It's All Fun and Games Until Something Explodes...

"If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried."  ~Unknown

The (only part I don't despise) best part about working late is my daily chats with the cleaning lady.  She's got to be 70 years old, 4'10 inches tall maybe, missing teeth, from Guatemala.  We've bonded. 

Anyway, last night we were talking about Thanksgiving and I asked if she was having turkey.  She said she didn't like turkey.  I said I didn't either and that we had Mexican food for Thanksgiving and that I liked the tamales the best.  Well, next thing I know this sweet little lady is telling me that she's bringing me homemade Guatemalan tamales tomorrow.  Um.....yes please!

And because my mama raised me with good southern manners, I asked her what I could bring her in exchange.  She said she liked pie.  Applie pie to be exact.  So I said, "You got it!" 

Now.... the one small issue is that I have no idea how to bake an apple pie.  As y'all know, I set off my smoke alarm once a week at a minimum when I try to cook.  So, I turned to Google and Facebook for some assistance.  Some people suggested I just buy one at a bakery.  Come on, now.  I said I'd bake a pie.  I have some pride in my cooking abilities here.  Some people talked about homeade crusts.  Yea.  Don't have THAT much pride.  Basically I was looking for something that required more than apples out of a can and less than a homemade crust.

Enter a little recipe from Pillsbury.  So off to the store I went to buy my materials.  Because I know me and I've done this kind of thing before, I actually bought enough to make two pies, you know, in case the first one didn't turn out.  For the record, instead of the roll out crust, I used the frozen kind already in the pan and I added butter because I feel like a good apple pie needs butter.  Paula Dean would approve.

Anyway, so I came home, turned on the Texas/Red Dirt Pandora station, put on my favorite fuzzy socks, and set to work.  It was all going right according to plan....

And then, there was a minor explosion.  This is the kind of thing that only happens to me.  So my mom told me to melt some butter to brush on the top of the pie crust.  So, because I always do what my mom tells me, I cut off some butter, unwrap it, put it in a ceramic dish, and pop it in the microwave.  I'm doing some other stuff when I hear this super loud popping sound.  I thought someone was shooting at me, so I hit the deck.  After I realize I'm not in some war zone, I look in the microwave just in time to see a chunk of my dish flying across the inside of the microwave.  WTH? 

Clearly it was time to update the facebook status.  "Everything was going so well with the apple pie baking until the minor explosion."  Not two seconds later, my mom is on the phone trying to act like this is all MY fault.  Some line about how you melt butter on the stove not in the microwave.  About 5 seconds after that, Aunt Delta Dawn calls to be sure I'm not seriously injured (note difference number one from my mom...she asks if I'm still in one piece).  I tell her what happened and she says that she heats butter up in the microwave all the time (difference number two, non-accusatory tone and statement).  She assures me that my mom is wrong and we are planning a family survey at Thanksgiving Dinner to confirm.

Anyway, long story short I no longer have my favorite ice cream dish and had to do some serious cleaning of the microwave.  But the pie ended up looking edible and I'm looking forward to my Guatemalan tamales tomorrow!