Today, I attempted my first pie. I chose apple because well, apples are in season. A woman on Twitter sent me a link from Williams-Sonoma’s website for an apple pie recipe. It didn’t appear to be terribly difficult despite the fact that there would be dough that needed to be rolled out. I don’t have the best track record with rolling out dough. It frustrates me.
Everything was going rather well. I had the apples cut up and sitting happily in a the brown sugar, flour, lemon juice, and vanilla extract while I carefully rolled out the dough. The bottom crust took two tries to roll out while I whispered every prayer I had ever learned at church, school, and of course tv. Although I do think at one moment I was reciting lines from the Exorcist.
With the reverence usually shown to religious items or historical artifacts, I carefully laid out the top layer of dough. The recipe recommend “mounding the fruit slightly”. I arranged the apple slices in a pyramid that defied gravity and in a moment of sheer creativity decided to use the fork tongs to carefully poke holes in the shape of an “A”. After poking the “A” that stood for Aleta and Andy, I placed the pie in the oven and set the timer for one hour.
I patiently waited to be assaulted by the scents of homemade apple pie that so many cookbooks promised. Slowly but surely, I began to first smell the butter in the crust, and then began recognizing the tart smell of the Granny Smith apples I had used. Eventually it was a subtle but beautiful medley of fruit, butter, and spices. I cleaned up the kitchen happy and proud of my efforts. I even began making dinner.
Then it happened. I smelled something that smelled like burning. I threw open the oven door and was instantly overcome by the smoke that was pouring out. I staggered back a few steps horrified by what I saw but as the smoke cleared, I realized the actual pie wasn’t burning. It was dripping. Dripping right on the heating rod in the oven. That was the cause of the smoke. I grabbed a pan and put it under the pie but the damage had all ready been done. I ran around the house opening doors and windows to prevent the smoke alarm from going off.
The smoke cleared and Andy and I finally ate dinner. After the pie had been cooling for approximately 45 minutes, I felt as though it would now be safe to tap into the beast. The apples that had been stacked into a pyramid had caused the crust to bubble and peak at odd areas. As I cut into the pie I was happy to note that it was flaky and the apples were fragrant. I pulled out the first piece and was greeted by a site I had never seen. The inside of the crust resembled a cave. The apples lay at the bottom of the pan while the crust rose above in an alien-like display. I could almost see figures usually found in a Philip K. Dick novel, partying in the back of my pie. Drinking, dancing ,and singing merry songs while they mocked my inability to poke effective holes.
Why doesn’t Glade offer a candle with a scent that your family and friends will actually believe? I call it: burning food. Andy thinks that one of the scents in the “Blame” category should be “Cat Box scent.” Andy’s mentioning a few other ones that I’ll leave out of this post. But he was on a roll so I will mention the “What’s that Smell in the Refrigerator” and “Wet Dog”.