Friday Pie-Day: Chocolate Cream (Lactose Free)

In honor of my wife and her ongoing lactose intolerance, I worked this week on a dairy-free cream pie, of which there are few.

Cream pies are creamy usually because they contain, well, cream — or at least some creamy goodness, which usually means dairy, either in milky or buttered form.

I chose a chocolate pie because we both love chocolate, and I thought that the chocolate might be a bit more forgiving in the taste world.

First the critique: This pie isn’t bad. It isn’t great, either. It has some very nice components, but it doesn’t fill my chocolate silk fantasy.

The crust, for instance, is quite nice. There are a few things I would do differently with it, though. I might blind bake it for a few minutes so the bottom gets the chance to crust up. The sides are nice and crispy and the bottom turned out a little soggy.

Here is the crust recipe as I would rework it.

The pie filling was okay though it was particularly sweet. I added more sugar and cocoa than the original recipe called for, so it was my fault. I’d keep with the cocoa, but pull back on the sugar. It is chocolatey, but not as much as I had hoped for.

It also uses tofu, which concerned me, as it seemed rather lumpy when I was done blending it. But it turned out fine. I think next time I would add some nuts, some pecans or walnuts to the filling, but I’m a nut fan so that could just be me.

Also, I might dispense with the Cool Whip topping. It may have been the culprit that made the pie cloying.

Here are the ingredients for the filling:

Eat with a large coffee.

Again, I wanted this thing to hit the fence, but it really didn’t.

Let’s see what the wife says:

The crust is both crunchy and chewy. Yum! The richness of the chocolate is nicely tempered by the whipped topping. I will dream about this pie tonight. Get it out of my house.

Okay, perhaps it was better than I thought. I did make it for her, though, so I guess that was good.

Think I’m going to try a blueberry next week.

WARNING: There is some content that may make you squeamish. You know the drill.

Okay, I know why my wife is teaching the Japanese language. It apparently involves a coin toss in high school. But, whoa-Nelly, what a kooky culture.

I know, I know: glass houses and tossing stones and all. I haven’t made it a secret about how I feel about contemporary American society. I am a part of this milieued morass of psychotic consumer-self-possessed-sycophantic-superficial-debt-ridden-center-of-the-universe-ism. I hate it, and yet I am a part of it.

For example: I am right now sitting in a local coffee shop listening to conversations that make me nauseous. Most of the rejoinders in these conversations begin with the phrase, “Well I …” And yet, I am sure that at some point today, I too will, with relish, commit wholly to a conversation just like the ones that are presently turning my stomach.

But I digress.

I have often wondered what a young Chinese woman who works twelve hours a day for meager subsistent wages thinks when she is making of these for Americans.

Okay, secondary tangent, sorry.

Now, back to Japan. Again, I understand the stones and glass houses issue … but here is my first stone.

Condom machines. I don’t know if you have seen a condom machine in America. Essentially there are three or four condoms available. And you got your ticklers or ribbed, your studded or twisted, and something with either long-lasting or sensation causing lubrication. SIDE NOTE: The condoms in Scotland are all flavored, and by flavored I mean from Scotch to mustard to curry. Okay, whatever.

In Japan, you purchase your condom based on blood type.

You might need to see that again.

In Japan, you purchase your condom based on blood type. What? How seemingly arbitrary and yet statistically minded.

Okay, and how about the following photo of a claw machine in Japan. Can you see it? Those round gelatinous orbs are single breasts — fully nippled and areolaed, I might add. And the claw machine’s name? Tora 3: Tora Tora Tora? Sound familiar? The “go” words to attack Pearl Harbor in 1941. I mean, seriously? What the fuck? Does this make sense to anyone? Or is that the point?

How about this child’s toy?

Yes. You can shave your own baby, who, inexplicably, has pubic and underarm hair, not to mention a ring of ankle hair that would make Borat proud. Plus, it’s a ginger. Nice touch. This image, by the by, comes from a web site called “Japan is Weird.com.”

For a society that we imagine is so buttoned-up, they really do like to let it all hang out.

Take for example the Kanamara Matsuri. Any guess as to what this might be? Let me help you: it is a yearly festival. Anything?

Let me translate it for you. Kanamara Matsuri translates to “Festival of the Steel Phallus.” Yup. It’s a yearly penis festival. A veritable huzzah to the immortal Steely Dan — if you follow that pop allusion. This festival has recently gotten some pull on the Internet. It has made its rounds among the juvenile (like me) who are slapping at the thin walls of their own repression. Click this link if you dare. This ain’t your mama’s Hobie Day’s festival. Let me just say that the confections sold at this festival are not available at your local Fannie Farmer and Russell Stover outlet.

I don’t know where I stand, actually. I would like to believe that I am somewhere in the middle, between the insane America, where the dolls are abdominally ripped and thin but sexless, and the dualistic Japan where this can happen:

I guess I would rather that our sexuality be out there and understood, unrepressed and open, than closeted and dirty, untouchable and sinful.

