Last night I decided to conquer one of my culinary fears - Puff Pastry. I am not sure where this irrational fear of pastries that puffed came from, but it's there. Maybe it's the slightly delicate nature of the pastry, one can not be sure...
So I sat down after eating my masterpiece of a dinner entree - prepared from scratch - hot dogs and bagged salad - yum - and began the tedious task of peeling four large apples with a very sharp knife. I sat there, tongue in teeth, concentration forming beads of sweat on my brow as I attempted to make an apple-skinned curlie-q.
I failed.
Every time.
But I did get in there and cut each slice of apple paper-thin as my directions entailed.
I piled the appley-goodness into a pan, tossed in some flour, cinnamon, brown sugar, and, for the heck of it, a handful of walnuts.
After awhile - the syrup had thickened and I read the next step.
Add sour cream.
Huh?
Really?
Take my staple burrito topping and slather on this pretty mess of sugar and apples?
No.
Can't.
It's just wrong!
But, like the novice chef/baker that I am - I cringed and then slowly folded in the white gooey mess.
It looked like the bottom of someone's shoe after a particularly icky day at the vet's office with a sick poodle.
And it was in my pan.
But, shunning my natural reaction, which, by the way, was to grab the gooey mess and run screaming through the neighborhood like a pooh-toting carney - I plopped the whole she-bang into the pie-plate (which I sooo didn't even know I had) and then sat down at my sticky kitchen table (result of freak syrup incident in the A.M. - and nooo it wasn't like that - I was alone - hey - you - you are a sicko!:) ).
I knew it was going to be gross.
It was going to be worse than that time that I had made White Chocolate Fondue.
Now THAT was downright icky - it tasted like old, stale marshmallows. And butter substitute.
Twenty-five minutes later it comes out looking beautiful and golden brown.
The little hearts that I had painstakingly cut out in various sizes were sitting pretty on top of a wonderful smelling pie.
It smelled good, looked good, but would it taste good?
I wasn't so sure...
I emptied half a tub of Cool Whip on top for safe passage to my picky pallate.
If I don't like it, I thought to myself, I'll just give it to Dad - he'll eat it!
I tetatively took a bite (mostly whipped cream with a tad of the pie) and grimaced in preparation.
IT.
WAS.
ACTUALLY.
GOOD!
So - chalk one up to me and my excellent baking skills!
What's next?
Do I dare?
Yup - I think I'm going to make my own pasta!
:)
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