For some reason, I have it in my head that I have to make my own pie crust. From scratch, with butter. Maybe this is because we always used Pillsbury crust when I was growing up and I never really understood why we didn't try making it from scratch (though I admit, I really liked the flavor and texture of it). I might have even given my mom a hard time about it on occasion. So once I was on my own, I've felt this from-scratch pressure and even guilt when I've been tempted to take the easy way out. Which is no fun for someone who loves to cook, but also has a lot of other things to do in her free time.
Last night, I had been planning to go to the grocery store. But then drinks with coworkers came up unexpectedly, and were enjoyed outside in the warm weather, and I didn't get to the store until almost 8pm. I knew I had two ricotta pies to bake—one for Easter and one for friends to eat for breakfast this morning—and that they would take an hour to bake. Do you know that I stood in the frozen food aisle for about 5 minutes debating what I should do? Finally, I decided that my sanity/sleep was worth more than a high and mighty stance on pie crust perfection, so I bought a package of crust. I went home, mixed the filling, rolled the dough and baked the pies. And do you know what happened then?
The world did not end. I didn't have flour all over my floor and I didn't ruin my baking by taking on too much when I was already tired from a long day. I ate dinner and worked on a quilt.
Which means I have learned an important lesson: sometimes we (and by we I mean me) can't do it all. And that's perfectly okay. But the results of doing just enough can be plenty tasty and delicious because the pie is Good!
Sent from James' iPhone
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