The Process

I don't often get to bake the way that speaks to me. Baking can be a quick batch of cookies on a snowed in night, or an apple crisp that is easily thrown together for a moment of weakness. 

But baking in its purest form, to me, is to labor. 

To begin in the morning and finally have a completed masterpiece by the time the sun turns gold. You measured as if your life depended on it, you paced  anxiously while the oven burned away at your begotten, peering through the glass every few minutes to check on the thing that stole, or rather was given willingly, your entire day. 

Your back hurts a bit, your hands feel soft and warm from handling so much butter, and you whisper little prayers that whatever it is doesn't fall, crack, or scorch in it's final moments. 

This is the kind of baking that impacts me. The kind I wish I was able to do on a weekly basis. I learn, and release, and revive after so many hours in the kitchen. With every time I punch down the dough I remember what a process all good things can be. The best of life needs to be hovered over and tended to for hours. It's hard to be patient, and obedient to a recipe, or to the laws of yeast and gravity. But when you know that at the end of every process lies an Irish Farmers Cheese Tart... Well, you labor. 

I found this recipe a long time ago, and thought... "Someday." 

It was daughnting, and the blogger even admits herself that it is not for the faint of heart. If you want to make this tart, make sure you have a whole day of nothing else to do, and commit to it with heart. I promise you, you will NOT be dissapointed! It is like a little bit of heaven come to earth. 

Not your typical cheesecake, this is the original Scandinavian version. Back when they made their own cheese, from their own cows, on their own genius. The sweet, rich, and rustic cheese filling is embraced with a buttery pastry which has been coated in applesauce before baking. 

Divine. 

You can find the recipe here: 

http://farmette.ie/2013/01/17/sweet-farmers-cheese-tart/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed:+marriedanirishfarmer/skIi+(I+Married+An+Irish+Farmer.)

Piebox is a Christmas present from my beloved who knows me well. It is a lifesaver, and sold online. :) 

Life Tastes Good

 What if it tastes good.... does that mean it's good for me?
We are wired to think that something has to be hard, to be profitable. The term guilt-free dessert alludes to the fact that if you were to eat a bite of regular pie, it would damage you to the point of guilt! So maybe pie isn't the best for you, but it doesn't mean you aren't allowed to eat a piece now and then.
We do the same with life. 
"This feels good... it must not be."
"If I push myself to the point of being uncomfortable or afraid it will mean I'm conquering the bad, and ushering in the good." 
This is not always the case, especially where our lives as children of God are concerned. 
Good means good. True, we are called to step outside of our comfort zones at times, and God does use hard things to teach us. But He is a God of beauty! 
We can rest and not feel guilty. 
We can choose something that makes us feel happy, and know that He is in it. 
We can eat a piece of pie (or heck... two) and relish every bite of it. 
He has our good in His hand, no matter what form we receive it in. 
The trick is to say yes to what He offers.

I made a pie tonight because I could. Because it was good for my heart. And yes... I ate it out of the pan with a fork. God is good.

On Pie.

One, this post is because half the pictures I took over Thanksgiving were of pie in it's various stages. 

Two, because I believe pie is a universal love language, and not only does it deserve it's own post, but it is the bringer of much joy. And we just need joy. 

Spiced Pear Pie, with Toasted Walnuts and Gorgonzola Cheese in a Buttermilk Crust. 

I took this little wooden mold and made acorns out of the leftover pie crust. Brushed them with cream and sprinkled with cane sugar and allspice. Perfect. 

 

 

~Recipe Here~

"Where there is life, there is hope. And need of vittles."

-J.R.R Tolkien

Every Thing. (On Being Greatful) Part 1.

There are those times when everything seems to move a little slower. It's when you are so content and greatful for the present that you savor a moment more than a normal human would. The moments are crystal clear. Suspended. You think in that space, "I will never forget this."
That was my Thanksgiving.
There was a sence in these past few days that said, this is unrepeated time, treasure it.

And I Did...

 

 Every laughing leap.

Every siblings Silhouette.

Every time the wind blew through the cracks of the window.

Every cold walk down the country road.

Every form of home, wherever it was found.

Every carful shaping of dough.

Every Every Every bite of pie....

Every time I licked my fingers.

(Dark Chocolate Truffles with Cane Sugar and Sea Salt)

Every exchange of cooking wisdom between my gifted sister and I.



(Crispy Fried Shallots)

Every warm nap on the couch wrapped up in Naomi's little arms, and her in mine.

Every smell of bacon smoke, and yeast dough

(Cornbread and Sausage Stuffing)

Every time my Papa said, "I am so happy right now."

Every creek in the floorboards.

Every foot ball tackle and chest bump.



 Every still moment.

Every belly laugh.

 
 To be continued....