Easy as pie, apple pie that is.

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So, because I had extra pastry from the turkey pot pie, I thought,’Hmm, I’ve got a few green apples kicking around in my fruit bowl, I am going to waste not want not.’ When I told the kids I was baking an apple pie, the were unfazed. They could care less. See, they just didn’t know that I used to be the apple pie baking queen when I was 19 years old. I was whipping up pies like a crazy person. After the pie came out of the oven, 1 peeked her head in the kitchen and asked, “What’s that smell?” I just nodded like I knew what was about to go down. How did the three kiddies like it? Let’s just say, it lasted only for tea time. It is quite a simple, old, and tasty recipe. Be prepared for no leftovers with this one.

Apple Pie

Inspired by: Grandma Kettle’s Pies and Cookies

Ingredients:
6-7 apples
3/4 cups sugar
2 tablespoons arrowroot flour
2 tsps cinnamon (could use more if you like)
2 tablespoons butter

How To Play:
Peel, core and cut the apples into small slices.
Combine the apples, sugar and flour
Put into the uncooked pie crust
Place a few small pieces of butter on the apples.
Cover with a second crust
Crimp the edges of the pie
Bake at mid-level of a preheated oven
Cook at 450 for 20 minutes, then at 425 for 25 minutes, or until the pie is brown.

Use Pie Pastry Recipe.

 

Enjoy.

Turkey Pot Pie

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I easily run out of ideas when it comes to feeding my kids and Sean leftovers. Randomly, perhaps due to the frigid damp weather, I craved turkey pot pie today. What better way to use a leftover turkey dinner? I made this tonight and there were no complaints, whoo-hoo!

Turkey Pot Pie:

Ingredients:
4 tablespoons of butter
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 cup of frozen peas and carrots
2 celery stalks, chopped finely
3 tablespoons flour
1/2 tsp sea salt
fresh ground black pepper
1/8 tsp celery salt
1/8 tsp onion powder
1/8 tsp basil
1/8 tsp oregano
1/2- 1 cup chicken broth
1/4 cup and three tablespoons of almond milk
1 1/2 -2 cups cubed cooked turkey meat
2 9 inch unbaked pie crust (see recipe below)

How To Play:
Pre-heat oven to 425 degrees. In a saucepan, melt butter and sauté garlic, onions, and celery until tender. Add frozen peas and carrots, flour and spices. Add chicken broth and almond milk and stir well, until sauce thickens. Add turkey and mix well. Fill a pie plate with pastry and spoon mixture into the dish. Place second pie crust over top of mixture. Pinch and roll the top and bottom crusts together at the edge of the pie. Cut several small splits into the top s with a sharp knife to release steam.
Bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling is bubbly, about 30-35 minutes.

Pie Pastry Recipe

Ingredients:
2 cups lard, chilled (I use Tenderflake)
4 cups all purpose flour, chilled
1/4 tsp sea salt
2/3 cups water, chilled

How To Play:

Measure the flour and place in the refrigerator until cool to the touch.
Add the salt before adding the lard
Cut lard into pieces. Work well lint the flour and salt mixture until it achieves a mealy consistency.
Add water until dough is workable.
Using a floured rolling pin, roll out the dough on a piece of floured wax paper.
Place the dough in a pie plate by turning the wax paper over and positioning the crust in the pie plate.
This recipe makes sufficient dough for two or three pies.

Pie Pastry Recipe Inspired by Grandma Kettle’s Pies and Cookies.

Enjoy.

Fog Effect.

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If sudden could be quick enough, then maybe I would have time to know without thinking what the world I am to be. Whether we play games, set goals, or even converse with close ones, obstacles are almost inevitable. I have believed since I was young something more than what is, was going to be my life. However, 30 years later, I still believe with the same glimmer of hope, but feel rather frustrated, stunted, perhaps even disenchanted. I know that there was a time when I stared at myself in the mirror and determined that I was going to make my parents proud. I made a choice to be a wife and a choice to be a mother of three. Does life just stop? No. Of course it doesn’t. I just feel things are on pause, the eight year pause. I grew up learning to do all that I do to be constructive and not deconstructive. Time is of the essence and to this day, I can’t stand idled time. Time and age has been a sneak to me. Instead of cursing them, perhaps I ought to give a curtsy, with my tongue on fire as I bite it hard and taste the warmth and saltiness of my own blood, and give gratitude. I do all I can to not to be bitter or dissatisfied. I just wish I could see the truth clearer. To see through the fog that distracts and attacks the focus of my steadfast heart. Motherhood. It is the calling. It is this time I need to embrace as a blanket of warmth for the chilled soul my heart resides in.

Image Credit: Waterloo Bridge. Effect of Fog, by Claude Monet

Welcome January.

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“You’ve got some work to do girl.” Is what my husband said to me this evening as I discovered the last time I posted anything on my blog was November 4th.  Eeks. I can’t believe American Thanksgiving, Christmas, and now New Year’s has come to an end. Wowza. Well, life remains the unpredictable honored guest, and time, its silent beat we are unable to escape.

I have been contemplating, reflecting and investigating my life. This sometimes can be a dangerous thing, for it causes me to go inward and sometimes I can stay there too much. It is almost like my inner mind is my hide out, my safe place, my undercover shelter that I can retreat to, but wonder at the same time why. I have to discipline myself to shut myself off at times, for escaping into a place where the secrets lie,the dark truths, the serious questions, can cause me to internally dance the dance of utmost freedom. It is like a freedom from the snares of the predictable or from the near sighted.

I seem to lose focus on the divine and taste of the earthly when this time of year comes. Another new year and I am not much different from the last. However, I have seen more, heard more, and felt more. I have touched brokenness above me and brokenness beside me. My raw knuckled hands, from banging on the door of God to open to me, lay wearily on the hearts of the lost, the dying, as well as the living. We are in this together, yet we don’t always see it.  Maybe we don’t believe it. However, we are in it. It is our reality and we are its infiltrator.

 

 

Image Credit: Henriette-Lucy Dillon, North Pearl Street, Albany 1800