Wow, did this post take a turn. I thought I was just going to talk about Hello Kitty and Pokemon.

Was that dirty?

So last year, I think it was last year, I was part of this 24 hour play thing here in Cedar Rapids. It was an absolute blast, and I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t heard of it occurring yet this year.

Anyway, last year it ran around Halloween. Therefore, we were given the task of creating Halloween themed plays. As the playwright, I blind-picked a setting (beauty pageant), and a monster (zombies). Then I had to figure in a prop: a large plush snake. I think there was another thing I had to work with, but I can’t remember what it was. Then we were given (again, I can’t quite remember) ten hours to write it.

I decided to do a spoof of Macbeth, complete with the blank verse.  It was a hell of a challenge, but it was outrageously fun.

So, happy Halloween! Here is that ten-minute play.

The Tragedy of McQueen: or The Beauty Pageant Play

Scene 1

PORNADO

Who’s there?

MC QUEEN

‘Tis I.

PORNADO

Tis who?

MC QUEEN

A friend.

PORNADO

A friend?

MC QUEEN

A friend, say I, dear friend Pornardo, see?

PORNADO

McQueen?

MC QUEEN

Tis I.

PORNADO

Thank God’s own dawn ‘tis you.

MC QUEEN

How stands the watch?

PORNADO

Tis bitter cold this night.

MC QUEEN

And have you seen them.

PORNADO

Not yet is the time.

For yon the moon shines low upon the roof

of Pageant’s yon pavilion’s yawning maw

that scarfs up beauties line of shoulder sashed

contestants who desire the crown of…

MC QUEEN

Shhhhhh!

I sense a presence—perhaps three.

WITCH 1

[Pointing to MC QUEEN] McQueen.

ZOMBIE WITCH 2

[Pointing and speaking Zombielike] McQueen.

ZOMBIE WITCH 3

[Et tu] McQueen.

MC QUEEN

That’s me.

PORNADO

My god!

WITCH 1

We see your future in this race.

ZOMBIE WITCH 2

We see you honored full of grace.

ZOMBIE WITCH 3

We see you man of firsted place.

WITCHES ALL

We see another you replace.

PORNADO

Of this, what is the fuck, my dear McQueen?

You look to tremble slack-jawed, as do I.

But it does seem to presage some good thing.

[To WITCHES] If you can give him this, then say to me…

ZOMBIE WITCH 2 & 3

Braaaains.

WITCH 1

Tchsssst! [Pops treats into W2&3’s mouths]

[Pointing to PORNADO] Poser friend of betters, you.

ZOMBIE WITCH 2

[Same as before] Erotic, kinky player, too.

PORNADO

Fine, fine, I’m fine with that. Thank you. That’s good.

[W1 turns and shoos W2&3 away, shushing them as they say “Brains” on their way offstage.]

MC QUEEN

Stay!

PORNADO

No! Go you things that freak my shit.

MC QUEEN

O would that they had stayed. Did you not note

the one in center-front, how she did look?

PORNADO

I must admit I tried to look away.

MC QUEEN

So foul and fair a babe I have not seen.

She did, methinks, look quite like my McQueen.

PORNADO

Your wife?

MC QUEEN

Aye, she.

PORNADO

Could it have been?

MC QUEEN

Don’t know.

I shall go ask her. Then she’ll tell me so.

[Hautboys]

Scene 2

LADY

[Swirling a cocktail]…and juice of apple-pines and apricot

liqueur, and rum and ice. [Drinks] So come you spirits

that bend our mortal thoughts and sex me up

so that upon the morn I’ll wear the crown,

the garland that all beauties do desire,

with sash and prizes fabulous thereto.

[Goes to box and pulls out snake]

And you, my lovely asp, do know your charge

in this dark evenings scheme.

MC QUEEN

My wife! You’re up.

LADY

[Hiding asp] My husband. Did you see what we did seek?

MC QUEEN

Pornardo did not lie. His eyes were true.

LADY

And what said they? Did they not speak of us?

MC QUEEN

‘Twas hard to note, dear wife. Their words were strange

and came as thick as malted frozen cream.

LADY

[Aside] Yes, t’would confound a silly dolt like you.

But since I have the fourth wall disinterred

and thrown him into deafness on the stage,

I shall unpack to you my heart, and say

‘twas I that made the little birdie song.

But since he’s thick of brain and weak of heart,

I’ll to the wiles of my asp turn now to work.

[She turns to him suddenly and holds up the head of the snake.]

You cannot tear your eyes from off my asp!

[McQueen is suddenly stunned and comes over all glazed.]

MC QUEEN

[Mesmerized] My anaconda don’t want…

LADY

Tssst! I say

For now is not the time for that, my sweet.

‘Tis time for you to take my asp to eat.

[Hautboys]

Scene 3

FELECIA

I tell you, sweet Pornardo, she is changed.

PORNADO

How say you, fair Felicia, is she ought?

FELECIA

Aye, ought.

PORNADO

Oh, naught!

FELECIA

Aye, ought, I say! She’s ought!

