Freaking Thanksgiving. What a nightmare. When I said I wanted to make pies for a living, why didn't anyone try to stop me? Where were all of you when I needed you most? Why wasn't anyone there saying, "Randi. Two words. Thanks. Giving."
We started prepping for T-Day in early October. We roasted and pureed butternut squash a little at a time. We chopped, vacuum sealed, and froze apples box by box. We started forming pie shells a week before the big day. No bakery was better prepared than we were. Still, the memory of it all sends an icy chill down my spine.
Here are some shots from the belly of the beast:
Our prep board:
Head pastry chef beurre mixing the pumpkin pie filling to ensure maximum silkiness:
Pumpkin pie filling awaiting its destiny:
Sauteeing apples for pies:
Our cute little intern who we worked like a plow horse:
Pumpkin:
Apple:
At my family's Thanksgiving dinner, I was in charge of making prime rib and rolls. My sister seems to think this is a family tradition now. Somebody made prime rib last year and now it's apparently a family classic. Whatever. I was terrified to do it, since meat is not my forte. I was especially terrified on Thanksgiving morning when I realized that I had left my thermometer at work, and therefore had no way of knowing when the roast would be done. I must be some kind of meat whisperer, though, because when I sliced into her, she looked like this:
Turns out, the term "prime rib" is a bit misleading. "Prime" is an adjective meant to describe the best section of rib meat, ribs 6 through 12. It gets confusing because the USDA system of grading meat starts with Prime, then Choice, Select, barely edible, inedible, cafeteria sloppy joe meat, and lastly, dog food. True USDA Prime is difficult to find, and it's usually only sold to restaurants and hotels. So the fact of the matter is we had a Choice prime rib, not a Prime prime rib. Whatever. It still cost a fortune. But it was good.
I'd also like to give thanks for my cute new shoes:
The end.
6 comments:
Little Richard on the Gieco commercial. Now send me my damn points!
I wonder if we can get Robert Redford to do a movie called the meat Whisperer? I'll give him a call.
Wherever did you find those shoes?? Will you mail me some apple pie love?
Macy's! And you're going to have to come visit me for some apple pie!
Looking at your pies is NOT helping me to avoid eating 2 plates of Christmas goodies from neighbors. I have very little self-control when I am up late alone, waiting for my advil to kick in and relieve my sciatica. When did I get so old?
I totally thought about you the other day and wondered how crazy busy you must be! But I bet you made some wonderful delish pies that many families enjoyed! (I am trying to find a silver lining here...) oh wait, the silver lining is those super cute shoes! love them!!!
Love the shoes!
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