While preparing my list of items to bring for the dinner last night, the primary thing not to forget was the luscious Chocolate Terrine, of course. There were the salad fixings, as well, and the Bacon and Spinach Quiche had the custard in one container, the bacon/spinach/onion mixture in another, and the blind baked tart shell was right there on the counter.
The counter at our home.
#%$&@ and shinola thought I for several seconds. My wife, who perhaps a dozen years ago would have fallen into an apoplectic fit of embarrassment and chagrin, just stared at me, her expression silent and accusatory…at least in my imagination.
She poured, then, another glass of Chardonnay and shook her head with amusement. How will he pull his ass out of this fire? I could see her wondering.
Our guests (even though it was their home) kinda laughed, and my mind started to scout out solutions.
“Do you have butter,flour, and some salt?” I queried.
“A rolling pin?” I ventured.
“No, but your wife just finished off that bottle of chard, so…” There was my rolling pin.
With no measuring tools, just an eye and a feel for it, I cut butter into some flour, dusted lightly with salt, and added a couple of tablespoons of cold water. Five minutes later?
It wasn’t a tart, and not really a galette, but it fit in a piepan, cooked out beautifully, and dinner was saved. My greatest appreciation to my wife and friends for their patience as I pulled an episode of Chopped and MasterChef challenges into reality.
On reflection, it wasn’t a perfect piece of dough, perhaps a scoche or three too much butter, but no one complains about too much butter, do they?