Sunday, January 13, 2013

Sweet cherry pie!

A couple of years ago we had cherry pies from a bakery in Young and DAMN were they delicious.  Since I don't really know anyone that lives in Young and it's really just too far to go purely for cherry pies, I decided to give it a go myself.  A quick glance on the web to see how everyone else makes it, a basic sweet shortcrust recipe and BAM I churned out my first batch of cherry pies ever, my own special recipe.  My husband inhaled those pies.  I don't think they made it through the first night.

It's about seven years since that first batch and every year when it's cherry season the husband begs me to make more and everyone who's ever had them begs me to make more and I always do but I never write the bloody recipe down.  Being me this means that I've developed a bit of a phobia about cherry season.  The instant they start showing up in Coles I get heart palpitations imagining myself unable to make the wretched things and having people stare at me in disbelief because they can't believe what a fraud I am.  But you made them last year...why can't you make them again now?  

Yes, I am very odd and I overthink a lot of things.  Cherry pies are just the tip of that particular iceberg but we're getting off topic and wading into the "here there be more information than ye require" section of the map.  The point is that every year I have to wing it and reinvent the recipe all over again and every year I promise myself I'll write it down and I never do because it's a bloody simple recipe really but this year I'm doing it right here and right now because I am my own worst enemy and I will not bloody remember it, no matter how simple it is and this cycle will go on forever unless I end it now.  Plus writing it here means you can all make your own in future.

This recipe makes ten small pies.  First up?  Pastry.  You'll need three batches of this stuff to make ten small pies.  One batch will do five pie bases or ten cross hatch pie tops.

Sweet shortcrust pastry
1½ Cups Plain Flour
 Cup Castor Sugar
125g butter
1 egg yolk
1 Tablespoon cold water

Blend the flour, sugar and butter in a food processor until it looks like fine breadcrumbs.  Add the egg yolk and water and then turn it out and knead it until it's smooth and comes together into a ball.  Most recipes say you should refrigerate it for half an hour at this point but that always seems to make it unworkable for me.  I find it easier to knead, roll out (about 3mm thick maybe) and use straight away (don't forget to flour your pie sheet/bench and rolling pin)*.  Line your pie tins with the pastry, line the pastry with baking paper and bake it blind for eight minutes in a 180°C oven.




Filling
1.6kg black cherries
1 Cup White Sugar
½ Cup Lemon Juice (I prefer to use fresh lemons but go with whatever you can get)
3 Tablespoons Arrowroot

De-stalk and pip the cherries.  For that, you are going to want a cherry pipper;


So much faster than doing it by hand.  Then cut your cherries in half and throw them in a saucepan along with the sugar and the lemon juice (depending on how sweet/tart your cherries are.  This recipe is for black cherries and lemon juice is a necessary element.  If you use morellos you probably won't need any lemon juice but will still need roughly a cup of sugar.  Regardless of which you use balance the levels to your own palate).



Bring the lot up to the boil and simmer for about 20 minutes to soften the fruit but not break it down entirely.  Pour off some of the juice and mix in the arrowroot** to a smooth consistency.  Add it slowly to your cherries and keep going until the mixture is thick (you'll probably use all of it).  Remember that the mix will thicken more when it cools down.  Take the cherries off the heat.

Empty your pie cases of baking beads and paper.  Spoon the filling in to just below the top of the pie cases.  Now we come to cross hatching, which I'd never done before today.  Thinner strips that are wider are easier and look better.  Roll your pastry out (about 3mm again), use a pizza cutter if you have one (just a little over a centimetre wide) and layer them.  Aw hell, go here and see what they do.  Note that because I blind baked the base first instead of folding up the edge of the base over the ends of the strips I trimmed the strips exactly at the edge of the pie base instead.  Because I made small pies I only needed three strips in each direction.  Lay your first two like a cross over the middle because it's easier to lift the ends to place the last strips.

Bake until the top is just going golden and you're done.



*  Helpful tip - Shortcrust is a crumbly, nasty little biatch of a pastry to work with which is just one of the reasons I tend to make small ones.  I use a very thin metal spatula to lift the pastry off the pastry sheet and flip it into the tin.

