Tam had to do some stuff for her sister today, so she gathered Li’l Red, stuffed his reluctant carcass into her truck and said, “Oh, could you either make pie dough or wash dishes while I’m gone?”
“You’re kidding, right? Pie dough? I don’t make pie dough, I make technically-edible shoe leather. I’ll wash dishes, but I was going to work on my notes for the NaNo project.”
“I have a very easy recipe for dough. In fact, it’s so easy, not even you can fuck it up.”
I gave her a look that clearly said she was wrong, but she ignored me.
“This is the one Most Minor Minion used and it turned out really good. If he can do it, so can you.”
“Wrong. He inherited the ‘flour handling’ gene from my mother. He made awesome crust from whole grain flour. I don’t think my mother could do that. He’s got the touch. Me? I’m just touched in the head and can’t do pie crust dough.”
“You made lovely cinnamon rolls and that meat thingy was very good, so it’s obvious you CAN work dough.”
“Yes, but you’re SUPPOSED to work that dough. Pie dough is different. If you even look at it wrong it becomes tough and nasty, useful only for resoling your shoes. Besides, we’re out of animal bone sugar.”
“Use the raw stuff.”
“It’s so coarse.”
She shrugged. “It’ll be fine,” she said.
Her resolve was firm. She left the “fool proof” recipe on the table and walked out the door, fully expecting there to be a lump of perfect dough in the fridge upon her return.
I did the dishes.
Then guilt started calling me names, so I checked the recipe and decided it would be worth a try. Either she was right and it would turn out fine, or it would prove my inability to create pastry of the delicate type once and for all. I dumped the flour into the bowl, measured in the 2 teaspoons of salt and the 4 tablespoons of sug- oh, wait, that’s 4 TEASPOONS of sugar, not tablespoons…well…shit.
There was no going back since I’d used the last egg, so I just finished adding the remaining ingredients, mixed it up and stuck it in the fridge.
Fool proof? Ha! I am Fool Proof proof!