This quiet Sunday has been filled with early morning Mass, fellowship with friends, and after a nap, a peach/pecan pie creation. Now, punctuated by thunder heralding rain to come - maybe - it's time to talk about how I am becoming a cook.
When you live in the Bootheel of Missouri, there isn't a lot to do. There are no cinemas, bowling alleys, or nearby shopping malls. The occasional thrift store does not change often, nor does the one antique shop. And that cute cafe for coffee and chatting over nothing in particular? Well, that's not here either. So women here have turned to other escapes - sewing, quilting, and cooking are, to my eyes, taking on an entirely new meaning, especially cooking.
In California, eating out was practically a way of life. Combine it with coffee with the girlfriends and thrifting, etc at all the ever-changing haunts and you had a recipe for lightening your pocketbook on a regular basis. But here, not so much and I find that the amazing cooks I know are drawing me into their fold.
So what does a girl do on a quiet Sunday afternoon? Well, I have peaches from my neighbor, Miss Katherine and I have pecans (lots of pecans) from Miss Jane. I have a ready-made Pillsbury crust (yeah, not ready to go there yet) and a pretty pottery bowl from my dear friend, Biene, from my California life. It seemed like the time to try making a peach/pecan pie.
Never having been one for baking, I set out my bounty and thought about the advise Jane gave me over breakfast. Since I have a long track record of messing up a recipe, I decided to wing it. Peaches (alas brown), pecans, and sugar were mixed in a bowl. Nothing measured but it looked right and tasted sweet enough. I sprinkled in bisquick to thicken and added in a dash of cinnamon at the end. Oh, and salt. I hope that wasn't a last minute bad choice. Well, anyway . . .
After this, I folded a crust into my pottery dish, poured in the mixture, and topped it all with the remaining crust. I crimped the excess dough together, the aim being to seal the pie.
It wasn't pretty but I like to think it looked rustic and that is just my style.
30 minutes at 400.
Added 7 minutes and covered the crust so it wouldn't get overly brown
Took it out. It looked perfect. After covering with one of my vintage tea towels (flies!!) it was ready for cooling, we'll see how it taste.
The thunder is still making itself known and I'm thinking the rain will never arrive, at least not here anyway. It seems that in the space of 8 short weeks I've not only started to employ my long dormant baking skills but I have also become a stormwatcher of sorts.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
I ventured further into Tennessee a few days ago and encountered a small and quite serene Civil War Memorial surrounded by corn fields and a cemetery in the town of Trimble.
The small town of Newbern has a historic railroad station which is still functioning and a sweet little store attached to the Farmhouse Restaurant. I brought home some goodies, of course.
The genial guy at the counter works at the restaurant. His name is Bubba (yes, it IS) and he is quintessential southern. Thank you, Bubba, for being so obliging and letting me take your picture.
A Visit to Trimble and Newbern, Tennessee.
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