So Much for Relaxing on Sunday Mornings

You might be a redneck if the pouring rain, 409, and a clean broom become a power washer to clean your patio.  But, I'd much prefer to refer to it as using your resources. 

 



More About This One

It's called Buttermilk pie and it's a little bit better than fabulous.  I don't know where I first saw it or why I thought, "Hey!  I know!" on Saturday morning with my cup of coffee and menu planning, but thought I did.  A quick search landed me on Emeril's recipe.  I figured Emeril is fairly credible in the cooking realm, so I went for it.

Very easy to make and it's reminiscent of Crème Brulee which is a total win. 

But it takes much longer than 25 minutes to bake.  I'm not sure who planned that ridiculousness but it is not freaking true.  No way is that thing set up in that amount of time, more like double or nothing baby.  It was past midnight by the time it came out of the oven and I had a nasty oven rack burn on my hand and was fall over tired.  And really, it could have probably baked even a scooch more.  But at that point, it was time for it to be over. 

Here's the only other bit of advice when it comes to Buttermilk Pie, do not let the filling sit in the crust while the apple pie finishes baking.  It was a bit crystal-ish around the edges and my deductive reasoning tells me the sit time was the cause.  So, whip it together and pour it in and bake it up right away.

Also, I just looked at the reviews for the recipe and I think doing the extra flour thing and baking it on the bottom rack would probably be a smart idea...next time.   

Either way, it's delectable.  I served it with real whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and a strawberry.  Because it was pretty that's why.

Also, might I add that saying out loud the name Buttermilk Pie to company while standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand will make you feel a tad southern and we all know how I feel about that.  I have no research behind saying it is from the South but it sure seems fitting.  Buttamilk Paa.  Say it with me.

Celebrated with Dirty Floors

This was my kitchen at approximately 11:37 on Saturday night.  The reality behind entirely made from scratch pies is not the prettiest.

 
There's flour all over.

And seventy-eleven flipper things on the counter because the crust is a conundrum to transfer from counter to pie plate.  In my world, it takes two people so kudos to those who can do it on their own.

Did I mention there's flour all over?  It stays that way until you pull that pie out of the oven late into the night.

   

But, the next day when four important mommas are being celebrated, it becomes very worth it.

Saturday night, Billy and I spent quality time together.  Him chopping vegetables and thinking about marinades and me boiling noodles for a salad and making pies, with some general fluttering about.  I tend to do that, it's why things take me so long.  We were doing the prep work to have an early lunch here in honor of my mom, his mom, my grandma, and my sister-in-law.  I told them all to bring nothing because I wanted them to truly have a day.

Besides, I knew Billy would be a helping and when he helps, things get done.  They get done well and with a smile; his kabobs were out of this world delicious.  Dad-o and Brother were filled up sufficiently before heading back out to the field to seed.  The spring season is go time and I'm so grateful they took the time to come in for a bit and be with us all.    

And I'm thinking I could bribe my dad with pie to come here any ol' time, he sure seemed to enjoy it.

I had a moment while standing in my kitchen next to the stove finishing the rice, a moment of I'm to this now.  This part.  The part where someone is standing across the kitchen finishing sticking the veggies on kabob sticks and my mom is next to me while my dad visits with his mom and they are meeting the other mom and my brother and sister-in-law are on my patio with their kids and my sister should be here but she's out doing her thing with her horse and yeah, this part.  This part is good.

 

The part where my sidewalk is filled with chalk and little feet are running through the spilled bubbles and picking up the blue dust before heading in to run across the floor.  Running across my floor to give her grandma a little mischievous grin.  My floor.  The girl who used to request people put on clean socks before they came in.  Times change.  In a very good way.

My sister-in-law amazes me.  She has a gift for mothering.  I could go on and on with all she does but it boils down to this...she lets those little people be exactly who they are.  It's simply a gift.  

The table stayed pretty for give or take eleven minutes and the house stayed clean for two and a half minutes, but I'm finding out things clean up rather easy. 

Within minutes the floors were shined up again and all was put back in order with the hum of the dishwasher running for third time.

I also might have poured a glass of wine somewhere in all of that.

Yes things clean up rather easily.  Because they are things.  Kids running through spilled bubbles and sidewalk chalk in their socks while they spend time with their family...yes, that's the matters stuff.

The very kind of matters stuff that turns to memories which last forever.