**  The Science of Cooking 101.  Citric acid means you cannot use cornflour (corn starch) as a thickener.  Arrowroot is what you want.  Plus it will make your pie filling glossy and beautiful.  Don't be tempted to ignore this advice.  You will wind up with chalky, pale and, most tragically of all, runny pie filling.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Out with the old!

It's no secret I was raised by a crazy hippy Dutchman who was teaching me all sorts of stuff about sustainability and the environment long before the cool kids discovered designer Envirosax.  In our house cling wrap was banned (do you know how long that takes to break down in landfill???), I got grounded for putting potato peels in the chook bucket (it puts the hens off the lay) and girl, don't even think about buying any kind of shampoo or beauty product that's not stamped bio-degradable (do you have any idea how hard this was in the 90s???) because it will kill all the good bacteria living in the septic tank.

As a result of all of this heavy-handed social-conscience inducing discussion in my formative years, I've grown up to be something of a hippy* myself.  Aside from biodegradable shampoos, organic free-range everything and phosphate-free cleaning products I hate giving anything up to landfill.  I darn the holes in my socks and re-heel my shoes.  I buy most of my clothes from charity stores and donate the stuff I'm done with.  My bras go to Tennant Creek for the indigenous women who don't have easy access to their own.  When clothes do actually die they get cut up and hemmed into cleaning rags and the buttons go into my sewing kit.  Nothing from our household makes it to landfill unless it well and truly belongs there.

But occasionally this thrifty sort of behaviour goes well beyond sensible and becomes a bit weird.  I have two prime examples for your amusement this week.  First up?  My steering wheel cover.  I love my car. I like it to be clean (which doesn't happen very often thanks to kids) and well-looked after which means steering wheel and seat belt covers, headlight and bonnet guards, heavy duty rubber floor mats.

I usually aim to give it a thorough clean every three-four months which includes emptying it completely, pulling the seats out to vacuum underneath, reconditioning all of the leather and plastic, taking the bonnet and headlight guards off before I wash and wax, the works.  But let's face it, nothing I can do, even in the four hours or so it takes me to clean it inside and out, is going to beat having a team of five guys crawling all over it armed with tools and cleaning products.  Plus, I wouldn't even know where to start when it comes to steam cleaning the upholstery (completely necessary if you let small children eat so much as a tim tam in your car).  Nope, occasionally you've just got to get it done properly. So I recently took it to be valeted.


There is obviously something about me that telegraphs to people that here is a pushover who will listen politely to their unwanted opinion because for some reason I get a bunch of advice I never asked for that's delivered in a way that implies I've been a bit naughty.  So it was with my car being valeted.  When I went to pick it up the guy held onto my keys, looked at me sternly, told me in no uncertain terms not to leave it so long between visits next time oh and, by the way, consider replacing your steering wheel cover.

He did kind of have a point.  Aside from the terrible state of the upholstery in the back, I'd been noticing the steering wheel cover's gradual disintegration over the last couple of months.  Within a week of getting it back from the cleaners the steering wheel column was littered with flaked-off bits of leather from the cover.  I tried to remember how long I've had it for and the best I could say was that originally I bought it for my Pulsar, which I sold not long after Charlotte was born.  So somewhere in the order of 7+ years.

Part of my Dad's world-saving hippy philosophy is to spend money on buying decent stuff that will last rather than the $5 Kmart specials that will fall apart within a year.  At the time I bought the cover it was top of the line from Supercheap.  With almost ten years of use, it was obviously worth it and I wanted something similar again.  Imagine the happy when I managed to find exactly the same one!!!

To show you just how long I'd left the upgrade?  Photographic evidence;



I swear it is the same cover, right down to the slightly bogan cow skull logo**.  But even so.  Yikes.  I don't think there's any colour even left on the first one and all of the grey leather has flaked away.  That's the matching seat belt cover in case you're wondering (as an interesting side note, the new one came with a CD holder for my sun visor instead of seat belt covers).

To my other example!  My oven mitts.  The pair I had until very recently I bought when I separated from my ex almost 13 years ago and moved into my own place.  They were the cheapest I could find at the time because I had no money whatsoever ($2 Clints special) but I still didn't upgrade at any point because buying a new anything purely because the one you've got is ugly is incredibly wasteful and I can't bring myself to do it (although, granted, the old pair of oven mitts looked like they belonged in one of those wanna be country kitchens with faux timber cupboards and tiled splashbacks featuring proud roosters and brown onions and this alone almost brought me to my thrifty knees on more than one occasion).

