Oh hello INTERNET.
What could we possibly talk about today? I got up, watched an episode of Dr. Who, then stood in the kitchen at 10:59. At 11:00 I started making dinner. Yes, you did indeed read that correctly. I started making dinner.
I decided it would be FUN to make BREAD! FROM SCRATCH! And, if that wasn’t enough fun, I would make, ALSO FROM SCRATCH, a STEAK AND GUINNESS PIE! Like the English blokes make! No big deal, I’m just a stupid, little, American girl. (Are you reading this in a British accent right now? Because I’m writing it in one.)
The bread was great. It turned out perfectly! I mean, except the bit where I had to thinly slice three huuuuuuge white onions and I was crying and I thought my eyes were going to EXPLODE and I was all “NONA! NONA! NONA! I’M DYING OVER HERE!” (We call my grandmother Nona, incase you didn’t know.) So then she was all, “OH, here, have this toothpick.” And then I was all “DYING! I’M DYING AND YOU ARE GIVING ME A TOOTHPICK? WHAT ABOUT THAT BEAUTIFUL DIAMOND RING IN YOUR DRESSER DRAWER?!?”
And then she shoved the toothpick in my mouth.
And then the tears stopped, as well as the burning. Well, the burning just sort of slowly died down, but never fully went away. I mean, it is 11:27 and they are still a little….burny.
ANYWAY, so as I said, the bread was all right. No problems, all went according to plan. I should own a bread shop that is how well it went. And then…..the pie.
Now, I absolutely ADORE Jamie Oliver. LOVE HIM. (He is a chef who hails from ENGLAND.) If anyone knows how to properly bake a pie, it is he. Well, when I was living in London, I used to get Steak and Ale pies from the local pubs. It was seriously some of the best food I’d ever eaten. AND I WANTS THEM IN AMERICA!
But noooooooo, all we have are stupid sports bars that serve gross pizza. So I make this steak and guinness pie, hoping it will turn out like I wanted it to.
Let’s just say, the only thing remotely good about the steak and guinness pie, was the steak. It was beautiful, juuuuuust beautiful.
So, remember a few paragraphs ago I was all “I got in the kitchen at 11” (or something like that, I can’t be bothered to go and have a look at the exact sentence although I’m sure I could have done it in the time it took me to type this run-on out)? Well I got out of the kitchen at 5. Yes, I baked from 11 to 5. Now, mind you, the pie filling had to simmer for two hours, so there was a bit of a break. But other than that it was non-stop cooking.
So, occasionally I would go and test the stew-like mess that was residing on the stove. And my grandmother would test it, and our family friend would test it and they were all “OH THIS IS LOVELY!” And I was all “OH THIS IS TERRIBLE!” But I didn’t say anything, because it still had an hour and a half to cook. Then an hour, then thirty minutes, then ten minutes, and in all that time it did not get any better. And so we put the stew mixture into little dishes and then put the pastry lids on top and baked them, and I was quietly kneeling in a corner, praying to God above, “PLEASE let them magically get better in the oven, please, pleaseplease.”
They did not. I quietly ate the tomatoes and steak bits out of the pie, and a bit of the pastry topping, hoping nobody would notice that I was not enjoying the meal. And….they did. Out of the five people sitting at the table, four people enjoyed the meal. One of them even broke his no-carb diet so he could enjoy it, THAT IS HOW MUCH THESE PEOPLE LOVE ME.
And I love them, I really do. I’ve known them for, no lie, more than half of my life. I even named my stuffed animal after one of them. I mean, that is love. So they smiled, and the no-carb eating man took my dish and poured it into his, and then ate all of it until there was nothing left. And then he sat and talked with me for thirty or so minutes, asking me about my trips to France, England, and New Zealand, and seemed genuinely interested in all of my crazy stories.
And as I write this post, I really do realize just how awesome my life is. Happy BEDA everyone.