Why Pecan Tarts and Kittens Don't Mix
12/24/09 05:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wobblerlorriFirst off, let me start by saying I love pecan pie. I would marry pecan pie and have it's pecan babies if I could. If I could live off pecan pie that would be a no brainer for me.
However, since my RNY, I can't eat more than a slice of pecan pie. So the days of taking a 9" cake pan, lining it with tender flaky pie crust, and making a deep dish pecan pie are long gone, since I'm the only one that eats it, and while I could do away with one of those monsters in previous days, it would turn green and furry before I could finish it now.
So last year I made pecan tarts -- you take a single recipe of pie filling, then drive yourself crazy cutting and shaping your pie crust into tiny little aluminum foil pans, then fill the pans, bake them, and eat one for Christmas. The rest go into the freezer, and last until June (one recipe fills 8 tart shells).
This year my local grocery store is carrying the frozen tart shells, so I decided to make some. I got out my recipe:
LORRI'S PECAN PIE
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup light or dark corn syrup (your choice)
2 eggs
1/2 stick melted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup chopped pecans
Mix the sugar, corn syrup and eggs until well blended. Slowly add the melted butter, then add the vanilla. Still well. Add the nuts. Pour into a 9" pie shell, bake at 350 about 50 min. If making tarts, pour about 1/2 cup or so of mix into each tart shell, making sure you divide the nuts evenly. Bake at 350 about 45 min, until center is set.
I had everything poured in the tart shells, all ready to go in the oven. I was running hot water into my mixing bowl so the sugar wouldn't solidify, and just about to turn around and grab the pan to put into the oven...
scamper scamper scurry scramble ker-RASH WHAM BLAM KER-SPLAT!!!
"CAT!!!!" I shrieked. And there goes Jack, an ample dollop of pecan pie filling on her back and side, tail bushed out, galloping for Points West. The ENTIRE PAN of tarts was upside down on the floor. One had survived, right side up, but as I watched a huge tuft of fur gently floated down and landed like a snowflake on the surface of the lonely tart.
I stomped into the laundry room, got the squeegee broom and the huge dust pan, and began raking the mess up. Mike came in and said, "Do I need to ask which cat?" "What do YOU think?" I muttered. Finally got the mess up, leaving the second mess to clean up. Mike valiantly offered to go get me some more tart shells, while I got down on hands and knees to wipe up the sludge. He told me not to kill her, at least not til he got back, so he could watch. I chuckled at that -- after all, we let her prowl around while we cook, she wasn't doing anything we don't let her do. Only this time it backfired on both of us.
Finally got the floor clean, and Mike is back with my tart shells. I'm taking a break right now because all that cleaning wore me out. I did catch Jack and gave her a spit bath with a wet washcloth to get the gooey off her, which she did NOT appreciate. She was afraid I was still mad at her, but I cooed at her a bit and that tail went up and she said, "Prt!" I told her the spit bath was her spanking.
So the moral of the story is, Kittens Are Not Good Cook's Assistants. For the sake of your pastries, Ban Them From The Kitchen.
However, since my RNY, I can't eat more than a slice of pecan pie. So the days of taking a 9" cake pan, lining it with tender flaky pie crust, and making a deep dish pecan pie are long gone, since I'm the only one that eats it, and while I could do away with one of those monsters in previous days, it would turn green and furry before I could finish it now.
So last year I made pecan tarts -- you take a single recipe of pie filling, then drive yourself crazy cutting and shaping your pie crust into tiny little aluminum foil pans, then fill the pans, bake them, and eat one for Christmas. The rest go into the freezer, and last until June (one recipe fills 8 tart shells).
This year my local grocery store is carrying the frozen tart shells, so I decided to make some. I got out my recipe:
LORRI'S PECAN PIE
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup light or dark corn syrup (your choice)
2 eggs
1/2 stick melted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup chopped pecans
Mix the sugar, corn syrup and eggs until well blended. Slowly add the melted butter, then add the vanilla. Still well. Add the nuts. Pour into a 9" pie shell, bake at 350 about 50 min. If making tarts, pour about 1/2 cup or so of mix into each tart shell, making sure you divide the nuts evenly. Bake at 350 about 45 min, until center is set.
I had everything poured in the tart shells, all ready to go in the oven. I was running hot water into my mixing bowl so the sugar wouldn't solidify, and just about to turn around and grab the pan to put into the oven...
scamper scamper scurry scramble ker-RASH WHAM BLAM KER-SPLAT!!!
"CAT!!!!" I shrieked. And there goes Jack, an ample dollop of pecan pie filling on her back and side, tail bushed out, galloping for Points West. The ENTIRE PAN of tarts was upside down on the floor. One had survived, right side up, but as I watched a huge tuft of fur gently floated down and landed like a snowflake on the surface of the lonely tart.
I stomped into the laundry room, got the squeegee broom and the huge dust pan, and began raking the mess up. Mike came in and said, "Do I need to ask which cat?" "What do YOU think?" I muttered. Finally got the mess up, leaving the second mess to clean up. Mike valiantly offered to go get me some more tart shells, while I got down on hands and knees to wipe up the sludge. He told me not to kill her, at least not til he got back, so he could watch. I chuckled at that -- after all, we let her prowl around while we cook, she wasn't doing anything we don't let her do. Only this time it backfired on both of us.
Finally got the floor clean, and Mike is back with my tart shells. I'm taking a break right now because all that cleaning wore me out. I did catch Jack and gave her a spit bath with a wet washcloth to get the gooey off her, which she did NOT appreciate. She was afraid I was still mad at her, but I cooed at her a bit and that tail went up and she said, "Prt!" I told her the spit bath was her spanking.
So the moral of the story is, Kittens Are Not Good Cook's Assistants. For the sake of your pastries, Ban Them From The Kitchen.