About six months ago is when I officially reached the point where I felt I could buy a new pair with a clear conscience - purely because the cotton had burned through in enough places that I had to arranage my hands in them so I wouldn't get burnt when taking stuff out of the oven.  Despite my oven mitt jockeying expertise, I still managed to hurt myself a bunch of times necessitating standing with my fingers running under cool water after hopping around the kitchen swearing for a bit.  I kept meaning to buy new ones, I swear.  I just never got around to it or remembered when I needed to.  Unsurprisingly oven mitts are one of those things tucked away in the backs of stores that you have to look for and not placed conveniently where you can go oh yeah, I forgot I needed these.  Anyway, I digress.  I'm forgetful, oven mitts were overdue.  Then I wrote this blog post.

And lo, my good friend Green Teal sent me new mitts, plugs and...a Green Teal T-shirt!  It actually took me a moment to realise I even had oven mitts and plugs because I was so busy squealing over the shirt and stripping off my top so I could put it on and get a photo.  Check me out!



A week later when I caught up with Kat she handed over my Christmas gift and LO!  More oven mitts!!!***


At this point I don't think even my Dad will object to me retiring the ugly faux-country kitchen ones to landfill.  Go with God little oven mitts.  I've never liked you but 13 years of service for $2 is not a bad innings.

* And just like my Dad I object to the application of the term "hippy" based on this behaviour because this is how we should all be living so there's a planet with resources for future generations.

**  I tell myself my possession of this particular cover is slightly less bogan than it might otherwise be because I do in fact originally hail from a farm that did have real, live cows albeit Murray Greys that were not horn-equipped.  Authenticity.  I has it.

*** There are absolutely no prizes for guessing which friend gave me the super-girly cupcake set of oven mitts.

Friday, January 4, 2013

Stuff my kids get up to

I could write an entire blog purely based on the things my two kids say and do.  I love the two of them to death and I have real trouble not laughing when I shouldn't be laughing.  Every day there's either something they say or something they do that undoes me.  For the purposes of demonstrating what my kids get up to I give you three examples from the last 24 hours.

1.)  The hamper of shame.  Whenever there's something they don't want me to know about it gets buried in their laundry hamper.  His is a purple elephant.  Hers is a fluro yellow and orange duck.  I think because they personally never empty them that they just assume that no one does.  No word on how the washing magically shows up clean in their draws.  In any event, if they're trying to hide something the laundry hampers are the go-to place of choice.  Hmmm - mum got pretty mad that I took one bite of my apple and tossed it into the compost...something something wasteful...better hide the rest of this cheese sandwich...I KNOW IN MY HAMPER.

This one cracked me up.  It used to be a ball but when I found it buried in the purple elephant it was so forlorn I had to laugh.  When I presented it to both of them and asked who was responsible, my son's guilty little face gave the game away.  I don't even know how he killed it and I was too amused to punish him.


2.)  Learning how to deal.  Uno is big in our house at the moment.  I don't mind playing it with them because I think it conveys a bunch of useful skills.  Colours and numbers for James, strategy for her*, sportsmanship for them both.  Unfortunately we're constantly finding Uno cards everywhere because Charlotte is too impatient to learn how to shuffle properly...and James likes hurling them everywhere just because.  But this one took me by surprise.  When I unrolled my Envirosax to put the shopping in today I found precisely four Uno cards in each one.  It was completely random and I don't know which of them did it or why.


3.) Selfies.  They know how to unlock my phone.  They know what the camera is.  They know how to take photos of themselves.  Which is how Daddy wound up with roughly a dozen photos of his son's favourite part of his anatomy on his phone...and how I wind up with random shots like this that occasionally capture the naughty smile that signals mischief in progress.  And yes, he is almost always naked in every single photo.


*  Learning to cope with the unfortunate fact that her small Viking brother appears to have inherited not just all the Irish blood but the luck too.  He doesn't understand strategy, he barely understands how to play and yet somehow even when she cheats he still manages to win.