Pie trouble

This was my anti-Valentine pie: cracked, crumbly, and a bit sour (tangy, really). What had seemed like a lark promptly went downhill as soon as the crust went into the oven. That was when I realized that I had put twice the amount of butter in the dough. To make it worse, I had used a pan with a removable bottom and forgot to put a sheet underneath it, so when the butter melted it made for the most convenient exit, dripping straight into the catch tray at the bottom of the oven where it proceeded to burn.

Actually, the chicha pan proved to be a blessing in disguise. The recipe had called for a skillet, and the decision to use a smaller pan — and I only had one of that kind — meant that I could not bake the thing in one go, so the rest of the dough was saved. It did take 30 minutes for the butter to burn off and another 15 to clear the kitchen of smoke, which I spent squeezing juice from kalamansi, half a cup’s worth. Yes, I made Jun Belen’s kalamansi pie (based on Ina Garten’s recipe for lemon bars). I did say “tangy,” didn’t I?

And then I reached for some eggs and elbowed the glass of juice off the counter. If only I were making this up. It just wasn’t my day. By this time I was not a little resentful having to squeeze more kalamansi — which of course there were no longer enough of to make the amount of juice called for by the recipe. What the hell, I thought. I don’t even like lemon pie! Was this the universe’s way of telling me to ditch the whole thing? Too late. The rest of the ingredients were good to go.

The crust baked okay, but the filling was very sweet, with not enough tang. Now I was too furious to concede my folly. I remembered I had a lemon in the fridge, so I squeezed that for what it was worth and grated the zest for good measure. The addition made the filling smell so much more tangy, so keep that in mind if you plan to make this (you can also zest the kalamansi). Then the pie was off to bake. Could the third time really be the charm?

Thirty minutes later, I checked on my pie. But… but… why hadn’t it set yet? The moment I opened the oven door, it hit me: Great — now I’ve run out of Gasul. Of all the worst possible times. I gave the gas cylinder a good shake. It was full, which meant that someone had turned it off! The who of it was beside the point (the laundrywoman, if you must insist on knowing). It was simply the way a series of minor slip-ups came fast on each other’s heels to sour an otherwise unremarkable day that was sort-of amusing — if strictly in hindsight. Can you tell I don’t care much for Valentine’s? Still, I hope you got some action.

By the way, I did run out of gas, halfway as I was baking my fourth pie. That would be the one pictured here. It’s the most rustic-looking, i.e., the ugliest of the lot. That was it. I was wiped out, and so was my supply of kalamansi, eggs, flour, and butter. And then I hunkered down to see Lav Diaz’s Norte, Hangganan ng Kasaysayan. The movie was tedious and overlong (though not by the director’s standards). But it got me thinking, Hey, my life’s more exciting than this!