D’oh!Mestic

The Capt’n and I have a sushi joint. A place where we go at the end of a long week, a place where they know us, and within a minute of sitting down, we’re given soup, and tea and questions about the week. Seriously, it’s enough to make me wish they’d named the Capt’n “Norm,” because we’re about to that point in the diner-dinee relationship.

Anyway, the owner has a son, a sophomore in high school. Heck, I think the place might be his very own “My First Restaurant” — he kind of hangs out and makes suggestions to the chefs and says things like, “Hey, I’m bored. If I rolled you something, would you eat it?”

(I keep not telling him that if he slightly modifies that sentence, he’ll be very popular in college.)

We first befriended him when he noticed the Capt’n’s D40 and started talking about his photography class. He’s a good kid. Sometimes I can even help him with his AP biology homework. I mean, it’s only been 15 years since I took that class.

Anyway, last week — when we honored the Capt’n’s birthday wish to drown in sushi — he was there and kept wandering back to our table to chat, and at some point, it came out that I bake for fun.

“Really?” he asked, and his eyes were friggin’ saucers. “Hey, my mom’s opening a new café, breakfast and stuff. Like [the super trendster local chain all the hipsters love to hate], but like, ours. Do you want to bake for us? Like pies? Because I love pies. If I brought you an application, would you fill it out?”

Somewhere along the line, a simple agreement to bring the staff a pie (because again, y’know, “NORM!”) turned into a sort of trial. And while I tried to explain that I haven’t worked in the back of a kitchen since I was a bus-girl-cum-muffin-tin-filler, he wasn’t listening. Really, he’s a high school sophomore, and I’m an editor. [::cough:: Assistant Editor — Ed.] There is no job, no career change on the line here.

But at some point during the week, I started thinking about this pie as a new gateway, an option I hadn’t considered, a new way to beat my arthritic knee into submission, an expansion of my mediocrity from the dohmestic sphere into a larger world.

I started asking myself “what would Martha do?”

That is never a good sign.

Apparently Martha would add a leaf motif to the crust of a pumpkin pie seasoned, in part, with cayenne pepper.

Yeah. I was really reaching with this pie.

I was baking like I really wanted the job.

Funny thing was, the kid wasn’t there when we made the delivery (and availed ourselves to some fine tuna, yesireebob), but the rest of the staff made the “OHEMGEE PIE!” faces and exclamations, and really that’s enough. The pastry chef dreams went out the window about the time I realized I don’t particularly like getting up at 5 a.m.

Maybe I can work something out with them in the future — I do make a killer truffle, in the name of full disclosure, and a little consignment work might be cool — but yeah, not so much for another career switch. Not today.

Spiced Out Pumpkin Pie
Basic Pastry Shell from the yellow book

2 cups cooked pumpkin
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
2 slightly beaten eggs
1/2 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
1 Tbs vanilla
2 Tbs cinnamon
1 Tbs ginger
1 Tbs cloves
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper — and in future editions of this, I might try pureeing a single habañero instead, because I am so my dad’s daughter.

Mix everything together until well blended. I did this by hand with a whisk. Taste and keep adding spices until it tastes right. Bake at 425° for fifteen minutes before lowering the temperature to 350° and baking for another 45 minutes.

Makes one 9″ pie.