Meatpie Madness
***Warning: this is a long one.***
This Christmas I finally took the plunge and tried to make my mother's meatpie - a traditional holiday treat. Armed with a hand-written recipe from Mom, two shiny new pie plates and about five pounds of meat, I set out into a world in which I should never have ventured without proper supervision.
I think what really hurt me - aside from the meat having cooked in way less time than I thought it would into a rubbery consistency that made me wince every time it squeaked against the sides of my stainless steel saucepan - was my lack of experience in the gravy department.
The instructions on the box of Bisto state: "Add one cup of cold water to drippings and start heating; Add 1 to 2 tbsps of Bisto depending on required thickness." I had no drippings, and what was in the pot really looked more like soup than anything else. Nonetheless I poured a cup of cold water into a jar and started mixing 'er up with Bisto until I stood staring at an extra cup of liquid that would be added to the pot - liquid I knew I'd have to thicken later. I poured said liquid into the pot. The soup turned browner, but not thicker. I tried it again. A little browner, but not thicker.
In a timely flash of insight, I remembered Mom's recipe calling for flour as a thickening agent in addition to Bisto. I poured a little less water than earlier into my jar, added a tablespoon of flour and stirred 'til there were no more lumps. I poured the concoction into the pot and detected slight thickening. My heartbeat quickened just a bit. My logic told me that if one tablespoon worked, TWO must be even better so I repeated the process doubling the amount of flour. I shook the jar to stir. When I no longer heard any liquid swishing in the jar, I opened it and found a blob of white paste slouched against its side. My logic really let me down.
After three times of pouring into my meat soup what looked a lot like the paste I used in kindergarten to glue macaroni to construction paper, I started to decipher something that looked remotely like Mom's meatpie mixture. At that point I decided to leave well enough alone and surrender to the meatpie gods, letting them take this madness of an experience wherever they saw fit.
The meat still simmers as I type and although I'm scraping a lot of it from the bottom of the saucepan, I'm happy to report that it is getting thicker.
This Christmas I finally took the plunge and tried to make my mother's meatpie - a traditional holiday treat. Armed with a hand-written recipe from Mom, two shiny new pie plates and about five pounds of meat, I set out into a world in which I should never have ventured without proper supervision.
I think what really hurt me - aside from the meat having cooked in way less time than I thought it would into a rubbery consistency that made me wince every time it squeaked against the sides of my stainless steel saucepan - was my lack of experience in the gravy department.
The instructions on the box of Bisto state: "Add one cup of cold water to drippings and start heating; Add 1 to 2 tbsps of Bisto depending on required thickness." I had no drippings, and what was in the pot really looked more like soup than anything else. Nonetheless I poured a cup of cold water into a jar and started mixing 'er up with Bisto until I stood staring at an extra cup of liquid that would be added to the pot - liquid I knew I'd have to thicken later. I poured said liquid into the pot. The soup turned browner, but not thicker. I tried it again. A little browner, but not thicker.
In a timely flash of insight, I remembered Mom's recipe calling for flour as a thickening agent in addition to Bisto. I poured a little less water than earlier into my jar, added a tablespoon of flour and stirred 'til there were no more lumps. I poured the concoction into the pot and detected slight thickening. My heartbeat quickened just a bit. My logic told me that if one tablespoon worked, TWO must be even better so I repeated the process doubling the amount of flour. I shook the jar to stir. When I no longer heard any liquid swishing in the jar, I opened it and found a blob of white paste slouched against its side. My logic really let me down.
After three times of pouring into my meat soup what looked a lot like the paste I used in kindergarten to glue macaroni to construction paper, I started to decipher something that looked remotely like Mom's meatpie mixture. At that point I decided to leave well enough alone and surrender to the meatpie gods, letting them take this madness of an experience wherever they saw fit.
The meat still simmers as I type and although I'm scraping a lot of it from the bottom of the saucepan, I'm happy to report that it is getting thicker.
Labels: Everyday experiences, Holidays
posted by Steph at 8:55 p.m.
4 Comments:
You are so very VERY brave, dear Sister... and your description is hilarious! In a parallel act of bravery, I hearby publicly declare that I am willing to taste the results of your meatpie madness. :-)
xox
Having tasted the results last night, and still being alive to write this comment the morning after, I declare it a success! Very tasty indeed...
Dare I say it's even better than the original! (just don't tell your Mom that or she'll never make me pâte again! ;-) )
Three cheers for the pâte maker:
Huzzah!
Huzzah!
Huzzah!
Steph,
you had me in stitches... I could really visualize that pot of meat... (and the glue to stick your macaroni with) and to not ever had made the meat pie without supervision myself... I could just imagine myself doing the same... Did you ever call your Mom during the process?? That`s what I do... also it help's that she's just down the road ;-)))
Sylvia
Thanks for the comments folks! The meatpie was indeed a success.
I usually call Mom too Sylvia. Actually, I'd already called her once or twice to clarify some of her notes but I didn't want to bug her Saturday night - they were too busy having a Christmas party. :-)
It would've been nice to have her be just down the road, then we could've made the pates together.
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