"It's called the South Beach Fat Flush and all you drink is cranberry juice for 72 hours... I really want to lose three pounds."
-- Regina
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| Absolute Yums. |
I promise I'm actually good at baking. For reals. I can throw together cookies, brownies and cakes without trying, but those are boring. So I keep attempting things I'm not good at or haven't done before, which most recently produced a saccharine eldritch horror.
I know an apple pie seems straightforward enough, but I've failed miserably before (something Miss Marple loves to reference). I have as much experience cooking/consuming fruit as I do with cooking/consuming crystal meth, Breaking Bad not withstanding. My previous attempt at apple pie was both watery, gummy, crunchy (in all the wrong ways) and bland. I think I'm going to start taking pride in not just failing but failing spectacularly. Anyway, this attempt was supposed to be different because I: one, followed the recipe; and two, had the assistance of my aunt, MFK Fisher. She's an experienced home baker and in the past we've formed a symbiotic partnership cemented with butter and chocolate. It seems that even her skilled hands cannot salvage the utter meh that this pie became.
