The Finished Product

Another week gone, another food did.

This week's special? Tiny pie! Four tiny pies, as a matter of fact. They are all apple, because it is an easy filling to produce (in my experience, which is limited to just this one time). They are all ugly because dough is the bane of my existence (a delicious, delicious bane).

Did I make a nice home-cooked meal for the pie(s) to accompany? Hell no. Pie is my home-cooked meal, fool. Which, I think, is probably the most badass thing one can do with a pie: consume it as a means of subsistence. Well, no, scratch that. The most badass thing to do with a pie is to throw it in a clown's face as much force as is humanly possible, because to beat up a clown with a pie would be "aces." (Sorry, clowns.)

Anyway, yes, tiny pies. A larger pie, although about equal in volume to the four ramekins I used, intimidated me just a bit too much, and I frankly don't care for the in-pan mess of a full-size pie midway through its consumption. I'd rather have a nice standalone unit that I can consume in its entirety without running the risk of eating 100% of a pie. I know I'm trying to remedy my drowned-rat physique put on a little weight, but eating an entire pie for dinner at 3am is not how I'd like to accomplish that task.

Speaking of accomplishing tasks, how did I accomplish these four small ones? As I've previously mentioned, I regularly begin my culinary weekend getaways with a quick (read: usually time-consuming and occasionally frustrating) stop by www.allrecipes.com, where I poke around for general ideas to set me off toward something I'd actually enjoy. This week, however, it was Google that took my hand and guided me to... well, to where I am. I wound up at a little place called Novel Eats which, although a vegan establishment and therefore of little use to me, gets bonus points by having a name similar to the esteemed Alton Brown's Good Eats television program.

The recipe (http://www.noveleats.com/dessert/mini-apple-pies/) I found was pretty much exactly what I was after, needing only a couple alterations from me. I used two Jonagold and one Granny Smith apple, slivered up real thin-like so as to allow thorough cook-through (I hate me a crunchy apple pie), and the four ramekins rather than the muffin tin that the recipe calls for. (6 muffins = 4 ramekins, in case you ever wondered. And yes, I do realize that a "muffin" is not mutually comparable to a "ramekin." I think we will survive.) Other than that, I had to swap the recipe's nutmeg for a bit of ground ginger (I have no nutmeg). Oh, and also I put a few cut up pats of butter atop the pie filling before laying on the top crust, as I saw this called for in a number of other recipes. Also also, I gave it a little brown sugar/cinnamon egg wash at the end (hence the slime).

That's it! This recipe plus the above changes (and an additional five or so minutes of cook time to account for their larger volume) will produce these tiny pies. They are ideally sized for a scoop of iced cream! Good iced cream. I swear to God, if you dare put Neopolitan iced cream on top of one of my tiny pies, you will be that knocked-out clown.

I have a confession to make.

I haven't eaten a pie yet. I mean, I've eaten pie, but not one of these. They just came out of the oven a few minutes ago, and they are still very hot. Also, I'm nervous. Every new type of thing I make gets me pretty antsy when it comes down to eating time, and this one (having prepared with alarmingly little incident) is no exception. I shall edit once I've determined whether these ugly little pies are worth reproducing.

THE VERDICT: These pies are killer. Killer.

I will begin by saying I totally copped out on the whole one-drawing-per-hour-of-consciousness thing. But just a little totally! I mean, I definitely drew some things, and they even coincided with what I was doing around that specific hour, but I only produced six out of a possible 18-20. I don't think that's too bad though, considering a lot of them were quick-doodled at work (slow day). Yes, I did touch them up or re-do them later on. Is that okay? Did I break the law? Of course not; there are no laws, silly.

But, point is, I kind of like them! I mean, I clearly suck, but I'm improving! There's some emotion, even! Sure, sure, I make an instant fool out of myself once I venture below the neckline (and, well, probably when I stay above it, too...), and poses and things are very stiff and all that, but I do not mind. I liked drawing when I was young, dammit, and I'm enjoying it now. Don't expect I'll actually get to be any good at it, but it'll be fun to bust out a halfway decent doodle every now and again.

For example, say I were to become a teacher one day (I won't, but we can use our imaginations), and in my class was this kid who had a "good heart" but was also sort of an idiot. I could draw a little caricature of myself in the upper-left corner explaining what this kid did wrong. I would look wise, but also approachable (due largely to being a cartoon). I would be wearing a cartoon tweed jacket, and would possibly have a full cartoon beard.

