Who doesn’t like teddy bears? You’d have to be an over-privileged obnoxious hipster brat not to love teddy bears. Even then, you’d probably still love them in a detached, post-modern way. For thanksgiving I made a pear, dried cherry and pecan pie. It was really delicious. I spiced it with ginger and I spiked the crust with nutmeg and cinnamon. I also learned an important lesson about crust – DON’T EVER HANDLE IT OR TOUCH IT. I’m only sort of joking. The more you handle the crust, the more dense it will tend to be. Also, you can play with not incorporating the butter as thoroughly as you normally do. Large pieces of butter will yield a fluffy, flaky crust, because the butter gives off gas as it cooks.
I give off gas too.
I am referring to farts, of course.
It makes for a pie that is really impressive. I recommend experimenting with it. Stay with me, we’re back on crust.
Ironic fashion. This hipster has decided to dress like he’s a little boy going on a fishing trip with his grandpa! He’s completed the look with an actual Fishing With Grandpa sweater.
That’s a look that says, “Mug me, I’m carrying an expensive laptop that my dad bought me.”
Maybe I will mug you, hipster. Maybe. I. Just. Will.
Don’t get me wrong, I love fishing trips with my grandpa. But this guy isn’t going on a fishing trip. He’s in a tunnel underneath a body of water that separates Manhattan and Brooklyn.
Therefore, this man is an idiot.
I think I’m going to buy some white pepper soon, and try spicing my autumn pies with it. While the crust was exciting, I wasn’t nuts about how I spiced the pie. Clove and ginger and cinnamon and such made it seem like typical holiday fare, and I really want my guests smacked in the face with a surprising flavor.
The pie was an outstanding point of the evening, and maybe it was only typical to me, because I’ve made this pie over and over again.
Yeah. Good idea. I’m going to let myself off the hook. I did a good job, bud.
Here’s some more pie porn, and a pic of my pregnant friend Cindy with the bird.
Happy Thanksgiving, jerks. Even you, hipsters. No, I’m joking. Not you, hipsters.