pie encrustation

learned to make pie today. you get a lot of ingredients together and then you encrust them.

but the funny thing is, you make the crust first and it sits there encrusting… what?… the air?… my le creuset 9″ pie dish (hibiscus in color)?…

and when you dump the ingredients into it, it only encrusts the bottom and sides. in the case of this pie, i partially encrusted the top with criss-crossed strips of crust, but they tell me most pies just sit there naked on top.

 

For Daily Post

Crawdads

 

I like ham and bacon but I don’t like slaughtering the pig.

I like fried chicken but I don’t like chopping off the chicken’s head.

Crawdads aren’t so bad. Pick em out of the creek, bring em home, toss em in a pot of boiling water, and when you take out the tail meat, it’s already cooked. Throw it into a pie crust with a can of cream of mushroom soup, onions, peppers, spices and corn starch, and stick in into the oven to bake.

Right from the creek into your dad-gummed stomach – crawdad pie.

 

94 words

Photo by Enisa

For Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

Higashikagoro Uses Loudspeakers To Recall Fugu

Fugu (河豚; 鰒; フグ) is a dish prepared from pufferfish (genus Takifugu, Lagocephalus, or Sphoeroides) or porcupinefish (genus Diodon). Fugu can be lethally poisonous due to the presence of tetrodotoxin in the body of the fish.

In 1968, the small Japanese town of Higashikagoro was decimated due to the anger of chef Oishi Kuranosuke, the only chef in the only cafe in town. Oishi was preparing a dinner to be shared by the populace in Higashikagoro during their celebration of the town’s founding in the distant past, when his girlfriend Tomoe Gozen accused him of insufficient care in his preparation of the celebratory fugu. Obtuse and stubborn in the extreme, Oishi swore revenge upon her for her outburst.

All partook of the chef’s meal, including the chef himself. Only Ms. Gozen abstained.

Today, Ms. Gozen, the sole inhabitant of Higashikagoro for the past fifty years, used the municipal loudspeakers to recall for tourists the night of the banquet, the fugu, and in particular, Oishi Kuranosuke’s excruciating final moments.

Crumbling Infrastructure

It’s crumbling, the Infrastructure.

I was driving on the I57 and hit potholes. The crumbling highway, but Holy Cow those potholes shook up the old Firebird’s chassis. The edges of those holes need to be a little more crumbly than they are.

I’m bumbling and grumbling and fumbling and it’s humbling and i’m jumbling things in my head and tumbling and mumbling and my innards are rumbling and i’m stumbling, but by God I’m not crumbling, not yet.

Ever see a bridge crumble? Just sort of melts into the river.

Ever see a structure crumble, whether infra or outfra? The outlines go soft. The thing draws scorn. Fresh scorn. You can’t fix it. Got to tear it down.

I knew a Mongolian kid named Jumble. Never checked the spelling. In English I mean.

Finally, the good news: A crumble is a dish of British origin that can be made in a sweet or savoury version, although the sweet version is much more common. A sweet variety usually contains stewed fruit topped with a crumbly mixture of fat, flour, and sugar. (Wikipedia)

But a crumble doesn’t crumble when it gets old. It petrifies.

Deep State

Our folks took us out to eat last night. We went to a pizza place that was supposed to be good.

The waitperson came over and said that the special was a deep-dish pizza.

“No deep-dish,” my dad said. “Just bring us the dish pizza.”

“But the deep…”

“No deep. We don’t hold with the deep.”

“You’re getting in too deep,” my mom whispered to him.

My dad doesn’t vote because he says that when you do, your vote sinks, sinks, sinks into the deep. My dad read a book written by Mickey Spillane called “The Deep.” It made an impression.

The Deep State is the worst. My dad takes it as a personal criticism.

“I’m not in a deep state,” he says. “The average elevation of Nebraska is 2,600 feet. Feet, not meters.”

“But dad,” my sister says, ” there are 3.28084 feet in a meter.”

“Who told you that?!”

“Dear,” my mom says, in a deep voice, “look deep into my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” my dad says. “I’ve peed.”

The Lamb of God

I have commented previously on God’s wife (here, here, and here), children (here), and dog (here and here).

I now refer you to John 1:29.

I’m just messing with you. The subject here is not Jesus, but the best spice to use when you want to enjoy a great big saddle of greasy lamb.

Consider these:

Cumin – Brash and stinky, like the lambs. (Jesus was not happy with the LOG nickname. He saw immediately where they were going with that.)

Rosemary – The name of Jesus’ first lamb. (Although a carpenter, Jesus spent a lot of time in lamb-rich environments. Despite being designated the LOG, he, like most of us, ate lamb.)

Vadouvan – French curry powder. As a boy, Jesus had the chore of currying the lambs. (Jesus started out resolving to eat nothing that cast a shadow [shoutout to “Transamerica” (2005)], but ended up eating meat even before the Archfiend had a chance to tempt him to do so.]

Harissa – North African chile paste. But also the name of my first girlfriend. What’s the opposite of lamb? Cause that was her. (Jesus never slaughtered a lamb. This is discussed at length in the Book of Julia in the Apocrypha. The lamb talked him out of it. Like Doctor Dolittle and Tarzan, Jesus could speak to the animals and the animals would do what he said, within reason.)

Sumac – Used before the lemon was discovered. Fruity, sour, and colorful. Popular with people of the book [أهل الكتاب‎ ]. (What did they eat at the last supper? Not lamb, that’s for damn sure.)

Air-Frying, a Fun Food Trend

We love to cook here in Casa Udomratchaniwet! Join us in trying out air-frying!

Note up front: When you hear about air-fryers for the kitchen, those things don’t actually fry. Important to know, because all they do is circulate hot air around the food using high-powered fans. They’re just counter-top convection ovens. But we want fried food. We don’t want to blow dry a chocolate banana.

Again, if you read about air-frying on the internet and don’t see the words “hot oil” used frequently, you’re in the wrong place. There is no frying without hot oil.

Another reminder from our past cooking posts: Avoid clean oil. You will obtain best results with used oil, the more “used” (or dirty!) the better. In Casa Udomratchaniwet, we cook with oil passed down in the family. Does oil “go bad” you ask. Well, you heat it up till it’s boiling. What does that tell you? You’re boiling germs in oil! Anything floating in the oil, leave be. Even the insects, and building materials, if you’re re-doing your kitchen.

Now, what you’ve been waiting for: How to get that boiling oil up into the air with the raw meat, vegetables, ice cream, doughnuts, and other food to be deep-fat fried.

Options:

  1. “Defending the Castle” – Lug the boiling oil up to the top of a tall stepladder in a leather pot. Pretend that the food to be fried is an attacking Jute, Angle, or Saxon warrior scaling the walls. Your home is your castle! Pour the oil on the warrior.
  2. “Spit Take” – Coat your mouth with that salve that flame-eating circus performers use. Have someone tell you something funny and spew boiling oil out of your gob.
  3. “Blessing the Food” – Go down to your local Catholic church and borrow their aspergillum (the kind that’s a silver ball on a stick, not the brush). Fill the aspergillum with boiling oil. Twirl it around over the food, sprinkling the oil.
  4. “Thanksgiving Showdown” – Invite a dozen neighbors over to your living rooom and equip each with a turkey baster (Amazon heat-resistant basters, $60/dozen; holsters, $1.99 each).  Throw up food into the air. I mean, throw food up into the air. Quick-draw basting fry party!!

Remember, friends. Anything that can be eaten can be fried!