw that fucker in the oven! Oh, right, ahem, preheat your oven to 350º before you’re done with you pie. Bake it for 40 minutes then tent (just like camping, but with less dirt and more tinfoil) the pie for another 30 minutes.

LOOK AT YOU. YOU BAKED A PIE. And it’s a pretty fucker! Everyone is envious, they want to be just like you. God, your social anxiety must be through the roof. I know mine is. Time for pie.

Okay, so let me know if this inspired you to bake your own pie! Also let me know if this inspired you to go to the grocery store to just buy a pie (this is the real pro move, trust me). Just eat pie this week, you fucking deserve it. I will probably still be angry next week and forever in the future, because the men in charge of this country are actually ruining everything for everyone except themselves, so buckle up for that.

Things you shouldn’t do: 1. Tell me I’m a shitty baker. I know, I don’t need you to tell me. 2. Tell me I’ve overreacting (did we not talk about gaslighting?). 3. Fucking gaslight people. Cut that shit out.

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Okay, I love you so much, and I promise to take some meditation time (let’e be honest, while I eat pie) xx Erin

most adult thing done this week: this fucking shit. you’re welcome.