PORNADO

[To off stage] Oh, sweet Hermetica, my darling child?

Thy mother says of thee that thou art ought.

What is it in thy self that brings thee low?

HERMETICA

[From offstage.] Braiiiiiins.

PORNADO

They brains? Oh.

HERMETICA

Braiiiiins.

PORNADO

Wherefore, she has a fever, sweetest wife.

FELECIA

But ’tis tomorrow that the pageant shall be held.

She’ll ne’re do well to capture judges eyes

if she is laid low by the ague all the while.

PORNADO

Oh, by the ague.

FELECIA

By the ague.

PORNADO

Ague?

FELECIA

Fever!

PORNADO

Aye, the ague!

VAPIDIA

Braiiiiiins.

PORNADO

Aye, she does hurt, dear wife, I say ’tis true.

FELECIA

Well, then she can’t upon her talent twirl

the firebranded baton on the stage

while singing songs of revelry and joy.

PORNADO

‘Tis how the world spins, my sweetest chuck.

The pageant of today is sorrow’s morrow.

FELECIA

Things do bode ill, my love, and make me wary.

Your news of slack-jawed witches and their doom

does bring a tingling to my very spine.

‘Tis now upon the stroke of deep midnight

and something evil’s lurking in the dark.

Under the moonlight, things do oft there creep

and there are sights that almost stop your heart.

[Sound of a door slam]

PORNADO

Was that a door slam?

FELECIA

I want to scream

But terror takes the sound before I make it.

PORNADO

Tush. I can thrill you more than any ghost.

But I shall to the basement go to see

And check what sounds around down there may be.

In ten clicks of the clock I shall be back.

So meanwhile check our child in her room.

I tell you there is nothing to your gloom.

[He exits. FELECIA looks off to HERMETICA’s room. Exits.]

[Sound of a hiss.]

FELECIA

‘Zounds!

[FELECIA screams]

[Hautboys]

Scene 4

[LADY MC QUEEN is in her chamber pacing, awaiting her husband.]

LADY

That which I did drink hath made me bold.

Hark!

T’was night creatures calling, the dead start to walk

in their masquerade.

He is about it.

The zombie asp does hiss the night’s foul work

and sloughs off what is left of conscience here.

[Enter MC QUEEN with asp]

My husband.

MC QUEEN

[Zombielike] I have done the deed. Did’st thou hear a noise?

LADY

I heard the snake hiss and Felicia scream.

MC QUEEN

Hark!

LADY

Hark?

MC QUEEN

Hark!

Who lies in the antechamber?

LADY

The sweet Hermetica. But she’s already mine.

MC QUEEN

Is this an asp now that I see before me

it’s head now turned toward my hand?

LADY

[She grabs the snake and hides it behind her back]

Stuff and nonsense! Now how was your night, my sweet.

MC QUEEN

[Back to normal but confused] Forsooth I cannot say.

It hangs about my head like cream new whipped

to frothy nothing.

LADY

Well, to sleep, my dear.

The morning brings the Pageant, and a life

we’ve yearned to live for quite some time now.

[She exits to bed]

[MC QUEEN watches her go]

MC QUEEN

My mind misgives some consequence

yet hanging in the stars.

A vision of the dead that jibber all

and squeak and peal upon the stage of doom.

I fear my wife has set a course of dread

upon the wholesome pageant of my mind.

But we shall see what this new morrow brings.

It may make things of wives and queens of kings.

[Hautboys]

Scene 5

LADY

[Aside] My dream is motion, none can stop the way!

I’ve stuck my asp into the rooms of those

whose beauty and intelligence I fear.

So zombies they’ve become, and now day long

they search for brains to fill their deathly maws.

Now only I do have the mind and beauty here

to win the pageant of the most refined.

PORNADO

[Aside] Alas, my wife and child are gone away.

I know not where they may have strayed this morn

as they have waited lo! life-long to see

this pageant day, for beauty is their dream

and winning all the crown and sash, their hope.

[Enter MC QUEEN]

McQueen! Have you not seen my wife and child?

MC QUEEN

Nay. For truth this grand pavilion vacant seems.

I know not why it is that only half

of all the lovely women are yet left.

PORNADO

Alas, I am afraid some ghoulish thing

has sprung it’s awful power on the earth.

MC QUEEN

‘Tis true. And I have felt a tremor in the force.

All nature seems abhorred within this place.

But you, my friend, must press on with the day

and show those that are left we will prevail.

PORNADO

Alack, I am concerned about my wife.

But I shall carry on and do my work. [Exits]

MC QUEEN

[Aside] The foulest stench I smell is in the air;

The funk of forty thousand some-odd years.

And grizzly ghouls from every tomb I fear

Are closing in to seal this pageant’s doom.

LADY

Wherefore do you shudder so, my love?

You look as though you tremble with a fright.

Do not you know this day is ours, my sweet?

The witch foretold this pageant would be ours.

MC QUEEN

I told you not of what they said to me!

You have played me for the fool I surely am.

LADY

My chuck! You need the courage that I bring.

