So, Sweet Crust Pastry. My nemesis, my love.
Typically, a very specific confluence of events needs to take place in order for pastry to be successful. The butter, the flour, your hands, your room temp, electromagnetic conduction, cosmic alignment, they all need to be in a perfect harmony over which you have no control.
NOT ANY LONGER.
I feel like I just found the Holy Grail, except it won’t keep me young, it will keep me from becoming Bruce Banner’s alter ego when my pastry cracks all over the rolling-pin when I am trying to show off my Martha Stewart skillz.
So, if you’re reading this on Thanksgiving morning (from whence I write) and your mother-in-law just announced that she’s heading over with her retirees group for a home cooked pie, fear the fuck not. I am here to save you.
- 500 grams flour, preferably not really cheap nasty stuff. Just sayin’
- 100 grams of icing/confectioners sugar
- 9 Oz/ 250 grams of cold butter. Again, not the cheap nasty stuff
- Couple of Tablespoons of milk
- Eggs. Here’s the deal. I used actual eggs from an actual chicken with a name. With bright orange yolks. But they were tiny. So I assume three of those were two regular eggs. ALSO, they really made a difference. So I recommend you go and buy a chicken and get to laying some. Look at that!
Sieve the flour and sugar (or not!) and cut the butter into it. I used a pastry cutter today, after almost always using my fingertips. It will brillz. When breadcrummy, and I mean good and breadcrummy, add the eggs, continuing to use the cutter. Splash o’ milk goes in. It should all come together pretty quickly and splendidly.
This makes enough for two pie crusts, or a top and bottom. Halve the measurments it if you’re really good at maths. Good for you.
Halve and lightly mold into discs. Cover in plastic wrap and refrigerate. I waited an hour today, but I am sure if you leave longer it will be fine. Just get out of fridge 15 minutes before.
Roll out! See how mother f#&*@^^0&g easy it is.
I put in a pumpkin filling from a fresh kabocha squash I roasted. With more amazing eggs and mascapone. Which in typical fashion I didn’t measure and have no way to reproduce. I did put an egg wash on the sides which is why they’re super golden. That’s right, golden. Not burned. NOT burned.
My pilgrim ancestors, of which I have none, would be sooooo proud of me.