Thanksgiving I: Pumpkin Pie (November)

It was Thanksgiving Thursday. I felt inclined to mark the occasion in some sort of suitable manner. Also, the rooster in my yard woke me up at 6AM, but I didn’t have class until 12:30PM. So I did what anyone who has a pumpkin left over from Halloween sitting on top of their fridge would do. I decided to make a pumpkin pie.

Nevermind the fact that I’d never made a pumpkin pie before. Or ever seen anyone make one. Wait that’s a lie – one November I watched Grandma make one that was vegan-friendly. But even she was skeptical that it could be considered pie – so that one doesn’t count. (Sorry Sis!)

But I digress…

It was 6:15 on a November morning. I had a pumpkin straight from the backyard of one of my students; a stick of butter; a bag of flour, some sugar and an assortment of spices from my PCV ‘inheritance’.

The pie crust was suspiciously easy to put together. Although the PCV friendly cookbook suggested the use of a pastry-blender, which was a little bit out of place. (Ever the Girl Scout: I used two knives instead.) So the butter wasn’t exactly blended into the dough. But the crust was safely in the fridge – not because the fridge was working but because I needed the table space - before 7AM.

And now the pumpkin…

It was a pretty awesome pumpkin. It was a nice autumnal orange colour. It looked like it could have been a model for a Good Housekeeping harvest spread. It was more of a plump gourd shape rather than the spherical shapes favoured by Jack O’Lantern enthusiasts. (The reason it had been sitting around for three weeks). Come to think of it I’m pretty sure that Azerbaijani pumpkins actually fall into the butternut squash category in American parlance. But it tastes like a pumpkin.

Alas, this is where the trouble-shooting starts. I didn’t have a knife sharp enough to slice the pumpkin. Or electricity. Excellent. This was going to be fun.

I had to peel and cube the pumpkin by hand. This took the better part of three hours. (See note about knives). I split the pumpkin into quarters to make my task more manageable. Then peeled it. Then chopped it. A succinct description, which doesn’t really do justice to the blood and sweat that was involved in this process. There was also a colourful soundtrack of cursing in three languages. But I managed it (and only needed one trip to my medical kit.)

After the fact, Mom so helpfully suggested that I should have baked the halves than scooped out the soft stuff. (See note about electricity). Besides my way makes a more authentic ‘PCV Life’ story.

Cooking the pumpkin should have been easy. Just throw the rest of the ingredients in a pot with pumpkin pieces and boil until soft. By the grace of the AZ6s before me and their gift of a little red jar labeled ‘pumpkin pie spice’ I didn’t even have to bother with precise spice measurements. Cue issues with my single burner and collection of pots ‘perfect for one’. So the cooking happened in shifts. By this point, it was approaching 11AM.

The pie was ready for the oven by 12PM. The electricity came back on a few minutes after that. Perfect. Except for the fact that I was supposed to be at school at 12:30PM. So while I ran around getting dressed and sorted for school, my pie reached the half –baked stage. Then I turned off the oven and scampered off the school – the only clue that I’d spent 6 hours making a pie were the plaster on my index finger and the blisters forming on my stirring hand.

I got home from school. Baked the pie the rest of the way. Then wandered through the village holding a pie fresh out of the oven in my oven-mitted hands to ensure that all my neighbours got a piece. (I kinda wish the village boys who were laughing at my progress had taken out their camera phones.)


So that’s my story for Thanksgiving 2010. See next post for more traditional celebrations.
Oh and the pie was VERY tasty.