One year ago, I was singing the Happy Birthday song on repeat while fervently washing my hands. The cabinets and drawers circling my kitchen were in a state of constant upheaval as I attempted to revamp, rearrange, and declutter. With way too much time on my very clean hands, surely I could have dabbled in sourdough or created my very best banana bread adventure. My mornings were wide open with nothing to do but organize an unruly collection of Tupperware, matching them with their appropriate lids and pitching the rest; instead I procrastinated.
The truth is I ignored sourdough starter like the very plague swirling around us, listening patiently while friends spoke of their ‘starter’ with the enthusiasm of a new pet owner. I baked zero loaves of banana bread, dodged the Dalgona coffee trend, and never entertained the idea of baking tiny pancakes for the sole purpose of tucking them into a cereal bowl. After numerous half-hearted attempts, I gave up on the Tupperware odyssey and shoved all of the mismatched lids to the rear of the cabinet.
The bane of my existence was what to make for dinner. A hot topic of debate, I struggled with what to prepare and also what to avoid. With each suggestion that flooded my inbox, I resisted. I didn’t want to cook on a sheet pan; sheet pans are for baking. For every reinvention of an old trend into a contemporary idea, I balked. Yes, I knew exactly where in the basement my mother’s circa 1970 canary yellow fondue set lurked. It hadn’t seen the light of day since Gene Rayburn hosted Match Game, and that was fine with me. The idea of getting creative with a slow cooker felt counter intuitive. With nothing but time to mise en place to my heart’s content, I shouldn’t be turning to a crock pot for inspiration. Ultimately, an oven cranked up to 425 degrees and a love of pie saved me.
Pot pies, hand pies, cast iron skillet pies, each one sparked a little joy. Yeast-driven doughs, pizzas and galettes provided inspiration and eased the curmudgeon o’clock hour. One year later, with the world still in flux, pie-for-dinner continues. Leftovers find refuge stored in a Tupperware container, sealed with a lid that mostly fits.
Professional Pie-isms & Seasonal Sarcasm