Yesterday found me waxing housewife-ish because DF was on his way home from a nine-day trip. After long trips I love walking into our home to find out he’s cleaned or boiled up some whale chunks. Thus I make it a point to return the favor when he goes out of town.

For starters, I washed the sheets and hung them on the line, along with the blanket and comforter. Next I opened some windows and briefly aired out the place, taking advantage of high-30s temps and a mild breeze.

Finally I baked one of his favorite dishes: homemade turkey pie. It’s kind of a pain to make because it has so many moving parts (more on that below), and this one was even more challenging because I used a bigger, deeper pie pan than usual. Since I had pastry dough left over I decided to make a raspberry-rhubarb pie as well.

Believe it or not, I’d completely spaced that today is Pi Day.

 

That’s right: All that whirling and howling – and rolling – had nothing to do with a made-up holiday. It was just one of those things we do for love.

Not that I have anything against a holiday, real or imagined, if it encourages you to eat pie.

 

Pi Day and dishes

 

This was also the first time I used the pastry mat DF bought me a couple of months ago. Understand: It was not a Guy Gift, i.e., something a dude buys so he can use it or somehow get the benefit. While researching an article I heard about a guy who bought his wife a state-of-the-art barbecue grill, even though she had expressed zero interest in cooking outdoors. Another dude bought his wife a waffle iron which she’d never requested.

In this case, DF was reacting to my reminiscing about a plastic pastry mat my mother had owned but that, as far as I can remember, we never used. Instead, we rolled out our crusts between two sheets of waxed paper.

Not long after that he brought home a pastry mat, which is a lot like the one Mom had. Bonus: He bought it along with another purchase at the hardware store and used a coupon, so the mat was free.

 

 

I’d always wondered how the need to flour both the mat and the rolling pin might affect the pastry. Would the dough take on so much extra ground grain that it became dry? And would it be hard to fold and lift the crust, then unfold it into the pan?

No, and no. The pies turned out well, although as hinted at earlier they left the kitchen a shambles. I make the crust from scratch and par-bake the bottom one for a few minutes so it stays crisp despite the creamy filling. Next I dice up a carrot to cook along with frozen peas and corn. While they’re cooking I sauté onions and celery until caramelized, toss in a little flour and spices, and stir until bubbly, then add homemade turkey broth (from the freezer) and milk (since I was out, I had to mix up some powdered moo).

That gets simmered for one minute, and then I fold in chopped turkey (also from the freezer) and the drained vegetables. I roll out the top crust and bake the whole mess until it’s golden brown and the aroma is enough to make me gnaw on my own arm.

Except that I’m too busy to self-cannibalize: I’ve got two pans, three measuring cups, one large bowl, a cutting board, the whisk, a couple of knives, the wooden spoon, the spatula, the spoon rest, the rolling pin, measuring spoons, the jar in which I mixed the milk and  the pastry mat to wash up.

 

Hearth and home

 

Every time I make turkey pie there’s a point at which I look at the mess and say, “Why do I do this?!?” And then I eat the pie for dinner and say, “Oh, right, that’s why I do this.”

DF is effusive with his compliments (and his yummy noises) whenever I make this dish. Crust is his favorite thing. I believe he’d eat an entire meal of crust if the opportunity arose. Sometimes I make extra dough so I can bake pastry cutouts sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon, which come out like flat, heart-shaped churros.

Not this time. As the picture shows, I barely had enough pastry to top the fruit pie. The pi symbol on top is DF’s doing; he cut up a piece of licorice to mark the occasion. He made a licorice T on the other pie, saying it stood for “turkey.” (Because clearly the much smaller confection, with its sugary red juices bubbling out, might be mistaken for the savory entrée.)

He slept fairly late (about 9 a.m.) today, because yesterday’s journey took about 21 hours. Two of those hours were spent waiting for Canadian Customs to open, and four more were spent in a truck in the ditch, waiting for a tow truck. After that there was a 748-mile driving trip on wintry roads. On purpose. He and his driving companion were more interested in getting home than in stopping at a hotel.

The whole trip was about endurance: The two of them drove from Anchorage to Reno, Nev., without stopping for the night. It took them 57 hours.

As always, DF was pretty sanguine about the less-than-ideal conditions. Since this morning he has taken one nap, but he also unpacked, did a laundry, caught up on nine days’ worth of mail and newspapers, and set up the Roomba. Right now he’s folding the laundry he did this morning, which had spent the afternoon on racks in front of the fireplace insert (aka the “fire dryer”). My boyfriend’s back.