Learning how to bake for me was not always so idyllic. You’ll quickly catch on to this if you read my first blog. I learned the hard way – by myself, through trial and error.
The first time I made a pie, it was like a mammoth pimple with an ungodly slime (which was the sorry excuse for the filling), that oozed out from every crevice of the crust. It was impossible to cut through with a fork and too leathery to chew. Epic failure. The second time it looked better but the scalloped crust had shrunk and the filling ended up all over the bottom of the oven. There was also an inch-high pool of juice in my pie pan after I cut a slice. Consecutive attempts continued to render fails. At times, the pie would look like a fruit geyser, or the dough would fall apart in my hands while crimping the edge. But without fail, the crust was always tough and leathery when chewing. I didn’t get it. I could bake so many other things with such ease and success. Why was pie so hard to make?
…
Who doesn’t love a good deep fried donut hole? Especially if it’s filled with ripe sweet pear and the ever-so-pricey, silky Italian cream cheese (that we North Americans covet)mascarpone, then deep fried to a golden ball and tossed with some cinnamon and sugar. Pure bliss.
I recall when my husband Pierre immigrated here (Canada) in 2005 from Europe, he was fascinated by the Canadian obsession with Tim Hortons. He would without fail, cry out, “Quelle horreur!” every time we’d pass one. He couldn’t understand why Canadians would line up 24/7 for a large water-downed coffee and deep-fried, saccharin-drenched, yeast-leavened rings known as the donut.
