As I stood sobbing over the pie crust

Yeah, I know, but I screwed up a double batch (Gimli glider error – I was converting measurements and dropped a decimal up) and I was damned if I was going to consign all that butter to the trash.  So I stood there (and no, I wasn’t sobbing, but I was some upset) and asked the pie crust dough what it needed, and it said BUTTER, so I added more, and now I can at least roll it out in big enough chunks to make apple tarts.  Which are baking.  Right now.  And you won’t get any, unless you come over in the next 30 seconds, cause sure as evolution and customized arboriculture made little Macintosh applies, Jeff’s going to pull a Zoidberg on the darned things and schloop them all up.

busy cooking

It was quite a weekend for cooking.  I made rum drops (cheap version of rum ball, and not super successful because I didn’t use powdered sugar), pork roast with the trimmings, massively unsuccessful pie crust, and apple filling for the pie crust.  I also made macaroni and cheese, and that was an unqualifiied success, and I also added sauce to the chick peas I cooked, so they are now officially yummy.

It is with some annoyance that I have made the determination that the skin goop I bought for forty dollars a tube always makes my skin break out, and the stuff I got for free from London Drugs, which has enough perfume in it to fell an ox, doesn’t.

Paul and Keith came over for dinner and we watched a really cool show about the four winged ancestor of birds.

How shall I rescue the pie crust?  I am at a loss.