Now then:

6:14am. If you replace the last frame's caption with "THOROUGH BEWILDERMENT " and give me a matching expression, it's 100% accurate.

10:00am. As a recovering nail-biter, I have my good and my bad days. Today, at roughly 10am, I was experiencing a "bad day." The rest is just me ragging on myself for having deplorable hand-drawing skillz.

12:00pm. I realized at this point that I was kind of digging the doodles. It's not funny at all.

1:00pm. It's very cold in the office around 1pm, and that means my bodily functions begin to slow. It's mighty hard for me to stay awake when I get cold.

2:00pm. What I'm admitting to here is that there's not much to draw about at work. I sit at a desk and push buttons while my eyesight is slowly whittled away.

3:00pm. Cop-out ensues. I did return from the meeting, but there was nothing left to draw about (also, I got real busy).

And what did I learn from all this? My hand is not steady.

Round two.

After Friday's social-event-shaped meal interruption and Saturday's me-sleeping-until-six, I finally found my way back into a kitchen this evening (my own; I try to make it something of a habit to not just appear in other folks' kitchens). I was still bent on putting asparagus in the same place as chicken, but beyond that I hadn't yet any idea what I'd do. Stir fry seemed a pretty obvious choice, and that made me uncomfortable (it always seems like a cop-out).

I paid a visit to AllRecipes.com for some inspiration, which, in an unusually brief span of time, I did indeed find. Fajitas! Kind of! Really just a wrap, but the recipe in question decided against such a bland name. And why not? It's like a party! ("Fajita," being vaguely similar to "fiesta," more-than-subtly implies a party to me.)

Unfortunately, the only ingredient I had on hand was the chicken, but that needed some time to marinade and I had a bit of running to do anyway, so that worked out well. I cut it into diagonal-type strips, imprisoned it in a Ziploc bag with some Italian dressing and red pepper flakes, and headed out the door.

First stop was the store, which I found out was a bad idea. See, I often wind up doing my grocery shopping around 10pm. I prefer this because the place is deserted and nobody's around to watch me pace absentmindedly up and down the same aisle two times trying to remember what I'm after, and then another two on top of that actually looking it, before realizing I'm in the wrong aisle altogether. No such luck today; every idiot with a driver's license and ten bucks was in that place, and I was right there with 'em.

Apparently today is playing host to a football game (or so I'm told; I did not consult the Internet to confirm), so there were a lot of guys in crooked hats and pajama pants buying beer I wouldn't even consider feeding to a dog, as well as many a grim middle-aged woman with nachos, frozen wings, and probably a hatred for men. There was one early-thirties business-type fellow in a nice trench coat buying only a single DiGiorno pizza, which he held in one hand. I felt bad that he had to wait in line with all the frat guys and angry women just to eat his dinner. I didn't see what kind of pizza he had.

Anyway. Bought my stuff, got the hell out, drove home, realized I forgot to go to the bank, drove to the bank, acquired some bills, drove back, put some money on my laundry card, got freaked out by the giant monster noises issuing from the laundry room (demon washer), talked to my crazy neighbor (twice; he too was spooked by the noises), and finally got down to business.

The rest is pretty much me cooking by the book, with the addition of some quartered grape tomatoes, so I don't suppose there's a whole lot to say. It was very tasty, didn't cost a ton, and ought to reheat well. Plus, it's probably the first dish I've put together that, despite being like 75% vegetables, didn't scream "this asshole didn't get enough meat."

What do you need to make it?

• One chicken breast (cubed or whatever)
• Two thirds of a "bunch" of asparagus (cut into two-inch... parts)
• Two bell peppers (julienned)
• One third of a red onion (diced)
• A half-cup of grape tomatoes (quartered)
• Two cloves of garlic (minced)
• Some sesame oil
• Some balsamic vinegar
• Some soy sauce
• Some lemon juice
• Seasonings (you figure it out)
• Tortillas or wraps or whatever

Once you've rustled up all that garbage, cook it. Saute the chicken with the oil until it's done being pink, then toss in the rest of the crap (excluding maybe the tomatoes, which will probably overcook if put in at this point). Add a bit more oil. After a while, add the tomatoes. Cook until it looks like you should be eating it instead of cooking it any longer. Ingest. Digest.