You have no manly set to pull you through.

But hold with me and we will see the crown!

MC QUEEN

‘Tis you! You’ve brought some evil foul thing here.

LADY

Nothing will stop me from my grip upon the crown!

MC QUEEN

What have you done? How have you made the others disappear?

LADY

You weak and silly snake. Stay on the ground

and slither in the dirt if that’s for you.

But I shall grab the silver sparkling round.

With or without what is left of you! [Exits]

MC QUEEN

[Aside] Of course. And now my mind is sprung upon

a memory of serpents from the sea.

Our last trip to the islands she was fond

of that strange charmer with the snakes. Yes he.

And those three witches, surely she was one.

The other two, they seemed so namby pamby

How could I have been so foolish fond

Those two others surely must be zombie.

[To offstage] Pornardo, my good friend.

Parnardo

Aye did you call?

MC QUEEN

I have upon a dim and frightful sight

discovered how this day’s misfortune fell.

PARNARDO

Do say, my friend.

MC QUEEN

Aye, that I will. But hold.

For you must push this pageant forth toward the end.

Begin this day with questions. Do not fear.

For what you see may fright you. But hold firm.

I now know how to make this devil squirm.

[Hautboys]

Scene 6

[Enter PORNADO with mic to pageant music]

PARNARDO

A welcome one and all unto this day

and hands we give unto our pageant band. [He claps for the band]

We have been asked to turn this pageant round

and ‘gin today with questions for the girls.

So let us welcome now Vapidia,

Young miss teen from some place in the south.

[VAPIDIA enters all smiles]

The question for you dear today is this.

[Offstage we hear softly “Braiiiiiins” which gets louder through the scene]

“Some recent polls have shown only a fifth

of all Americans can find upon

a map, their own true country. Why is this?”

VAPIDIA

I personally believe that US Americans are

unable to do so…

[ZOMBIE FELECIA enters saying”Braiiiiins”]

…because uh some-uh people out there in our, uh nation

don’t have maps…

[“Braiiiiins” Sees VAPIDIA and begins heading toward her]

…and uh I believe that our education like such as in South Africa…

[“Braiiiiiiins.” Closer]

…and uh, The Iraq, and everywhere like such as and…

[“Braiiiiiins” stops and looks at VAPIDIA as VAPIDIA continues. Then over VAPIDIA’s speech says “Nooooo.” Shakes her head then zombies off to find brains elsewhere.]

…I believe that they should, our education over here. In the US, our education over should help the us….

[Hautboys]

Scene 7

[LADY runs on terrified]

LADY

They have staked me to the stage. I cannot fly.

[Offstage several “Braiiiiiiiins”]

Beshrew my rash desires. I am done.

[Braiiiiins]

Oh that I had one tenth intelligence this day.

A kingdom for a sash and crown!

[Braiiiiiins]

To be a doll in dress and rouge

instead of dressed intelligent clothes.

[Braiiiiiiins]

A plague! A plague on slacks and blouses!

[The shadow puppet zombies close in around her and she screams]

[Hautboys]

Scene 8

[Enter MC QUEEN in dress and wig with tiara and snake around his shoulders]

MC QUEEN

The viper-wife is dead and gone!

Rejoice, we are now safe!

With crown and boa, dress and thong

no longer will I chafe!

The power I hold in my hand to let the zombies free

for only one of smarts was left

for them upon to eat.

Though Zombies and a crazy wife

did try to end the show

The pageant will always go on

your brains and beauty knows.

And though you fight to stay alive

Your body starts to shiver

Remember, mortals can’t resist

The evil of the thriller.

I am, as I write, watching Monday Night Football. I enjoy it, but I no longer love it. And I did used to love it. And I mean I loved it!

Even today, when I hear the Monday Night Football theme song something visceral percolates and tingles. It makes me feel younger. But the experience of the game itself has softened and, I don’t know, mellowed. Like me, perhaps? I don’t know.

I’ve been trying to figure out the cause of my nostalgia. I guess that it is because of its connection with my father. It’s one of the things we did together. But there are things of that time that are lost.

Obviously the Howard Cosell, Don Meredith, Frank Gifford team is gone and has been for a long time. I was okay with Al Michaels — I actually quite like him. And when Michaels was with Dan Dierdorf, I really liked that. Then when Dan Fouts joined I was fully won over again. I was a huge Chargers fan and really like Dan Fouts, so that was a huge plus for me.

Then they went nuts and added comedian Dennis Miller. This, for me was absolute genius. I have never believed that football was peopled by gigantic meatheads running on rote and instinct. To be a good football player you must be intelligent, at least where the game is involved.

Miller would pull out Nietzsche quotes and discuss existential theory with a football twist. I even have a vague memory of him pulling out some analogy that invoked Jean Cocteau. Fun genius.

Then we had the fun and frothy days of Michaels and John Madden, which, of course spawned the gazillion-dollar-making Madden Football video game franchise. Those days were great.

