But I would be proud to partake of your pecan peach pie...

As a kid, I was really lucky to grow up in a large, close extended family. My mom's parents lived in the next town over; my dad's parents lived less than ten minutes away in our town. My aunts and uncles were, with a couple of exceptions, all in the Boston area. My parents were each the eldest of their siblings, and they were pretty young when they married and had me, so I had a gift that's pretty rare these days -- four young, relatively healthy, happily involved grandparents with whom I spent time regularly. I had all four grandparents well into my high school years, and only lost my mom's parents in late college/grad school. (We still have my wee grandma, thank god -- 88 years and 88 lbs. of pure dogged determination, that one.)

Anyway, as a result, I have so, so many memories of my grandparents, including this one that makes me chuckle every summer. I was probably 10 or 12 at the time, and my mom had made a late summer peach pie. We brought it over to my grandparents' house to share, and all through dessert, my grandpa couldn't stop proclaiming, "I LOVE peach pie!" He was so effusive that even my grandmother, who has never said an unkind word in her life, was rolling her eyes by the time we were done. I can't eat peach pie without thinking of him, and oh what I would give to hear that exuberant fruit-inspired joy again. I can't though, so once a year-ish, I venture into the terrifying world of pastry (GAH) and make one hell of a peach pie just because.

This year, I was inspired by Deb over at Smitten Kitchen. She posted about a super basic, no frills peach pie, and I was on board after the first photo. Well, sort of. I had some serious agita (we are talking about my Italian grandpa here) about the crust. You see, I SUCK at pie crust. I always over work it, or let it get too warm, and I end up with a tough mess, despite using absurd amounts of butter. My crust is never, ever flaky. I RUIN FLOUR AND BUTTER, YOU GUYS. I have used the frozen stuff before, but it has a distinct Not Good Taste to it. It's a conundrum, no? I talked to one of the chefs at work, and she suggested using booze in place of water when making the crust, because you have the liquid to work with when you're making the dough, but where the booze has alcohol, more of your liquid is going to evaporate in cooking, thereby leaving your pastry flakier. This sounds like a very plausible theory, and I was all set to try it (um, hello -- peach pie in a smoky bourbon crust?).

AND THEN.

I can't remember who suggested it, but I would like to kiss their face. Trader Joe's! They make frozen crust, and it is DELIGHTFUL. Flaky, lightly sweet, almost reminiscent of a shortbread flavor in the best of buttery ways, and 100% lacking in the Not Good Taste. I still need to figure out pie crust for myself (Grandma's dogged determination lives on!), but in the meantime? Man, is this good.

Here's what I did:

1.) I bought some lovely smelling, but not quite ripe, peaches and stuck them in a brown paper bag for two days. They were perfect and ready to bake with after that. I used seven, which was fine, but next time I would use a few more.

2.) I peeled the peaches by hand, because I have never trusted the "drop in boiling water" method. Do not as I did; I tried the boiling water method with tomatoes, and HOO BOY, is that easier. Regardless, peel your peaches, slice them thinly, and give them a nice squirt of lemon.

3.) Add the rest of the filling ingredients. I used 1/4 c white sugar, 1/3 c brown sugar, 1/4 tsp of cinnamon (nutmeg is an abomination), 1/8 tsp table salt, and cornstarch to thicken. For the cornstarch, I started with 2 tbsps, and kept adding until it felt right. I think I ended up between 3-4 tbsps total.

4.) Once the filling was ready to go, I placed the defrosted crust into my pie plate, pricking the bottom for no reason other than it's what I remember my mom doing. I have no idea if this is actually necessary. I scooped the filling in and flopped the other piece of crust on top, looping the top crust around the edge of the bottom and squeezing them together. I cut little slits in the top of the crust, then gave it a swipe of cream I had in the fridge. The final touch was a sprinkling of turbinado sugar. It did not look so hot at this point...

Yikes.

5.) I set the oven to 425 (although it desperately needs to be calibrated, so who the hell knows what it actually baked at), popped the pie on a foil lined sheet, and into the oven it went for 20 minutes. After 20 minutes, I dropped the temperature to 375 (or whatever my oven considers 375 to be) and covered the edges with foil to keep them from getting too brown. It baked for another 30 minutes, at which point I removed the foil edge wrappers, and let it brown up for another 10 minutes or so. I called it done once it was all golden and gorgeous looking.

I probably should have held off a bit longer before digging in, but I simply do not possess that kind of willpower. I knew it was going to be a big puddle of mess, but I went for it anyway, and OH. MY. GOD. Even Mark, who claimed to dislike pie (I know, right? INSANITY ABOUNDS), is a convert. After inhaling a healthy slice worth right from the pan, he was all, "Huh, I guess I like pie!" You think?

I LOVE PEACH PIE.

What a difference a day makes...

Well, I am thirty-three today, you guys. Almost exactly officially thirty-three; I was born at 1:51 pm, and it's 1:50 as I'm writing this. I have never really been bothered by birthdays (it's better than the alternative, am I right?), but despite having a pleasant little day thus far, I am feeling a bit melancholy.

