Beware of the Kitchen Gremlin

The Kitchen Gremlin is a mostly invisible and silent creature who's responsible for, in my opinion, 98% of all kitchen disasters. (The other 2% I believe is caused by alcohol, but that is a subject for another time). This creature, when having successfully demolished an important meal, is known to emit a small, high pitched snarky giggle that the dismayed cook swears they hear but then think it's a sound only in their head. I hate the Kitchen Gremlin.

While making pie this weekend during my quest for the perfect pie crust, the Gremlin screwed with my stove while my rhubarb filling was cooking. I was already struggling with my pie crust and not amused. (Home Chef's beware, the Gremlin lives on the energy from our "frustration" and can immediately sense when peak levels are reached.) My crust was yet another disaster looking exactly like it had in class last week which caused me swear quite creatively. It was the use of a four letter word that sounds like "duck" that must have brought the Gremlin in. For within minutes, I heard a bubbling sound coming from what had previously been a quiet sauce pan! My rhubarb filling was now on a medium flame which brought the liquid to a boil causing the rhubarb to almost fully break down. The room was now filled with several "Ducks" and another four letter word sounding like "Punts" (I had escalated in swearing creativity) as I tried to find ways to continue with my filling. (Special Note: Earlier I had to travel to four different markets to find fresh rhubarb. I bought all that they had which ended up being just enough for my pie. I had frustration around me already which the Gremlin had a field day with!) With careful seasoning and use of cornstarch, it seemed my filling was saved. It was now time to roll out the bottom crust.

I unwrapped my chilled dough, pressed it down from a ball to a disc, and armed with my rolling pin, prepared to make crust. I floured my counter and my pin and proceeded to smear play dough all over the friggin' place. Several more "Ducking Punts" were now in the kitchen. More giggling from the damn Gremlin. Determined to win in this battle, I tried adding water to the play dough which seemed to help. By hell or high water I was going to have a crust for my pie. And I did. I baked this shell and prayed for the best. I was semi rewarded with a golden crust that held it's shape and didn't fall apart during baking. So, I let the crust cool and I filled with the rhubarb filling and whisked it to the fridge to set. Overall, I had a somewhat loose pie, but the flavor was good. I however was determined to find out why I was crust challenged!!

I set out to make a new batch of crust, only this time, evaluating every possible factor that could contribute to my demise. Flour was weighed and sifted - nothing I could screw up here. Next step was my shortening. As I wiped my furrowed brow with the back of my hand I couldn't help but notice my hand was warm and thought, huh, I should open a window. DING DONG! Warm hands can melt butter!!!! For those of you who know me well, you know that I am ALWAYS WARM! My hands are always extremely warm and in the winter I'm wearing shorts around the house because I sweat like a meatloaf! That had to be it!! I needed much colder shortening and needed to have less hand/finger contact for cutting the butter into the flour. As I prepared to start cutting in the butter, I look for anything the Gremlin could use against me and saw I was safe. Oh it was so on. Working quickly, I alternated cutting in the shortening with my fingers then a pastry cutter. Success was in reach. If my calculations were right, I would be inches from a tasty crust AND turning the Gremlin out to the street! The dough obtained what appeared to be a picture perfect color and texture. I divided my crust into four portions and set it to chill in the fridge. I spent the next fifteen minutes searching for the Gremlin's hiding place. I wanted to hear the little bastard cry. I unwrapped a dough ball, floured my counter and rolling pin and was rewarded with a lovely crust, aching to be placed in a pie tin. And in it went, right into the oven. Fifteen minutes until victory was to be mine! I cleaned the kitchen happily, giddy with my impending success. The oven sounded that it was time reveal my treasure. And a golden treasure it was. I had made a yummy crust that looked, well, like crust.

The Gremlin, being a better sport than expected, allowed me to hear a slight cry of defeat as it left my kitchen. With the Ducks and the Punts quietly perched in the dark recesses of my kitchen, I proceeded to turn out a butterscotch pie, a sour cream and peach pie and a pecan pie. Tuesday night, I'm heading into double crust pies and making a pear and Gruyere pie, Apple pie and a lemon pie! The next time the Gremlin comes to visit, and I know he will, I'm sure he'll be prepared and seek revenge. But it won't happen when I'm making pie.