I remember, when I was in Boston, there was a delivery shop, I can’t remember the name, but they had a quarter-a-wing deal going for some of the best Buffalo wings I’ve ever had. We had a small group that would get together and order about forty pounds of wings and watch Monday Night Football. I loved that.

The present group, although I love Ron Jaworski, just doesn’t really do much for me.

I’m hoping that someone comes along and spices it up by the time my son and I start sitting down to Monday Night Football with a heaping hot plate of tofu Buffalo burgers.

Okay, so I’m a freak for podcasts. I have a few that really thrill me, Fresh Air, Talk of the Nation, NYT Book Review, Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me. I listen to them while I’m folding clothes and cleaning the kitchen and vacuuming. I also listen to them when I’m working in the yard, which is, admittedly, not as often as it should be.

But the time I really get caught up is in the car. My sixteen-month-old son and I always spend part of the morning doing some errands or heading out to a park, which, naturally, involves some drive time.
So I put on the podcasts and we listen to Terry Gross interviewing Jon Stewart, or Neal Conan deconstructing some aspect of recent news. Sometimes we hear Sam Tanenhaus bemoan the fact the Steig Larsson is still on the top of the best-seller lists. I imagine my son sitting in the back taking in all this wonderful language, all this rhetorical facility through the magic of aural osmosis. He learns that the world is larger than himself and the greater good is a noble thing to work towards. He learns words like “perhaps” and “reasonably” and “numinous.” He discovers the give and take of discussion: the questions, the answering to the point, the follow up, the twists and tangents that fascinating discussion can have.
Usually, however, he falls asleep.
Well, today while working our morning errands, Ken Tucker was reviewing a new CD by a guy named Dwight Twilley. It was interesting, but didn’t fascinate me. Anyway, they played a song of his, and my son squealed from the back seat.
We turned him forward recently, which was kind of a big deal for us. We were hoping to hold off until he was at least two. But he’s so crazily tall that he just got too big to face backward. So we got the new mirror for the rearview mirror thingy to see him, yada yada.
Anyway, he was rocking out. He was boogiein’ in the backseat. Honestly, he had a kind of Stevie Wonder thing going on rocking side to side and shaking his head. A smile slit across his face, open-mouthed and bubbling with joy. He was doing a sort of monkey-grunt sing-a-long.
I nearly caused an accident because I was so fascinated by his reaction to the music. Don’t get me wrong, I already knew I he loved music. Nothing says a nice quiet cooperative diaper change like “Baby Beluga.” But he was in near ecstacy.
Ken Tucker came back on to discuss his reaction to the rest of the album, Green Blimp. My son clapped his hands and started repeating, “More? More?”
I know it’s a little thing — a little thing in what will be a lifetime of larger and ever increasingly important moments — but I was overcome by happiness at my son’s joy and heartbreak at his lack of interest in what I was interested in.
With this conflicted heart, silly though that conflict was, I punched the radio and swiftly called up my underused playlist call “SonJams,” a long list of songs that I have been compiling for him since before he was born, and, sadly, have seldom played to him.
He squealed again and began rocking, swiveling his head back and forth to Justin Roberts’ “Gym Class Parachute.”
Again, I know it was a tiny, silly moment. But I also know that as his personality flourishes and concentrates upon his own path, we will have those moments where our likes come together and cross and move in wide arcs away from each other.
I just hope that when they do I will be able to notice and honor those changes — turn from my station to his, so to speak.
I just hope he doesn’t arc toward hip-hop. I would like our drive time to be free to junky trunks.

Inaugural Friday Pie-Day: Apple Pie (or at least the crust)

Okay, so during my last year of teaching things were pretty gray for me. It was tough motivating me to get there. The only things bringing into the building were the kids — most of them — and a handful of colleagues. It was a bleak year.

To counteract my outlook, I pledged — and succeeded — to bake and bring a different recipe of cookie for each week of the school year. I’m afraid that I have since lost the list of cookies and their corresponding names, but there were Chocolocos, Bronx Cheers Bars, Raisin Rum Runners, Maya Golds, and Holy Shit What’s-In-Heres, just to show show you the top of that dough-filled iceberg.

I got pretty good at baking cookies.

This year … I’m taking on pies. I’m going to make each Friday of the Blah Blah Blog Friday Pie-Day.

Let me first say that my wife is already concerned. I am not a svelte man, and I think she is concerned about the amount of pie that will be sitting around the house.

So…I am inviting my friends out there to come over for a piece of pie, if you are so inclined. You can also email me to set aside a piece if you like. I can only guarantee four pieces per pie (say that ten time fast: pieces per pie pieces per pie pieces per pie — I only got to three times) as I am sure the wife and I will most likely consume two pieces each. I mean it, now.

Okay, so I decided to start with the American classic: Apple Pie.

I used Alton Brown’s recipe from his Good Eats show entitle “Apple of My Pie.”

Let me confess that I adore Good Eats. This show is one of the most informative innovative cooking shows out there.

