Mincing Words

After I wax on a bit about how annoying it is when someone on a certain substance (meth), who wants more of that substance, tries to break into a building in broad daylight in order to loot the contents by repeatedly kicking a steel plate door, I’ll get to the recipe portion of this post. I promise.

When Mr. Kicksit launched his assault on said door, the noise distracted Sam-dog who was about to do his part to fertilize the grass near said door. It was pouring rain, Sam was frozen completely through, he was being distracted by the noise, and as I’m not exactly Mother Teresa in the live-and-let-live department I yelled, “Holy bleeping bleepsticks! Would you please knock that bleep the bleep off?!” Silence was restored, and Sam and I were able to complete our mission. I’m certain it was because I said ‘please’.

Obviously I don’t mince words, but I do mince pie. I make mincemeat pie, that is, as did my mother, grandmother and great grandmother before me. Unlike my small crowd of estrogenic, vaguely British ancestors, I don’t make the mincemeat myself. That would be madness when one can simply drive to a grocery store, hunt around for jarred mincemeat, end up asking a clerk where it is, wait for the clerk to find his manager and ask her where it is, and end up back at the front of the store where it is conveniently hidden behind bread crumbs and canned pumpkin…

Come to think of it, the 12-hour process of boiling the suet out of some tough cuts of mutton and sunning my own grapes to make the raisins doesn’t sound so bad. Original mincemeat wasn’t intended as dessert, it was a meal made with odd bits of this and that out of necessity by stooping surfs hovering over a pot for the better part of a day, praying the food would come out good. Modern mince contains very little–if any–meat, and relies on a bevy of spices for flavor. It is mostly raisins, apples and corn syrup.

To make up for the lack of beef or mutton fat, I add a half cup of chopped walnuts per jar of mincemeat. To stretch it I add a small, cubed apple and 1/4 a cup of raisins or currents. If you like, add a teaspoon of cinnamon and/or half a teaspoon of ground clove for extra zip. If you like to live on the edge, add one tablespoon of rum.

The crust, however, is what brings it all together. If pride be a deadly sin, then I shall die with crust crumbs on me lips, a spryly tined fork in me eye and me crust recipe clutched in me blue hand. It’s that good.

You are strongly encouraged to forget everything anyone has ever taught you about making pie crust and do this:

1. Per double crust pie, place 2 1/4 cups of unsifted flour in a large mixing bowl or food processor.

2. Cut up 3/4 cup of cold, unsalted butter and toss it on top of the flour.

3. Add 1/2 teaspoon of salt.

4. Have by your side some chilled water and a measuring tablespoon.

5. Either cut in the butter with a fork or hand pastry cutter, or pulse-process the flour and butter together until it forms small clumps.

6. Sprinkle one tablespoons of water on the mixture and pulse or cut in until it starts to absorb. Add one more and repeat until the dough comes together when you squish it. Use no more than five tablespoons. It won’t look like ordinary pie dough, but more like cookie dough.

7. Form dough into a ball by packing it tightly in plastic wrap (the less fondling, the better) and chill it for however long it takes you to prep the filling. Contrary to popular belief, you don’t want the dough too cold.

8. Roll out slightly more than half the dough on a floured surface to fit the bottom of a 9″ or 10″ pie dish. The dough will likely break on the way from the rolling pin to the dish, but can easily be patched.

9. Prick a few holes in the bottom crust (as it were) and pour inside it the stuff I mentioned above. (I’m checking to see if you’re paying attention.)

10. Roll out the rest of the dough to form the top crust and plunk it over the mincemeat. Pinch the bottom and top edges together (as it were), leaving no room for the contents to escape. We aren’t going for perfection, people. A perfectly fluted edge is not only intimidating to your guests, the peaks tend to burn. There is nothing I despise more than burnt pie crust peaks, and that’s the truth.

11. Cut slits in the top crust so steam can vent.

12. Dust on a tablespoon of sugar, if you wish. You do.

13. Cover the edges of the crust with foil or a crust cover (yes, they make those). This year I used the outer part of a tart dish with a removable bottom. It flattened the edges during baking, but once again we’re more concerned with taste than elegance.

14. Bake pie on next to lowest rack for 35-40 minutes until faintly golden. Placing it on a lower rack ensures the bottom crust is cooked. If the top crust edges aren’t golden enough for you, remove the foil or other device for the last few minutes of baking.

15. Cool for at least two hours before serving. Cover leftovers and store on your counter like some pre-dental, Medieval person, or in the fridge if you are the nervous sort.

If you insist on using vegetable shortening, use 2/3 cup and up the water to five-and-a-half tablespoons. (Butter contains its own water.) This crust can be used for any pie, from apple to chocolate cream. It has a flakey, shortbread consistency. I discourage an egg wash because an egg wash turns a crust to leather. There is no need to follow suit with my poor, British ancestors and eat your shoes.

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2 thoughts on “Mincing Words

  1. Oven at 400 F, by the way. Details, details. You asked for details? Well, I have to bake at 380 F because my oven needs calibration. Or calisthenics. Or both.

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