Side note: Did you know we have a Supper Club blog? We're not fantastic about keeping it up, but Anne has made it her mission to update it this year. You should check it out.
As long time readers know, I'm not a baker. In fact, broken pie is my specialty. But when you're not paying attention when people are picking dishes, you end up stuck with something that "pushes your culinary boundaries".
Side note: I jumped on the baked artichoke dip for next month faster than you can say boo.
I dreaded making this dish for weeks. In fact, I seriously considering adding wild nettle soup to my menu just so Anne could expand her culinary boundaries and have to forage for "young, green nettles". Because payback is a bitch.
I almost did a trial run but the very thought of making two pies was enough to send me to my bed with a case of the vapors.
After picking up the kids from Chad's house on Saturday morning, I came home and realized it was do or die time. Not that I'm melodramatic in the least.
So I moved things around a bit and got to work.
The pie crust called for egg yolk, butter, flour, sugar, and baking soda. Oh. And milk.
Except I was out of milk.
So I used almond milk which had a lovely vanilla flavor to it but may not have had the proteins needed. (This is a quote from my more baker-ish friends. I have no earthly clue what they're talking about but they sound like Alton Brown so I'll defer.)
I followed the instructions for kneading the pie crust perfectly. Even to the extent I knew not to knead extensively.
I wrapped the crust in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge for a couple hours while I made the filling which consisted of wine, sugar, apples, orange zest, and cinnamon boiled to a syrupy consistency.
Also, "boiled to a syrupy consistency" takes a while, but not quite long enough to re-write a chapter of a book. Don't worry. I didn't burn it. But it was close.
When it came time to roll out the crust, I used two pieces of wax paper. To say that it was difficult would be an understatement. I felt like I was plastering a wall when it was all said and done. A little egg white here, a strip of crust there.
The end result looked far better than I expected.
If by "rustic" one means "appears created by a four-year-old".
Still, everyone seemed to enjoy it. At least I didn't bring any home and that's what really matters, right?