Tuesday, 24 April 2012

Pecan Pie

Like Christmas (and most other times of the year, especially those that involve some kind of celebration), Easter at my home is a time for food. And I imagine we're very much not alone in this. Chocolate eggs for breakfast, pace egg smashing, hot cross buns, a a big family dinner on Easter Sunday involving some kind of roast lamb- sound familiar? Thought so.
This year, I put myself in charge of pudding. And for some unknown reason I chose to make a pecan pie. I don't recall ever eating pecan pie before (there is a fuzzy memory in my brain somewhere but I have no idea if I'm just making it up- fantasising about pudding does sound like the kind of thing I would do), but somehow I knew I liked it, which considering I never used to like nuts in things, is a tad confusing. But hey ho. Like anything I decide to make, once I have the idea in my head, I then obsess about it slightly until it is on a plate in front of me, and so I went in search of a recipe. 

After a lot of internet and cookbook scouring (I didn't have an awful lot else to do over Easter- procrastinating aside), I came to the conclusion that all the recipes were essentially the same. Time well spent I'm sure you'll agree (although time spent looking for/at food is never time wasted, so it's all good). So I did what I always seem to do in a baking situation, and turned to The Hummingbird Bakery cookbook. I've read reviews where people complain that the recipes aren't tested enough, and the quantities are wrong etc, but as far as I can tell, everything in it seems to come out of the oven damn tasty, and that's all I want from cake.
And so I made my pecan pie, and as always when I make something (especially when I plan to feed it to others) I got far too over excited and proud of myself. It was, I think, my first time making pastry- at least making it on my own as a grown up- and after only one very small minor hissy fit when I couldn't roll it out properly I somehow managed to get flaky deliciousness that just melted on your tongue. My Dad couldn't stop eating the off-cuts, and he is a massive pastry fiend, so that can only be a good sign. The filling wasn't difficult to make either, and was obviously the epitome of healthy food- at one point what I had in front of me was what appeared to be a pan full of molten sugar. In fact I'm pretty sure that it was a pan of molten sugar. Luscious, sticky, maple-y, rum-y molten sugar (unable to find corn syrup in West Cumbria- although honestly I didn't even waste energy even attempting to find it- I used half golden syrup and half maple golden syrup, and I added a splash of rum because, well, just because). All that was left to do was add it to the eggs, careful not to scramble them (which I managed, and although I didn't scramble my eggs, I did nearly set my sugar/syrup combo in one big hard lump- oops), and the pecans. A slightly OCD arrangement of pecan nuts and stint in the oven later, we were following our roasted lamb (and homemade mint sauce, courtesy of moi- told you I get overly proud) with slices of pecany, syrupy, pie-y goodness.

It's one I'll definitely be making again, and one that I recommend you do if you have the Hummingbird Bakery book. Add a slosh of dark rum, eat, and enjoy. Just don't tell your dentist.

Sunday, 22 April 2012

Bad habits and holiday food

So technically I haven't blogged since the 8th of January. And by technically I of course mean that you can technically remove the word 'technically' from that sentence. Confused? Good, hopefully that means you'll forget about my disgraceful blogging habits and we can all move on quickly with our lives onto better and more delicious things.
In all honestly though, I do apologise. I would blame it on an ever-increasing, stress-inducing, time-consuming university workload, a loss of enthusiasm for cooking for one, and a general lack of inspiration/ motivation- a combination of writer's block and cooking block, if you will (although the latter term just makes me fantasise about huge rustic slabs of olive wood on which I can both prepare and serve food, Jamie Oliver-style- just me? Ok then...), but that's really just me making excuses. 
In the past few months I've actually had a few things that I could have blogged about, or 'blog-worthy' (if that's not already a term then it should be and I am now creating it as one), the main one of is that I went for my first proper holiday in a few years (and by 'proper' I mean one that didn't involve dressing up as a dalmatian and drinking cartons of warm sangria with the rest of the country's university sports teams in Salou), and spent the first week of my Easter holidays in Malta. And of course I explored the place I'd never been before, through the food. Something I'm pretty sure I inherited from my parents, and one that I didn't even realise that I did until I noticed that a large proportion of all my holiday photos were either of food or me eating said food, and that the memories I have of childhood holidays are mainly concerned with platefuls of paella with a cacophony (my new favourite word) of seafood, much of which I had no idea of what it was; crispy, tender fried squid drowned in lemon juice and enough aioli to ensure that the rest of humanity avoids you for the rest of the evening; French baguettes- fresh and warm from the oven, and always with one end missing- and pastries- fruit, frangipan, chocolate, etc etc (I'm not fussy when it comes to cake, especially good cake). I have now completely come to a point of acceptance with my food obsession and very knowingly spent the whole week eating super thin-based, crispy pizzas; freshly caught fish; pastizzi-warm little filo pasties stuffed with ricotta (the eating of which I was informed by one random local man would make me happy); and bread and pastries to rival the French- all washed down with pints suitably feminine sized glasses of the local brew, Cisk. I could keep rambling on for ages about all the delicious things my holiday consisted of, but I'm in danger of running out of adjectives (that, and I have made myself hungry just thinking about it, so now need to go and find some food-and eat it with the full knowledge that it will not be as good as what I had in Malta, and that makes me sad), so I am going to leave you now with two things.
The first is this picture of a sandwich. 

There was goat's cheese involved; there were sundried tomatoes and pickled onions; there was a caramel frappe latte on the side. You're welcome.
The second is the promise to not be such a pathetic excuse for a blogger in the future. Pinky-swear and everything.