Pie 15.0

Pie 15.0

Remember that old song lyric “If I knew you were coming I’da baked a cake”? That always sounded so welcoming, so I never do a drop in. I always call ahead before I visit so I’ll be greeted with a cake. It doesn’t work, but I still try. I mean, there’s a song, so somebody must make cakes for expected guests, right?

Anyway, my sister was coming, and I knew she was coming, and it was all a big secret surprise for my other sister, so I baked a pie.

Pie 15.0. Baked late at night in an ill-equipped kitchen. No rolling pin. No teaspoon (but I always have my palm). No whisk. No blades for the mixer (so I brought mine from home). No big bowl (so I used a cereal bowl). No pie pan (so I bought an aluminum one from the stupid market). You get the picture.

Speaking of stupid market–they didn’t sell chocolate covered coffee beans. Nowhere to be found. So I compromised.

Back up the bus. I forgot to describe the pie. It’s officially called “Wake Up and Smell the Coffee Pie” from page 123 of the Sugar Butter Flour cookbook. It was chosen while in the stupid market, when my sister responded to my text question about what we should eat for the weekend we would spend together with this: “Sat morning coffee. Sat evening eat out. Sunday morning coffee. Sunday lunch your choice.” We are Irish twins, live 1000 miles apart, and both love coffee.

Anyway, I started the pie in the dark by crushing the package of graham crackers with my hands and mixing them with melted butter. I pressed the mush into the tiny pan, chilled, baked and chilled. You know the drill by now.

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Then I made espresso in my little pot. Drank some, let some cool, and made the filling.

20181012_165534Here is the nasty smelling unflavored gelatin.

20181011_20111020181011_201050I had to whip some egg whites to fold into the cooked coffee/gelatin/other ingredient concoction, but I should have used a bigger bowl.

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There was way too much filling for the tiny pie shell.

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This had to set and cool in the fridge for many hours, so I went to sleep.

The topping called for Kahlua, but I didn’t have any, so I made some by boiling down some espresso and mixing with whiskey.

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Then I whipped the cream and added the yummy tasty ingredients and spread it on the pie filling.

 

As I mentioned, the store didn’t sell the required chocolate covered coffee beans, so I shredded a tiny Hershey bar and sprinkled it on top. Voila!

Yummy Beige Pie.

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I love my sisters more than coffee.

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never oversalt your coffee (and other errors)

Wherever there’s a mistake, a typo, a misspelling, a misplaced decimal, or any of a million other little nitpicky errors, I will notice it. My brain cannot look away. I’ll point it out to all of the blissfully unaware people in my path, and ruin their happy space. That’s my special skill.

I also make mistakes, so I’m not really a pious judge with a jeweled crown in a velvet robe on a pedestal. (Although a crown would be nice.) I’ll even admit it: my own mistakes are usually more colossal than mere typos.

Some typos had the misfortune to recently cross my path, and I had the presence of mind to record them for your enjoyment. Scroll through them and, lest ye judge me as too harsh a judge, you’ll find my personal error of the week at the end.

[Hey, it’s Friday the 13th! Happy Big Mac Day!]

Error #1: a magnetic advertisement on the side of a car

Yes, beauty is only skin deep. This salon, however, targets those whose beauty is deep, DEEP inside. Beauty that never sees the light of day–without their special help.

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Erro #2: a sign-up sheet for a community dinner

I’m a big sauerkraut fan, but this looked unappealing. I didn’t sign up.

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Errot #3: hotel room services

If these services are available 7 Days A Week, why aren’t they available 24 Hours Per Day? If you’re gonna go nuts with odd capitalization, be consistent.

And how can a guest service agent be more? And why does being more subsequently make him happy to assist me? I didn’t sleep well in this hotel. If they are so lackadaisical in their printed communication, who knows whether they washed the sheets? Makes me twitch a little.

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Errar #4: address labels on a pile of envelopes holding get well cards from my lovely mother to my lovely husband

Mom’s name is Judith.

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My personal error of the week

When we travel and sleep in hotels, I always bring my own coffee. And sugar. And creamer. Without my coffee I am not quite a human person. On the first of two mornings waking up in hotel, I confidently overfilled the teeny coffee pot with a load of grounds (Starbucks Sumatra) and set it to brew.

Then I spooned some sugar-from-home-in-a-Ziploc-bag into the flimsy paper cup and waited.

When I poured in some coffee, it looked too dark. Thick.

When I dumped in some creamer, it didn’t even lighten. I took a sip and it was so strong I almost choked. So I added more sugar and it got stronger. How could that be? It tasted so strange.

I poured it all back into the pot, ready to dump the mess down the sink and try again with my second-morning coffee ration, when I licked the spoon–also brought from home–actually it was a grapefruit spoon that I packed to eat my grapefruit (also from home). I’d bring my whole home if I could. Or maybe just stay home all the time.

The spoon tasted salty. WTH? I stuck my finger in the “sugar” and found it to be about  50/50 mix of sugar and sodium chloride (aka salt).

I’m an idiot. I don’t deserve my crown. I was out of Ziploc bags when I was packing my sugar, and found a bag with sugar already in it, so I added more. Yeah. That unlabeled bag of white sugar crystals was actually sodium chloride, NaCl crystals. For french fries.

coffee coffee buzz buzz

I gave up coffee on December 11, 2011. Since then, I have had 3 (or maybe 4?) cups of coffee. I used to drink that much before 8 am.

Now I have a plan, aka, something to look forward to: On December 11, 2012, I will break my coffee fast. I will drink coffee one morning each week (maybe Sunday) forEVER. I am very excited about my plan.

Coffee contains caffeine which is C8H10N4O2. When you go cold turkey, the lack of that little molecule results in big headaches.

In elementary school, we had a blind music teacher. He couldn’t remember our names so he called us by number. He made us stand up and sing alone. It was horrible. But (the point!) he made us sing a song about coffee. Here are the lyrics:

“C O F F E E,

Coffee is not for me.

It’s a drink some people wake up with.

That it makes them nervous is no myth.

Slaves to a coffee cup,

They can’t give coffee up.”

*sigh*