I come from a long line of really good cooks, but somehow I missed out on that gene. It’s not for lack of effort, but no one will ever accuse me of being Betty Crocker or Martha Stewart. Which is why it’s not surprising at all that my effort to make my great-grandmother’s Butterscotch pie recipe in honor of National Pie day (Jan. 23rd) was a complete disaster. Let’s just say that after patiently stirring the homemade filling for the requisite 10 straight minutes, I not only felt like my arm was going to fall off, but apparently lost a few brain cells in the process. I poured that delicious filling straight into…..an unbaked pie crust. OOPS! Total Pie Fail.
And it’s not the first time I’ve done something so stupid when trying to over-achieve on the domestic front. For example, just last week I was feeling a little bad about leaving my family for too many work meetings. Knowing that I would be gone during the critical dinner preparation hour one day, I pre-made a chicken casserole for my family, complete with instructions on how long to bake. (I should point out that John does NOT need this kind of codling. He is perhaps more capable than myself at making dinner or any other domestic chore and doesn’t mind to do it, either. I was just in guilty Martha Stewart mode that day. Or maybe I was just really craving chicken casserole. Who knows.)
Unfortunately, I didn’t channel Martha’s powers correctly. A phone call on my way home rendered the question, “WHAT did you put in this casserole? It tastes like it has a pound of sugar in it!” And not in the good way. It’s all in the tone, you know. There was also a question about why there wasn’t another scrap of food in the house and whether or not the dishwasher had been run in the last week. Hey now–Martha was busy ruining a chicken casserole–no time to clean or shop for groceries!
With this as my track record, I was determined that this pie was not going to get the best of me. I took a 24 hour break and came back to the same recipe fresh and ready to make things happen. I channeled my great-grandmother’s cooking prowess (which was difficult since I mostly remember her from her nursing home days, so I had to go wayyyy back), and I tackled the pie again. This time I baked the pie crust FIRST. And after I had stirred and stirred, and poured in the delicious filling, the pie was…well, it was delicious. In fact, I’m having it for breakfast. And lunch, and dinner. Apparently no one else in my family wants to try it. I can’t imagine why!