Emily Kaye Lazzaro

I’ve mention this before but I guess it bears repeating: I like cooking and baking things in season.  Peaches are in season out the ass at the farmer’s market right now so when I saw this recipe on Design Sponge (Why am I making so many recipes from Design Sponge lately?  Because they look good on the website and I think they’ll look that good at my house, but they never do.) I decided to fucking go for it.  I bought like seven peaches, ate two of them immediately, and used the last five in this recipe.  Click that link and look how cute those pies look.  Then come back here and see the real life semi disasters they were.

That’s what the filling ingredients looked like in the pan before they cooked down.  Daisy is not amused.

After cooking for a bit.  Daisy is even less amused.

Anyway, that was my lame attempt to be a food blogger.  It’s really not for me.  So I chopped up these beautiful peaches, cooked em a bit, then made this pretty basic pie dough, and made them into tiny pies and baked them.  Should have been fairly easy, but the result wasn’t the cutest.

See?  Not cute.  But I will say they tasted really good.  The filling has bourbon and Angostura bitters and cardamom and ginger in it, which is a really tasty combination that I think I’ll have to utilize in the future (in drinks, logically) and the crust was delicious, as most homemade pie crusts are.

One other thing that happened is that I made eight little pies like that (those are the nicest looking ones, if you can believe it) and I took them out of the oven to cool on the counter.  While they were cooling, at like 11pm on Thursday, I drove to pick up Billy from a late night at work.  You notice, again, above, how bored Daisy looks?  That seems to have been an elaborate ruse.  Because while I was gone she jumped up and ate one bite out of four of the eight pies.  To be honest, they didn’t look that different, and I considered bringing the dog bitten pies on our camping trip this weekend and just telling our friends they were rustic, but my guilty conscience wouldn’t have let me get away with that.  They’re actually still in the fridge.  Just waiting for a night that I get drunk enough to not care that they have dog saliva on them.  Hopefully they’ll rot before that happens, but my hopes are not high.

Anyway, in conclusion, the pies tasted great, but part of me sort of thinks that you can’t really improve on a perfectly ripe local peach, you know?  Maybe I would have been better off just eating them straight.  Something to think about.

In other news (mews?), Oscar is helping me write this post right now.