Having said that, Alton usually includes some pretty funky stuff. For instance, for his apple pie, he uses a spice called Grains of Paradise (alternately called Melegueta pepper, alligator pepper, Guinea grains, and Guinea pepper) which is ridiculously expensive and nearly impossible to find — except on the internet where often the shipping costs double the cost of the spice itself.

However he also has some wonderfully innovative suggestions, such as his replacement of Apple Jack brandy for water and the use of two pie pans (which I’ll explain later) from his show “I Pie.”

Having said that, I’m just going to give you his recipe for the crust. The whole recipe for his Apple Pie is available at this link, but it didn’t really send me over the moon. It was a lot of work for a little bang.

But his crust? Yeah, that was super tasty. Here it is. It makes two layers of crust, so you can halve it for a single crust or make the second and freeze it.

In the bowl of a food processor, combine the flour, salt and sugar by pulsing 3 to 4 times. Add the butter and pulse 5 to 6 times until the texture looks mealy or sandy. Add the shortening and pulse another 3 to 4 times until incorporated. You don’t want to over process it as the larger bits of fat will help with the flakiness of the crust.

Remove the lid of the food processor and sprinkle in 5 tablespoons of the applejack. Replace the lid and pulse 5 times. Add more applejack as needed, and pulse again until the mixture holds together when squeezed. Weigh the dough and divide in half. Shape each half into a disk, wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to overnight.

When your dough is done in the fridge, take one disk out and roll it out, floured, between two sheets of wax paper, or in a large freezer bag with the sides slit (as Alton does in “I Pie”).

When the disk is larger than your pie pan, set one of the pie pans onto the rolled out disk. Flip the pan and the dough over so that the uncooked crust drapes over the upside-down pie pan. Make sense?

Then put the second pie pan over that and flip it back over. Voila! You have set a perfect crust, when you remove the top pan of course. It’s kind of brilliant.

Then you can fill the crust with whatever filling and bake it for the requisite time, or you can blind-bake. If you are blind-baking, make sure to dock it with a fork, slip on a piece of parchment paper and put in some dry beans to weigh it down. Then you can bake it at 425˚ for 20 minutes. Remove the paper and beans then give it another 5 minutes or so.

This apple crust is a tasty crust. It has just a hint of apple flavor from the brandy. I actually think it would enhance virtually any other fruit pie, and I am planning on using it for just such a thing.

I had long labored under the misconception that Janus, because he was a two-faced god of ancient Rome, was a god of duplicity, a god of duality. And, if you were one of my students, lo! so long ago, you would know how delicious I find duality and duality myths. It is one of those things that help to both clarify and obfuscate my understanding of the world. How can we truly know love if we don’t know hate? How can we know comfort if we don’t know pain? Yada yada.

So it came as a bit of a surprise when I learned that Janus was not, indeed, the Roman god of duplicity, shunned and reviled for his trickster ways. No, no. Janus was, in fact, the highly revered and worshiped Roman god of gates and doors, of beginnings and endings — thus January.

I am frequently hit with sudden and often forced changes of perception, usually based on an erroneous first impression. And I would say that they are split 50/50 into positive and negative re-evaluations. But they are always surprising.

I was listening to my long list of hoarded podcasts today and heard across a Fresh Air interview with Terry Gross. She is, perhaps, my favorite interviewer. And I was, to say the least, surprised.

This is what I learned:

Brian May, lead guitarist from the band Queen has his PhD in Astrophysics! Yes, he is a doctor of Astrophysics. His dissertation was called “Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust.” He has co-published a text called Bang: The Complete History of the Universe. He has just published another book called A Village Lost and Found, which is an artbook of 1850s stereoscopic photographs.

Oh, and in the 80s he dressed like this (look to the right). And he wrote “We Will Rock You,” which has become a sports anthem around the world. I defy anyone to look at this photo and say, “That dude is an astrophysicist!”

Surprise, surprise.

So, when I was getting my undergrad at the University of Iowa, I was concentrating on medieval literature. What an ultimately non-lucrative decision. None-the-less, I had fallen into a class on medieval drama taught by the venerable and, I thought, staid and ancient, Valerie Lagorio. I also, serendipitously, found that two acquaintances from my high school were in the same class: Jim B., a thin easy-going guy with a nice beard and a winning smile, and Pat C. a fiery red-head with a wry wit and a little burgundy goatee. Then there was me: an overweight smart-ass with a condescending grin and an out-of control beard. Both Jim and I wore hemp Baja hoodies. I can’t remember what Pat wore.

Anyway, the three of us would sit together in this square of tables Dr. Lagorio had created. One day, in the middle of some sentence on the York Mystery Cycle, she stopped and looked over at the three of us and said, “You know, for the last few weeks I was hoping you three would stop sitting together. I’ve been feeling judged by you. But I’ve made friends with that feeling and have become comforted by it.”

Needless to say, we were struck dumb and could only look at each other. She continued: “You are a triumvirate, you three.” Then pointing first to Jim, then to Pat, and finally to me, she said, “Jesus, Satan, and John the Baptist.”

