If a wife turns up dead...it's almost always the husband that did it. And, vice versa. If you've ever watched more than two episodes of Law & Order, or stayed at a Holiday Inn Express, you know that.
My character, Claire Corrigan, ponders this dilemma: How does love go awry? What would drive a spouse to kill their soul mate?
Funny you should ask.
I have a long, and complicated, relationship with pie crust. It's just not that into me.
My culinary motto has always been - if it tastes better store bought, don't make it from scratch. For years I had myself, and my family, convinced that store bought pie crust was waaaay better than homemade.
Only losers made their own piecrust.
After tasting one too many, better, homemade crusts, the jig was up. I knew I had to master the crust. Remembering it still makes me sweat. I measured the flour, the salt, got carpal tunnel cutting in the cold butter till it all looked like small peas, like it's supposed to. I carefully added the water and a touch of vinegar. I lovingly kneaded this glorious concoction, turned it out onto my floured surface, then rolled it out. NOT.
I tried to roll from the middle out, like they tell you to. The dough stuck to the pin. I peeled it off and tried again. No rolling. More sticking. Again and again. My eyes bugged out, my hair turned to snakes, and I threw the whole mess in the trash.
Later date, same mission. I read all the instructions this time. Mixed up the dough and put in the fridge for three hours to keep it from sticking. After, I gently laid my rolling pin in the center of the crust and rolled it out. NOT. No rolling. More sticking. Hysteria climbed up my arms through my vein bulged neck.
Such is my husband's love for me that he would do anything...I mean anything...including rolling out pie crust, to keep me from melting down. He rode in on his white stallion to...give me a rolling pin demonstration. "See?" He grinned, and spun the rolling pin frantically up and down his thigh. "It's easy."
"Great," I said, "If I can get the piecrust to STAY ON MY THIGH IT'S ALL GOOD."
Now, my husband has two masters degrees. He deduced quickly that the look on my face was not gratitude.
Third time's the charm. For this go round, I consulted the expert - Julia Child. Because her recipes are SO EASY. The woman made jelly out of hooves. Clearly, I was boxing above my weight class.
Her recipe made two crusts. The first met its ugly end quickly, and landed in the garbage. The second one worked! Or, close enough. It barely covered the pie tin and looked like Frankenstein, but it was the best I could do. I filled it with mushrooms, beef filet, cream, butter, onions...all things fantastic. I was even clever enough to use scraps, peeled off the rolling pin, the counter, and a couple from the floor, to make a lattice top.
I presented the freshly baked prize proudly to my man. He was so happy for me. He ate with relish. He made all the necessary yum yum sounds.
I was ecstatic.
Full, he pushed his plate away. He'd licked it clean. Except for the crust.
He'd eaten the filling.
My eyes bugged out, my hair turned to snakes.
Hubby smiled, "I don't really like crust."
There's more than one use for a rolling pin.
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