There was so much maple syrup in this thing, it was singing the sweet Canadian song of its people.
It was a bit clovetastic – half a teaspoon, which for future reference tastes like seventeen orange Christmases and is pretty choke-worthy – and the pastry collapsed. We called it pumpkin galette and pretended I’d done it on purpose. I got the recipe from the Guardian website, in an article called ‘How to make the perfect pumpkin pie’. It wasn’t perfect; I need a better recipe. But it was still pretty amazing. (I’ll do a proper Cakery Bakery post when I find one I like.)
It was flatter than it should’ve been because I couldn’t use all of the pumpkin mixture without flooding the collapsed pastry sides. And this slice is smaller than it should’ve been because we’d already eaten the rest of it.
We gave some to Henry. He expects food offered on the run to be sweet and delicious – it’s usually bits of our dessert he’s having as a treat. There was a baffled minute while he rolled it around in his mouth, then the whole thing emerged onto his cardigan. Guess he’s not a pumpkin eater. MORE FOR ME. Sorry, did I shout that bit?
Also this weekend, there was this:
Need more grass stain remover, FYI.
Hope you’ve had a lovely weekend. We’re off to the in-laws’ for a few days, to break up the last bit of Tim’s two weeks away. Adult conversation and a whole new set of bookcases for H to empty. Bliss for both of us.