“If I want to build a glass outhouse at the bottom of our driveway and sh*t there, I will!” We believe the Gearhead when he says these things because, well, there’s a bridge connecting our house to the barn. {Gearhead edits: don’t tell them that!  Our taxes will go up!!!} {wife edits: rest assured, our taxes will go down}.

I didn’t write about the Gearhead’s race season.  About the fire he chauffeured around the circuit a few times, scaring the wits out of the drivers behind him. About how he found himself running alongside the still-on-fire-car, unscathed, un-burned, having released himself from the five point harness like Houdini.  About how the race marshals cut into the car with hatchets and sprayed foam into all its nooks and crannies to extinguish the fire.  About how he insisted he would rejoin the season by bending time as well as he twists wrenches.  [wife edits with sigh of relief: no more racing this summer}.

I didn’t write about our trip to New York City in September.  About how I followed the Gearhead around the 911 memorial, waited while he posed with a guy holding a big banner that read, nanothermite?

I didn’t write about arriving home after a too long slog at work, peeling myself out of the front car seat, standing on the driveway, and watching the Gearhead do a fine impression of a teen cheerleader, complete with high voice, jump in the air, heels kicked back, squealing, “I bought a gun!” {wife edits: a prayer for all the small animals that I won’t be skinning and cooking.  I won’t.} “Like I said, you kill it, you cook it.” the gleeful smile on his face dampened somewhat, “I’ve been using apples for target practice.”

I didn’t write that I had some research published.  About how, for a brief day and a half, the media were intrigued enough to phone about it, stir my anxiety into a pink froth, then decide the visit from Kate and William in Victoria was far more newsworthy {wife edits: sigh}.

I didn’t write about the strength it took for me to walk up to a podium, through what felt like cotton wool, and read three poems I had written myself, to a room of strangers.  About the euphoria I felt for about an hour afterwards or about the crippling headache that descended once my blood pressure returned to normal, and remained for two days.

I didn’t write because a fear descended or I didn’t write because I was so busy or I didn’t write because I wasn’t fueled by sufficient incredulity  at the Gearhead’s antics {wife edits: that can’t be right}. I didn’t write because I was writing other things and my mind can only catch up to one idea at a time.  I didn’t write because I was afraid of sh*ting in a glass house, where everyone might stare and judge.  All these things.  But writing {wife edits: and finishing a piece, whether poem, prose or post} can only ever be target practice.

When you want an apple pie but you don’t have time, this is the perfect half-assed recipe to try.  It will get the job done, even if it isn’t pretty.  It’s still delicious.  Think, dessert: bull’s eye.

This recipe was adapted from a version in Natalie Oldfield’s cookbook, Gran’s Kitchen.  It is super quick to put together, especially if you have the self-raising flour on hand.   To make your own self raising flour, combine 2 1/2 cups of all-purpose flour with 4 teaspoons of baking powder and 1 1/2 teaspoons of salt, stir well and use in place of the self raising flour in the recipe below.  

Apple Shortcake

2 1/2 cups Self-raising flour

1 cup Sugar

1 cup cold Butter, cut into dice sized cubes

2 Eggs, lightly beaten

2 cups Apples, peeled and sliced

a dribble of Milk, if needed

Preheat the oven to 350F. In a medium sized bowl, stir together flour and sugar.  Toss butter cubes through the flour mixture until well-coated.  Using your finger tips, rub the butter into the flour mixture and then, with a fork (because it gets super sticky quickly), add the eggs and mix until a soft dough forms.  You may need to add a tiny bit of milk to bring the dough together if it is too dry.  Press half the dough into a square baking tin (I use a round casserole dish instead). Place the apple slices in one layer on top of the dough base.  The original recipe asks you to roll the remaining dough, however I find it way too stickie, so instead, just sprinkle the remaining dough over the apples as you would if you were making a crumble.  Bake 35-45 minutes.  Best served slightly warmed with a bit of whipped cream.

08 Nov This entry was published on November 8, 2016 at 6:47 am. It’s filed under Autumn, Sweets and tagged Apple, shortcake, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.