Recently I found a recipe for turnovers or "hand pies". Back when I was a kid, they used to be at the 7-11- those little snack food things with the fruit in the middle and the crispy outside. I was never really much for the hand pies. This is foreshadowing.
For some reason, when I saw a magazine recipe for a "light version", I thought it would be delightful to make them with real fruit and not with a sticky syrupy mess. Here is the recipe.
"Fried" Pies Holy heck, those things were fried, all this time? I always thought there was some sort of super-high tech baking involved! Snack food industry, you lie!
Hands-on time: 40 minutes. Total time: 3 hours. Until you start making the recipe. Then it's an hour and a half of standing near the stove stirring a simmering pot, and 2 hours to let the from-scratch dough rest, and that's before we even start baking. Since it was 2:30PM, and these needed to be edible by 6PM, this was not going to happen.
Crust: Realizing I had no vodka on hand for the "light and flaky" crust, deciding that since I failed life as a non-child-rearing 30-something, I might as well cheat on the crust, thinking this would save me the necessary time.
Filling: Dried peaches. Orange juice. We rarely have OJ in the house. Luckily, I ran into a parishioner who tipped me off to a Market of Choice secret: mini things of OJ fresh squeezed each morning. One mini container was all I needed. Dried peaches. Check. Run home to drop everything off. Thought all was in order, at last.
Here's how it all went down.
I got the sauce pan going. I was stirring. And stirring. I turned away to attend to an email. Suddenly, but in slow motion, I saw a large bubble arise from the pot like something out of Ghostbusters in the 80s, and slurp its way backwards onto the stove. That would be, onto my gas-burning stove, where the gas flame promptly en flambeed the sugary mixture.
Flames licked the pot.
Luckily, the flames subsided quickly. By this point, I could smell the burnt sugar on the bottom of the pot. I think that sugar waits until you are distracted for 2 seconds and then it goes "Ha ha ha, let's burn, baby, burn!" Clearly, white sugar anthropomorphizes itself as an anarchist.
By the time I finished scooping out the unburned peaches from the burned peaches, I was left with a carmelized, slightly smoking mess. And I am still a little freaked out by whatever happened to the apricots.
That was when the swearing started. Somewhere around the screaming part, the two cats had run yowling out of the room and were now hiding in the downstairs bedroom. So they weren't here for the swearing. But I promise you: it was epic.
That was when I texted M, demanded he arrive home bearing frozen yogurt, and I whipped out the chocolate chips and made chocolate sauce.
There you go. That is the Recipe for Chocolate Sauce Peach Turnover Frozen Yogurt desserts. You're welcome.