The rest of the class snickered. Dr. Lagorio went on, heedless of our confusion. After class she pulled us aside and waited until the others had left. “I like you boys,” she said. “I’m having a little Christmas party this Saturday and I would like you to attend. There will be drinks and mummery. You may wear those clothes, if you wish.” She then gave us her address and left us alone in the room.

I can’t quite remember what I felt at that moment. But I do remember that when we headed off to her Christmas party, the three of us were nervous enough to feel that we needed to … shall we say… enhance ourselves a bit to take the nervous edge off.

We were invited into her home by some guy who vaguely reminded me of Long Duk Dong from Sixteeen Candles. People had clearly already been into the claret, if you know what I mean. There was a priest sitting on a chair in the corner with his knees together holding a can of 7UP with both hands — he was looking nervous.

Dr. Lagorio invited us in exuberantly. She too was well into the cups, or so it seemed. I remember this section of the party as appearing a little like the party scene from the Baz Luhrmann version of Romeo + Juliet: yes, Paul Sorvino could have been there, for all I know.

And … there was mummery. I believe it was a brief pantomime of St. George and the Dragon. The three of us wondered what, if anything, could top that. It was truly bizarre-o-tron.

For about thirty minutes Dr. Lagorio went missing. People were looking for her. All except the priest who hadn’t moved and looked even less comfortable. Then, as her mantle clock struck midnight, she burst through some swinging doors with an according, playing a zydeco version of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” I think it was a zydeco version.

I shit you, not.

She must have played ten Christmas songs on that thing. People were orgasmic with joy. Drinks were spilling on the carpet. Arms were thrown around strangers. Voices cracked, badly pitched.

She finished with “Gloria In Excelsis Deo” with everyone singing the final line: “Glo ooooo ooooo oooooria in excelsis De eh o!”

At which point I added, “Day! Me say day ay ay oh!”

She immediately began playing “The Banana Boat Song.” Remember: it’s on the accordian. She played “Island in the Sun,” “Three Little Birds,” I think she even played “Stir it Up.”

That night became of my most memorable.

My point? This lady was not the staid, prudish, ancient academic I originally thought she was. She was like Brian May in reverse.

Another reverse, and another story percolating just waiting for the Brian May revelation to release it for me, is about the Canadian pilot. Here this guy is, Col. Russell Williams, a decorated Canadian military pilot who has flown the queen of England and multiple prime ministers, as well as the commander of Canada’s largest Air Force base, recently pled guilty to serial murders, serial rapes, and multiple break-ins to steal — are you ready? — girls underwear. I mean this guy had everything. And yet …

It really gives me pause. There is a wonderful line in Six Characters. The Father says, “We think we understand each other, but we never really do.”

It makes the eyes of strangers and friends much deeper and less penetratable than ever.

I thought I came up with a great idea for the Six Characters in Search of an Author promotional video. I scripted it out. We filmed it. Rob, the TCR PR guy put it together and we put it on the web.

I’d link to it, but it has been removed.

Here is how my thinking went: We will do a mock promo for the play Mixing it Up, a fake comedy by Luigi Pirandello. It is, in fact, that play that Pirandello has his actors rehearsing when the “Characters” break in and start screwing around with everyone. So, I thought it would be funny if we did a sort of meta-screwing. Certainly, I thought, no one would really believe that Six Characters in Search of an Author would be a comedy. And if they did, they would be mesmerized — just like the actors in the show — by the “Characters” and come away thinking, “Well, it wasn’t a comedy, but it sure made me think. What a hell of a turn-around!”

I’m sure you probably saw the inevitable outcome well before I did. I am, as I’m sure you know, a little naïve.

I got an email today from the theatre saying that they were pulling the “Mixing it Up” promo because they received several calls from patrons who saw the show last weekend and wanted their money back. Apparently they did come thinking it was going to be a comedy, but were not as enamored of the material as I was. It’s kind of a comedy, just decidedly darker than they were expecting, and, apparently, well beyond what they were willing to pay for.

Oops.

I’m not sure how to take it. I’m not taking it very well. I described it to TCR’s artistic director as a bit of a kick to the groin of my understanding of how theatre can affect people.

I guess if I tuned into Jersey Shore and got Masterpeice Theatre I might change the channel too. But this was my channel. My show.

I made assumptions that just don’t come to pass.

Well, it is a good show with some great performances. But you certainly can’t just sit back and let it wash over you. You’ve got to think about it.

I guess people have a lot of other things they have to think about these days. I sure know that I do.

I could try to take some solace in the fact that when the play was first performed in 1921 a riot broke out in the theatre.

I bet they didn’t get a refund though.

Okay, okay! I’ve been hit up over the last few days for a soup recipe that my wife has been talking up. I think that’s a good thing, right?

It is a tasty soup, though a bit work intensive, I’ll tell you that up front.

I got it from a Guy Fieri recipe, which, if you know my Food Network proclivities might surprise you. It’s true, I have said that Guy Fieri is the collar-popping, backward sunglass wearing, Jersey Shore wannabe, showerbag of the Food Network. Which is nicer that what Anthony Bourdain says about him.

