So I skipped yesterday, in order to spend more time with my family. I cooked, and did some laundry. Went to Wal-mart twice in one day, and finally while driving home my significant other says "I have the recipe for Natchitoches Meat Pies." So this prompts me to say " What's in them?" He replies "I don't know, I need the recipe" I by this time am confused as all hell.... "You need the recipe, but I thought you had it? " Replies the S.O. "No I said I needed to get a recipe"
Ah the joys of driving with my deaf ear turned toward him... I quickly whip out the handy I-phone.. so how do you spell it? It is pronounced Nack a tish... according to him, but he rambles out a spelling that doesn't even resemble that word. The man secretly takes delight in knowing that words from Louisiana totally confuse my Hoosier brain. "So please spell it again?" As I repeat slowly "Na..tch..i..toc....h..e.s." Wow, that looks odd to me... By this time S.O. is looking at me with a smirk that would put The Cheshire Cat to shame, "That is what I said Nackatish, how would you pronounce it?" Of course, I would try to pronounce it "Natch i toe sush" which would have been all wrong.
So reading this recipe for the deep fried pies, it includes lard. Not shortening, but honest to goodness pig fat lard. Holy crap, this is death in a meat pie. The meat filling for the pies is actually not a horribly unhealthy combination. Being familiar with Louisiana cooking, I recognized the trinity as ingredients, as well as the delicious Cajun spice combinations. So I agree to make the heart attack in your hand for dinner. I also adamantly swear my lips shall not partake of this particular concoction. It contains things that are sinful to my diet, and body. Gluten, and pig fat, and calories, OH MY!
The ingredients are gathered together, during an ice storm. I think he must really be craving these badly to brave the grocery in an ice storm, but this could be erroneous because he also has testosterone coursing through his veins, and a jeep to play in on the ice. Back he comes with an armload of things, but no pig fat. Have to settle for shortening, and of course I don't have this particular ingredient in my pantry... Grease has no place in my kitchen, I prefer olive oil. What am I going to do with all this artery clogging grease.
I set to task, with my handy, handsome Sous Chef at my side. He makes a killer vegetable chopper, and is way better to look at than the food processor. The meat, and spice blend perfumes the little house. I am reminding myself the entire time to stay strong in my resolve, and not touch the meat pie once assembled. I taste the filling, and it is the pungent Cajun flavor that I have come to love over the years. It is a frying pan full of yummy goodness. Convincing myself that the meat and veggie part isn't unhealthy to taste sets me on the path for destruction.
I begin to assemble the pastry portion. No pig fat, cut in the shortening, and roll out the dough. I begin muttering this is an empanada, just Cajun style. By the time I'm ready Sous Chef, has prepared the fryer, and the first pie goes into the grease with a sizzle. A few minutes later it has emerged golden, and looking fair food yummy. The teenager is used as the guinea pig, and he gobbles it down, with mustard. I'm sure mustard is sacrilege, but the child uses mustard on everything he eats. The teen nods approvingly, so onto the tween of the house.
As the sleepy tween emerges from his cave, lured away from WOW by the scent of potential food. I notice that his eyes glaze at the sight of the pocket placed before him. I personally am hoping he just thinks that it is a hot pocket that we have warmed in the microwave. He takes an initial bite, and declares it "Delicious" Tween then goes on to say "So this is Louisiana food, too, huh it isn't bad" Sous Chef is slightly offended, and defends the cuisine of his home state with a " Have I fed you anything from Louisiana that wasn't good?" Tween does not respond, he is busy stuffing his face with his third meat pie...
I meanwhile am still trying to stay strong in my resolve to not eat any of this heart attack inducing, badness in pastry dough. I hear the voice of my beloved "Sometimes you just have to say screw it, and eat something just because it tastes good" Diet saboteur, that is what he is, and so I do the deed. I eat a meat pie. As it is going to my lips, my insides scream "What the hell do you think you are doing to us?" The brain then overruled them all screaming back "Shut up, and enjoy the pie" I did enjoy it, and I have to say it was incredibly good.
