I had made a batch of pie crust dough for a photo shoot (the size of 3 cups of flour and 1 cup of fat). Obviously I didn't turn all of that into photo-shoot pinwheels, since even I have pinwheel limits. The remaining dough sat in the refrigerator, burning a hole in my stomach's pocket.
A big sign in the sky suddenly appeared, saying: "carrot pie." Carrot pie? What on earth was a carrot pie? Then I imagined a pie with a filling of roughly mashed potatoes, carrots, and onions, topped with concentric circles of thinly sliced carrots and sprinkled with cheese. Once the picture of this beautifully baked pie got into my head, I couldn't get rid of it.
So I made it. Lovely pie crust. Lovely mashed potatoes and cheese. Beautiful organic carrots. The bonus was that I had peeled the carrots during the photo shoot, which saved me oodles of prep time.
My husband was dining at a wine function that evening, so I made the pie just for me. I ate half of it, a piece at a time (and saying each time, "this piece is my last!"), while I sat on my couch and read Pilcrow. And tonight I'll eat it again, though this time I'll have to share at least some of it with my husband.
You can never eat too much good pie crust. There's still enough dough left for one more pie. What kind will I make?
Copyright 2010Ann Tudor