On Thursday of last week, my grandmother made her delicious Moravian Pies, which were doubtlessly devoured while I was seated above the clouds somewhere between Atlanta and Paris.
It seemed like a good American meal to make for a Frenchman's birthday, seeing that it A) involves meat, and usually what I cook does not; and B) it closely resembles a quiche, which is very reassuring to a highly skeptical and -- let's just admit it -- completely snobby audience. I have also had a few cans of unsweetened evaporated milk in my pantry since Thanksgiving that I didn't know what else to do with.
The recipe was there on my computer, all neatly typed & organized into (seriously) my favorite Christmas present of all time: the B Family Recipe Book full of delightful and delicious ideas, that leaves out many important obvious-to-anyone-who-knows-how-to-cook steps that I, clearly, do not know.
But, fearless, and armed with pre-made crusts (I know) I attacked.
And got the crap kicked out of me.
I don't know exactly where I went wrong. But I think it began with my first step. I put the butter and the flour into the pan at the same time. I realized almost immediately that I probably should not have done that, because it became kind of like a paste and I thought I remembered this being kind of like a sauce. (A roux, in fact). But alas, it melted into a consistency kind of like the coconut frosting for German Chocolate cake, and it seemed okay.
So then I added the evaporated milk, and it turned into a consistency like cookie dough. And I panicked (naturally) and just started pouring regular milk into it until it looked more normal. Then I added what I thought was chicken broth, but was actually a weird gelatinous form of what I think was concentrated chicken broth. But I can't be sure. I added three of these, because the recipe called for 1 cup and it seemed like three packets would be the equivalent of that. But as I was doing this, I asked myself if I should add water to the packets. If maybe that would be more sensible.
But those thoughts did not stop me from forging ahead and indulgently pouring the ingredients into the pan.
And I didn't think to stop and taste it, either.
No, no. Blind faith in cooking, is what was happening. Or I don't know what, really. Disaster, more accurately.
After the addition of a lot of milk, the consistency seemed okay so I added in the 6 euro chicken breasts I had cooked, and had myself a taste...
of salt.
It was like an entire salt colony decided to go for a swim in a buttery sea of cookie dough, with an overwhelming aftertaste of chicken, backstroking their little granulary selves around at leisurely speeds. I could see them vacationing in my depressing sauce pan, the grease-covered yellow backsplash light their fake sunshine hovering above the miniscule space.
At this point I kind of realized it was futile, but I remembered that a) I am impatient and b) I am quick to become a bit hysterical when it comes to cooking. My instinct is not to think cooly and collectedly to find a logical solution, but instead to assume it is all irreparably damaged and destined for the garbage.
So, I thought to myself, there must be something someone could do about a salty sauce pan of an otherwise totally delicious mixture. And I decided that in cookie recipies, one adds salt to accentuate the sugar. But at the same token, when I make chicken adobe that is too salty, I eat a substantial amount of peas with it so the sugary taste balances out the savory.
And, thus, I concluded that the only hope for my Moravian Disaster was a MASSIVE bag of frozen peas. In they went, and the weird chicken paste at least looked prettier, like a birthday, or a weirdly textured sweater with a bunch of craft pompoms knitted in at random.
Into the oven she went, and 20 minutes later, with a very brown crust, back out she came. The recipe said specifically 30 minutes, but I was afraid it would burn. And it looked nice.
But, as the saying goes, don't judge a pie by it's beautifully golden-brown crust.
I took a bite.
The saltiness was still overwhelming.
The disgustingness still undeniable.
The peas and chicken delicious, if consumed without the sauce.
And the worst of all, is that the bottom crust was totally raw.
Actually, that is not the worst part. The worst part is I tried to actually eat it.
Haha here's to hoping that try # 2 goes a little bit better than this one.
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