Tag Archives: Promises

Suet

When talking about mince pies, or mincemeat pies, you can’t … oh I’m just going to get it out here in the beginning, mince words. There’s suet in those gorgeous buttery crusted, sweet pies.

What’s suet? It’s essentially the hard fat (beef or mutton) around the loins and kidneys. It’s used to make tallow and pastries, especially mince pies and Christmas puddings. Sounds awful. But it’s really not.

People, hardcore people, make their own mince filling from fruits and raisins and brandy and suet (and occasionally meat), and then serve them in gorgeous pies or mini-pies around the holidays.

Other people (see: me) buy versions from Mr.Kipling or Hoppers (two of the only three I’ve seen Stateside). My absolute favorite, though:

Walker’s Luxury Mince Pies.

And we just finished the last of them.

This means that this week, THIS WEEK, I need to do what I set out to do when I stalked Dai Due’s booth at the Austin Farmer’s Market a few weeks ago and make a ton of them myself.

Dai Due doesn’t play around with their Mincemeat. Read their description:

“We begin preparing our Traditional Mincemeat in May, when the apricots first show at the markets. These are dried, along with Rain Lily Farm sugar figs and tiny, sour plums. When Fall rolls around, hundreds of pounds of Lightsey Farm Keffir pears and Apple Country Granny Smiths are diced and very slowly baked with sugar, spices and a little buttery Richardson Farm beef suet. As the temperatures finally drop a bit more, the final ingredients in a 6 month recipe present themselves: the first oranges and grapefruits are candied and juiced, and sweet new-crop pecans are roasted and added to the mix and baked even further. This syrupy compote is then fortified and preserved with copious amounts of brandy. This mincemeat is redolent of pears, apples, brandy and spice, rich depth from the dried fruits and suet, slightly bitter notes from the grapefruit, sweet and sour flavors from the orange and savory crunch from the pecans.”

I mean, for REAL. If your mouth isn’t watering right now, you’re dead to me.

The reason I haven’t made pies from the two GIANT quarts I bought from them is because I’m stuck on the crusts. (That, and the boxed Walker’s pies are SO GOOD.) I don’t know how to shape them, cut them and/or bake them. There’s a better than not chance I’m going to go with roll-and-go crust, but even then, how big is too big? Do I stick them in my cupcake tins?

I’m guessing yes and that I’m going to do some trial runs until I figure it out and eat so much mince that I turn into a giant bottle of brandy. Also, I’ll drink heavily whilst doing all of it it’ll just be fun either way. Y/Y?

If it turns out to be a giant disaster, that will be FINE because I’m going to England in T-11 days now, when on Christmas Eve, we’ll eat 234895793485798 of them at midnight mass and I’ll wonder why I felt the need to even try in the first place.

ELEVEN DAYS. I need to make mince pies, Mexican Wedding cookies and butter cookies in the next eleven days.

Stay tuned.

This blog went out for a cigarette and never came back.*

Ink and Vodka. How could I have forgotten you for so long? Two of my favorite things in one webtastic manifestation of 1010001001s, sitting here barren since … well, way too long actually. I went from giving you a total rebrand (in concept) to completely walking away from you, leaving you to fend for clicks with the quiet promise of “No really, there will be an update … soon?”

It’s not that I haven’t been cooking. Or baking. Or shooting said cooking and baking. Or buying all the accoutrements and trappings of both. I have. Oh sweet maple syrup, I have!

And with that, I will make this pledge that I will post something every day, EVERY DAY from here on out. A link. A blog. A photo. A deal. Something.

Yes, yes, you’ve heard this before, but REALLY.

If I don’t, call me out on it.

Here and here.

I have one photo not on the camera. It’s the pumpkin pie I made for Thanksgiving with a Fleur de Lys top (The Saints played the Cowboys on T-day, WHO DAT doesn’t need to say who won?!). It was absolutely delicious and the only pumpkin pie I ever ate that I really, really liked. Instead of pre-packed pumpkin spice, I made my own on the advice of a Foodie at Whole Foods. A little bit of this, a little bit of that and a whole lot of New Orleans spirit.

*PS — Don’t smoke cigarettes. They screw with your tastebuds and there’s too much good food out there that deserve ALL of your tastebuds. Also, they kill.

Even I can’t make myself listen…

Everywhere I turn I see women craving change.

Talking about big cities and dreams and waxing ambition into poetry.

But we’re all still here.

Motionless.

What has to happen to force change? Why are we waiting for change to develop and leave us no choice but escape instead of creating doorways and buying tickets?

Why do we take a passive aggressive stance to the situations around us — manipulating the little keys that force the big lock?

I question these things right now, drinking coffee and reading other people’s journals knowing that if I wait a few hours, I’ll forget this little fire and justify another day of normalcy.

*******

I was talking in my sleep last night. B said I rolled over and said, “How boring for you.”
I didn’t realize I was talking to myself.

I dreamed of yard sales and getting busted. At the yard sale, everything looked tired and old and it was all of my own stuff I was rummaging through. All the remnants of my past — dusty and tired.

“How boring for you.”

How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you.

Procrastination…

I have checked every web site I visit at least twice, randomly searched for nothing, did a crossword puzzle and stared out the window at the concrete ugliness of it all.

Each time I said “Ok, I think I’ll write now…”, I finished the thought by inserting another mind-numbing activity.

I was just telling Jessica how she’s a wonderful writer and needs to write. No excuses.

But for me, I have one readily available at my fingertips. Creativity is easily avoidable.

And pissy.

Creativity is a bitch.

**********
My goal for the rest of the month is to work on the investigative church story questions, and get my samples together to pitch.

I don’t know how to do that.

Do you photocopy everything you have and send that? Or do you provide the copy as a Word document? Both? Neither? Help!

My favorite writing sample is a 2 page news spread on a band from “waybackwhen”. It’s impossible to photocopy.

Maybe I *am* supposed to just send the text copies out.

Shit.
*********
I go get the hair ripped out of my face at lunch. Ah…the joy of the wax.