Tag Archives: pie

Mmmmmm pie.

I can count the number of pies I’ve made on my fingers. I’m hoping to include toes soon. In spite of my low number I really do love baking pies. I have a beautiful pie plate that needs more use. So in honour of Thanksgiving this past weekend I baked an apple pie for one of the three dinners I have attended/will be attending (2 down, one to go).

I couldn’t remember what recipe I used for my last crust, so I hashed together a new crust recipe! Based entirely off the proportions for good ol’ Barefat’s “Deep Dish Apple Pie”. Except I replaced the shortening with DUCK FAT and the water with VODKA.

Let me explain a few things for you, in case those last two ingredients make you question my sanity (it’s ok, I totally understand). I’m big into the idea of animal fat over shortening. I mean shortening has its place, I’m sure. It makes for flakey things, and I use it when I need to. It’s just, believe it or not, way creepier than animal fat. The process you go through to render fat from various vegetables? That shit shouldn’t happen man. It just shouldn’t. But animal fat? That is a much more reasonable and natural process. Just embrace it and pretend you’re European, or a cowboy, or whatever. The extra bonus of animal fat is that the exceptionally attractive butcher will explain to you all the differences between the animals. Lard (pig fat) is the cheapest of animals fats, and is good for use in sweet or savory pies. Beef is ok too, but should really only be used in savory crusts. Chicken tastes SUPER chicken-y, so not such a good plan. Duck, ah yes duck, it’s the most expensive (other than goose I’d assume, or polar bear, but I’m not THAT fancy…. yet), but it is exceptional for all types of crust. OH, THE TASTE! So I use duck fat. It smells a little woody, but it’s soft and easy to work with. And you can freeze it.

My choice of vodka as a substitute for water is not based on my love of a good tipple, no,  but instead: SCIENCE. The problem with water is that when it meets flour it gets gluttony, or something, and makes for a tougher, less flakey crust the more you work with it. Using vodka means you can have a wetter dough which is easier to work with, without sacrificing flake. Go team vodka!

People, my pie-hating sister ATE ALL THE PIE. This crust is THAT good. So I will share it with you.

Duck Fat Vodka Pie crust:

This recipe will make a bottom crust and a top crust.

Make sure all your ingredients are very cold, but not frozen.

1 ½ sticks of good unsalted butter, cubed

1/3 cup duck fat, splodged (it doesn’t really cube as it’s so soft, like all our fatty bits!)

3 cups of flour

1 tsp salt

1 tablespoon white sugar

½ cup of ice cold vodka (I like to pour myself a glass on the rocks and measure it out from there)

1 egg and a splash of milk for the eggwash, keep separate.

  1. Pre-heat oven to 415 F (an odd number but it worked). Stick a tin foil lined baking tray on the lower rack to catch all the tasty juices that will inevitably ooze out of your pie. This way your kitchen won’t smell like it’s on fire. Maybe.
  2. Whisk all dry ingredients together in a large bowl.
  3. Throw butter and duck fat in with the flour and cut in with two knives, continue until it’s a bowl full of pea-sized floury buttery bits. I usually get impatient and start using my hands. This works especially well if you are a vampire, or have naturally cold hands.
  4. Slowly pour in the ice cold vodka, and work into dough with your fingers until it’s all just combined.
  5. Divide dough into two disks, and put in fridge for 30mins, or forever. It’s up to you.
  6. After you’ve made your filling, or washed your hair, or whatever, roll out the dough until it looks like a big enough circle to fit into your pie plate with some over-hang. THEN (here’s a handy tip), fold it in half (or into a quarter triangle guy) and place it in the dish, and then unfold in the dish. This avoids breaking it to a billion pieces. SMART. Press gently into the dish.
  7. Pile in your filling! I used a cinnamon spiced apple filling and piled it in HIGH, but do whatever makes you happy! Peaches, plums, pears, whatever!
  8. Do the same but with the top! I cut out ADORABLE hearts, but if you don’t want to be barf-tastic, just make some slits with a knife, or whatever. Your pie is like a puppy, it needs to breath! So make some breathing holes.
  9. Eggwash your pie! Dip a brush into the eggwash you made, and then paint the top of your pie with it. I forgot this step, but I just did it 45mins into baking. It worked out fine.
  10. BAKE! I baked mine for about 1h 25mins, the crust was a delicious golden brown and the juices were bubbling and gurgling and leaking on to the tray below nicely. I’d start checking in about 45mins in, if your top is getting too golden for your liking, place some tinfoil on top!

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Woman, bake me a PIE!

Here’s my dirty little secret: I wish I was a 1950’s housewife.

There, I said it! My dream is to swan around in pretty dresses baking apple pies and chocolate chunk cookies, and BBQ beef ribs and lamb chops all day long.

People look at me funny when I say that. Like I just spat in the face of all the progress women have made in the past hundred years alone. Like I stomped on the suffragettes and vocal feminists whose actions and determination have enabled me to lead the life I currently lead. This could not be further from the truth. I have a fantastic education. I have an awesome job. I have an amazing apartment. I am pretty much free to do whatever I want. And I remain forever indebted to these amazing women of the past who paved the way for me.

The fact that women only gained the right to vote in Canada 90 years ago is mind boggling (except in Quebec, they waited another 29 years until 1940). So, basically, my great-grand mother wasn’t a person? Women had existed for thousands and thousands of years, and for some reason because we aren’t as naturally inclined to do chin ups we don’t count? Seriously?

So, let it be known, despite my ambitions to be a house frau, I do most certainly understand the struggle, and appreciate every single advance made in ensuring equality for all.

When I mention my Betty Crocker dreams people also look at me like I lack goals and ambition. Having said that, I am blessed with a group of highly successful and ambitious lady friends. They are all super smart, and super creative, with amazing goals and aspirations which they are very much on track to achieve. They inspire me. They have high expectations of themselves.

It  saddens me in today’s world success is often measured by the degree you hold, the zeros at the end of your paycheque, the clout your company totes, and the number of cars in your driveway. And people continue look down on others for choices that matter little to them. When my want to stay in my kitchen and bake all day insights frowns, or when someone quips “She’s so smart, why would she be a hairdresser!” it makes me angry.

Not everyone can meld their passions into their paycheque. And I don’t think people account for that enough. And when they can, sometimes it’s not “good enough”. Sure I love baking, but does that mean I should start my own bakery? Sure! Wait, I currently have no business knowledge. You love your friends and family? Let’s all be like Jon and Kate, and put ’em on TV! Perhaps not. If everyone could make a career out of what they are truly passionate about we’d all be writers, travel reps, golfers, bakers and sailboat makers. I am lucky enough to have a job I love, and time leftover to dream about one day making a paycheque out of my passion for baked goods. Some people are even luckier to have a job which is their passion. But some people get trapped following that much heralded “success” path, chasing dreams of bigger salaries, kidney shaped pools. Stress filled fourteen hour days leave little time for flower arrangements or monopoly tournaments.

I like to measure my life on a level of happiness. And if whatever you do makes you happy for the most part, then high fives all ’round. Be it mopping floors with your PhD in History with time to spare, or having dropped out of high school and working as an aerobics instructor, actors waiting tables, or in the case of my hot-shit-awesome roomie shooting for the stars and actually landing exactly where she wanted (yay!!!).

If it makes you happy, then I’m happy for you!

And, I’m most happy in the kitchen, with my pink mixmaster whirring away.

So stop giving me the stink eye.

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