The fickle pumpkin pie

So this weekend I was enlisted to make a few pumpkin pies for a friends' birthday. It was my first 'order' as it were and I was quite pleased. As I donned my stained white apron I thought, "Don't mess this up. The reputation of the Mathis pumpkin pie recipe is in your hands." Oh Poop. No pressure whatsoever.

There was no use dilly dallying. I had 4 pies to make in 3 hours. We were going over to Madam Finnagin's for dinner at 7, and with just me doing the baking it was going to be a tight race. In short order I had 2 pots of pumpkin and spice plopping on the stove and had set to work on my pie crusts.

I don't know why I have such a hard time with crusts. Every time I make them they come out different. Somehow, though we grew up in the same house, I missed the 'how-to-make-awesome-pie-crust' tutorial that my sisters got. Now, to my credit, I have made some pretty decent pie crusts in my time but as far as consistency is concerned they are nothing like my sisters'. Their crusts are sturdy supportive things that make a pie feel secure and protected. My crusts are flimsy and flaky, falling to pieces at a drop of the hat. Their crusts require a rolling pin to flatten. Mine roll out at the sight of a soggy noodle.

And so the ingredients are before me. I have decided to try using a food processor to blend my crust this time around. I read an article in Real Simple this week that made me think that it was a superior way to go at it, and figured why not? As I tossed the ingredients in and pushed the pulsate button, I was delighted to see the results. The process which normally takes several minutes for me to complete was finished perfectly in a matter of seconds. Flushed with victory I added the water and watched in horror as my dough transformed into something resembling whipped frosting. Oh crap.

Meanwhile on the stove, my pumpkin is boiling away. I have noticed that the consistency of one pot is different from the other but figure it will work out in the end.

Back in pie crust land, I have managed to salvage my crust more or less. It is a signature Summer Lee crust and I massage it into submission without much fuss. In the process of making these the crusts I realize that I won't have enough flour to make two more. I phone the captain who is at the church and request an extra ration. He acquiesces to my request and says he will be home shortly.

At long last, I roll out two beautiful crusts, not very much unlike this. I check the clock and realize that I am not going to have enough time to bake both sets of pies before dinner. I also realize that I am one pie pan short. Just then the captain breezes through the door, flour and sparkling white grape juice in hand. I smile and silently note his deposit into my love bank and then ask him if he can go out yet again and find me a pie pan. The gentleman that he is, he smiles and dutifully awaits instructions. I call up my crafty jewelry-making friend and ask if we can borrow one from her. She laughs and gives us the coordinates to where they are hidden in her kitchen. Out goes the captain, and away I go again on my last set of crusts. Sadly, this batch does not work as well as the first. The first looks like a cancer patient loosing his hair and I quickly decide that I will be a crustless pie. The second looks like a kindergartener's play dough sculpture. "What have I done?" I think to myself as I stare at my creations. Huge. Epic. Fail.
"Screw it," I say out loud. Most of the mayhem is under the pie line. They will never know.

And indeed, once they were baked you really couldn't tell. The two best looking pies we took up to our surrogate parents, and the other two were baked later that night and went to a lunch with my crafty friend and her husband and the other to some of Michael's students. Hopefully the latter set will eat them in low lighting.