Meat pies, reprise

I feel like I've been making lists of goals and things I want to accomplish, as if I'm about to die or something. Included on this list of things I need (or want) to do is clean out my freezer and cupboards. There has been food in there from who knows how long. I'm sure there are things in there that are no longer edible too.

Last night, feeling lazy and unmotivated, I walked over to the freezer and pulled out the portable meat pies I made almost a year ago. There were five little half-moons of meat and pastry tightly wrapped in plastic and placed in zip-lock bags. I couldn't eat five and didn't want to waste energy cooking up just one, so I put two pies on a cookie sheet lined with foil in the oven. I turned it on to 375 degrees and set the timer for fifty minutes. I had no idea how long they should cook for and at what temperature. I just assumed that since they were frozen, they should probably want not too much heat so they could defrost and that they would also want a fair amount of time in there to go from frozen and raw to fully cooked. And, things would turn out okay as long as the smoke detector didn't go off.

About forty minutes later, I went to check in on those little buddies. The crust looked nice. And, some of the juices had leaked out and was burning along the edges. Maybe they were done? I stuck my meat thermometer in them; it read 200 degrees. I don't think I've ever seen my thermometer read that high. The pork pies must be done. They smelled great, but I told myself to be patient. I didn't want to get a mouth burn and a finger burn and a lip burn. I made a little green salad dressed in the last of my balsamic vinaigrette in the meantime.

When all was ready, I plated up. My pork pie on one side and my salad on the other. I tried to pick up my pie with my hands. It broke apart at the middle. Hm...not as portable anymore. But, I didn't want to use a knife and fork, so I stuck with eating the pie with my hands and chopsticks for my salad. The crust was still flaky but not as buttery as I last recalled, which was probably a good thing. The filling was okay. I remember the filling being wonderfully fragrant of sage and apples and cinnamon. This time, it was still reminiscent of those items but not as pleasantly pungent. That's probably what happens when food gets tucked into the back of the freezer for almost a year. I ate up my little pie, licked my fingers, and wrapped up the other one in foil and put it in the refrigerator for the next day.

And, today, reading the Sunday New York Times as is my weekend habit, I found this: Put a Lid On It. Was it merely coincidence that I was just thinking of meat pies, ate one last night and had one waiting for me in the fridge for today, and that the dreary, wet weather in San Francisco had me thinking of baking up a pot pie, and the Times had a piece about meat pies on the same day? I think I'm more superstitious and a believer in fate and destiny than I'd like to admit. Damn, Serendipity!