Nonetheless, I was looking for a squash soup recipe and his had some funky stuff going on in it: specifically cayenne pepper and Worcestershire sauce (you should check out this link). Well, that perked me up a bit.

I, as usual, made a few changes. I added the sweet potatoes, because we got a huge one from our CSA. I also traded out the cayenne with Aleppo pepper, which is a less heat and much tastier. The heavy cream went — the wife is lactose intolerant — and I used Tofutti Sour Cream instead. This made it a little thicker, but I fixed that by adding a little more stock.

It was good enough that my fifteen month old devoured his bowl of it. High praise.

Squash Sweet Potato Soup

1   Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

2   Cut the squash in half on the equator and remove the seeds with a spoon. Cut a flat spot on each end so the squash will sit flat. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and arrange the squash, cut side up, leaving room for your potatoes. Put two quarters of the onions each in two of the acorn halves. Put two whole garlic cloves each in the other two.

3   Cut the peeled sweet potatoes into 1” thick coins. Arrange them in the space available between the squash.

4   Drizzle with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and season with 1 tablespoon each of the salt and freshly cracked pepper.

5   Roast in the hot oven until very tender and starting to caramelize and collapse, approximately 1 hour. You will need to turn the

6   Remove from oven and when cool enough to handle, remove the squash from the skin, and cut the sweet potatoes into 1” cubes. Reserve the roasted onions and garlic with the squash and potatoes. This can be done well ahead of time.

7   In a large Dutch oven, heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and 2 tablespoons of the butter over medium-high heat and when the butter is starting to foam, add the raw diced onions and cook until they start to caramelize, about 5 to 6 minutes.

8   Add 1/2 cup of the chicken stock and scrape the bottom of your Dutch oven.

9   Reduce the heat to medium-low and add in the reserved squash, sweet potatoes, onion and garlic and then the remaining chicken stock.

10   Stir to combine, then puree with a stick blender or transfer to your stand blender. The mixture will be very thick. transfer back to Dutch oven. See Note.

11   Add in the Aleppo pepper, white pepper and the sage.

12   Stir in the sour cream and Worcestershire sauce and heat slowly over medium-low heat.

13   If it is seems too thick for you add more chicken stock to get it to the thickness that you want.

14   When the mixture comes to a slow simmer, stir in 1/4 cup of the Parmesan and turn heat to low.

15   This stuff is über-good with some homemade croutons. Just throw some large diced bread into a 450˚ oven for five to ten minutes, turning once.

NOTE: I like a little chunk in my soup, even pureed soups, so sometimes I don’t transfer the whole batch. It’s up to you, of course.

Okay, last week was not a stellar week for the Blah Blah Blog, and I’m sorry for that. I’m not giving excuses, just giving a bit of a report of the week.

Last week my kid was as sick as he has ever been; the expelling of preternaturally unpleasant material from both the intake and outtake vents (if you know what I mean), fever high enough to get him into the doctor, a day home from daycare (when I usually write), and a poor reaction to his medication.

It was also opening week for the show I’m directing, Six Characters in Search of an Author, which was also, oddly enough, suffering from illness. During the final four days of rehearsal we had missing actors and techsupport, sick actors (one vomiting during rehearsal), and an actor go totally rogue during a preview performance causing me a sleepless night and the following day of what I am now terming Actor Replacement Deliberation — it sounds more clinical and corporate that way.

But the show went off without a hitch and we are in good shape for next week.

For the last couple of nights I have been sleeping on the sofa. My son has taken my place in bed (no classical Greek jokes, please), as it is the only way he is able to sleep lately. In doing so he likes to cuddle by my wife’s chin. This means that she can’t wear her CPAP. The CPAP is a device designed by fetishists to help people with sleep apnea not die while sleeping. It helps them not die in two ways: 1) CPAP is an acronym for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure, which means it forces air into the mouth and nose, opening up the passage to lungs so the sleeper does not suffer oxygen deprivation while sleeping, and 2) it keeps the sleeper’s partner from killing them in their sleep.

You see, when my wife doesn’t wear the gimp-masked air pump, it renders her throat a conduit for the upwelling of the sounds of hell. I sent a recording of it to Peter Jackson some years back suggesting that he use it for the sounds of Mordor, but he refused on the grounds that it would be too disturbing for the “larger audience.”

So, she doesn’t wear the mask when my son in the bed. I used to wait, with hope in my heart, that I could sleep. Now I just go ahead and trudge to the sofa.

Anyway, last night I was on the sofa with the toddler toilet. I discovered another function for the thing. It makes a great “urp-trough” as my mother used to say. I spent most of last night in that twilight between trying not to vomit and wishing it would just happen already. I’m not really a puker, so it never came to pass (sorry), that way at least.

But anyhoo, I am on the upswing, thanks for asking. The hills ahead look green and the dawn is slitting dark skies of last week with its obsidian knife opening the horizon to the red rays of a hopeful dawn.

Ahhh, a week of potential joy.