S.O. looks up, and says "What are you eating? A meat pie? Thought you weren't going to touch those, and stay on your diet?" Ugh! I think a few obligatory curse words to myself, and a few hours, and meat pies later, I am worried what the heck are the scales going to look like tomorrow? To my surprise this morning, I have lost a pound. I attribute this to working out, and increasing my metabolism. So I enjoyed a meat pie, and it didn't kill me. I am happier for trying them, and happy that I didn't swell up like a balloon afterwards.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natchitoches_meat_pie
Ah the joys of driving with my deaf ear turned toward him... I quickly whip out the handy I-phone.. so how do you spell it? It is pronounced Nack a tish... according to him, but he rambles out a spelling that doesn't even resemble that word. The man secretly takes delight in knowing that words from Louisiana totally confuse my Hoosier brain. "So please spell it again?" As I repeat slowly "Na..tch..i..toc....h..e.s." Wow, that looks odd to me... By this time S.O. is looking at me with a smirk that would put The Cheshire Cat to shame, "That is what I said Nackatish, how would you pronounce it?" Of course, I would try to pronounce it "Natch i toe sush" which would have been all wrong.
So reading this recipe for the deep fried pies, it includes lard. Not shortening, but honest to goodness pig fat lard. Holy crap, this is death in a meat pie. The meat filling for the pies is actually not a horribly unhealthy combination. Being familiar with Louisiana cooking, I recognized the trinity as ingredients, as well as the delicious Cajun spice combinations. So I agree to make the heart attack in your hand for dinner. I also adamantly swear my lips shall not partake of this particular concoction. It contains things that are sinful to my diet, and body. Gluten, and pig fat, and calories, OH MY!
The ingredients are gathered together, during an ice storm. I think he must really be craving these badly to brave the grocery in an ice storm, but this could be erroneous because he also has testosterone coursing through his veins, and a jeep to play in on the ice. Back he comes with an armload of things, but no pig fat. Have to settle for shortening, and of course I don't have this particular ingredient in my pantry... Grease has no place in my kitchen, I prefer olive oil. What am I going to do with all this artery clogging grease.
I set to task, with my handy, handsome Sous Chef at my side. He makes a killer vegetable chopper, and is way better to look at than the food processor. The meat, and spice blend perfumes the little house. I am reminding myself the entire time to stay strong in my resolve, and not touch the meat pie once assembled. I taste the filling, and it is the pungent Cajun flavor that I have come to love over the years. It is a frying pan full of yummy goodness. Convincing myself that the meat and veggie part isn't unhealthy to taste sets me on the path for destruction.
I begin to assemble the pastry portion. No pig fat, cut in the shortening, and roll out the dough. I begin muttering this is an empanada, just Cajun style. By the time I'm ready Sous Chef, has prepared the fryer, and the first pie goes into the grease with a sizzle. A few minutes later it has emerged golden, and looking fair food yummy. The teenager is used as the guinea pig, and he gobbles it down, with mustard. I'm sure mustard is sacrilege, but the child uses mustard on everything he eats. The teen nods approvingly, so onto the tween of the house.
As the sleepy tween emerges from his cave, lured away from WOW by the scent of potential food. I notice that his eyes glaze at the sight of the pocket placed before him. I personally am hoping he just thinks that it is a hot pocket that we have warmed in the microwave. He takes an initial bite, and declares it "Delicious" Tween then goes on to say "So this is Louisiana food, too, huh it isn't bad" Sous Chef is slightly offended, and defends the cuisine of his home state with a " Have I fed you anything from Louisiana that wasn't good?" Tween does not respond, he is busy stuffing his face with his third meat pie...
I meanwhile am still trying to stay strong in my resolve to not eat any of this heart attack inducing, badness in pastry dough. I hear the voice of my beloved "Sometimes you just have to say screw it, and eat something just because it tastes good" Diet saboteur, that is what he is, and so I do the deed. I eat a meat pie. As it is going to my lips, my insides scream "What the hell do you think you are doing to us?" The brain then overruled them all screaming back "Shut up, and enjoy the pie" I did enjoy it, and I have to say it was incredibly good.
S.O. looks up, and says "What are you eating? A meat pie? Thought you weren't going to touch those, and stay on your diet?" Ugh! I think a few obligatory curse words to myself, and a few hours, and meat pies later, I am worried what the heck are the scales going to look like tomorrow? To my surprise this morning, I have lost a pound. I attribute this to working out, and increasing my metabolism. So I enjoyed a meat pie, and it didn't kill me. I am happier for trying them, and happy that I didn't swell up like a balloon afterwards.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natchitoches_meat_pie
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