I think it's mostly because birthdays seem to be a time to contemplate where you are in your life compared to where your younger self assumed you would be. I am just feeling particularly struck this time around at how things are different from what I had hoped. I should really shut up; in the important ways, I am pretty damn lucky. Mark is so much better than any amorphous "husband" I ever imagined. He drives me absolutely batty sometimes, but I laugh, without exception, EVERY DAY. Usually multiple times every day. I hope I have a bunch of sons as adorable as he, with the same good heart and easygoing nature. I have a fantastic family whom I love spending time with, both in my family of origin and in my inlaws. I am so grateful for the time I get to spend with them, and for the fact that Mark and I both have parents who are healthy and active, and who I pray will stay that way for many, many years to come. I am also blessed to have friends who are so dear to me that they may as well be family, and to have married into an equally great group of friends as well.

All of that there? It is some serious good fortune, so I feel like a whiny d.b. for being stuck on what I don't have. While I think I may be on the cusp of some career goodness, I am decidedly not where I had thought I would be. When I was young, I always imagined myself as a mom. Once I decided on law school, I imagined myself as "v. busy and important," as Bridget Jones would say. Right now, I am neither. While I definitely have some significant baggage about leaving the law firm, and I really wish I had never left my first firm, I am somewhat at peace with the idea that Big Law is not for me. It was not a healthy environment, and it's certainly not my only option. I am not satisfied with the status quo, but I can accept this as a building phase, the tedious part of getting where I want to go. The mom thing is weighing on me, though. That is ... not going so well, and it's frustrating. It did not sound like as big a deal when I was thirty-two, but thirty-three just sounds significantly older, making any issues seem that much more significant as well. I think my frustration is magnified because I feel like it is just wrong for me to have so little control over something so important. (What control issues?) Patience is not my strong suit, so, you know. This kind of sucks.

However, there is certainly way more than enough good to outweigh the bad, so for today? Screw it -- enough moodiness; it's time to focus on celebrating the good. I am making a hair appointment, doing a little shopping, and then meeting Mark for dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. I am one very lucky, albeit ever-so-slightly older, lady.

P.S. Should you need an excuse to raise a glass this evening, I am more than willing to take one for the team. Cheers, all!

We talk about anti-vax parents, but what about my anti-vax DOCTOR?

Well! I am really holding myself to the 'not write'-ing portion of my url, no? We have been home from MA for nearly a month already; so long, in fact, that we're ready to go back. We're heading up on Friday for what is sure to be a busy weekend with not nearly enough beach time. (What is enough, really?) We are driving up on Friday, leaving well before dawn, because we have a Friday night wedding to attend before hitting the Cape.

Also on Friday afternoon, I am stopping in to see my parents' friend, a family practice doctor, because I am so fed up with the situation here. I have a good friend who recently had her second baby. I am so excited and thrilled for her, even more so than usual, as her first son was stillborn at full term. She and her husband and everyone who love them were understandably gutted, so as you might expect, this pregnancy was an exercise in anxiety and patience for her, and the healthy arrival of Baby J was met with resounding joy and relief. The little guy was evicted at 37 weeks on the dot, and where he was a little early and had a second hospital admission shortly after his initial discharge, his pediatrician and parents are being extra cautious (rightly so!) and requesting that all visitors be up to date (i.e. within five years) on their pertussis boosters. My friend does not have family in the area, and where her husband has to get back to work and I am often around during the day, she asked if I wanted to hang out and help when I could. (Um, smooshy baby? Hello, OF COURSE.) However, my last vaccinations were 8 1/2 years ago, so I would need a booster first.

Here is where the vaccine troubles came about, and believe me, the issue is not mine. I'm a firm believer in vaccines. Vaccination Is Good! If I were a parent, I would probably try to seek out the doctors who will not accept patients whose parents refuse to vaccinate. You see, in my first legal job, I worked on the autism litigation. I read the vaccine licensing files. There is no conspiracy! Vaccines are not a boon for big pharma at the expense of children! I work in the industry, and big pharma is no saint, but they aren't out to screw us either. (I could go ON, but I'll spare you.) Anyway, I called my doctor to see if I could come in for a booster and explained my (tiny, defenseless newborn) situation. The current pertussis outbreak is the worst in 50 years, so this should be no big deal, right? HA. My doctor refuses to give boosters inside of 10 years, no exceptions, no discussions. I ... whaaa??

I know I received a tetanus shot in January of 2004, because I needed a few shots before I would be allowed to return for my last semester of law school per Washington, D.C., regulations. I remember the tetanus shot because it caused a baseball sized welt to swell on my arm and it hurt like crazy. I'm pretty sure I also started the Hep B series at that point as well. I do not have any written record from this visit though, as I had to turn it in to my school, and didn't think to make a copy. The doctor who administered the vaccines (my parents' friend) only stores inactive records for seven years, and the health records are not part of my student file at the law school (yes, I checked!). I have no way of knowing for sure whether the tetanus shot I received in 2004 contained the pertussis vaccine, but where Tdap was not licensed until 2005 and I was over 19 at the time of my last shots, I'm guessing it was Td and therefore did not contain pertussis.

Per the CDC:

ACIP recommends that if Tdap vaccination status cannot be confirmed with written, dated records, the patient is considered unvaccinated and is therefore eligible to be vaccinated with Tdap. Tdap should be administered regardless of when Td was last received.

  (Emphasis added.)

Despite this, the very best my doctor's office will *begrudgingly* do is a pertussis titer to check my antibody levels. I can go in and pay for an office visit, likely pay for the unnecessary lab testing, wait for the results of the titer, then pay for another office visit when I need the vaccine. Seriously? NO THANK YOU. BUT I WILL TAKE MY RECORDS TO GO, PLEASE.

I am filled with frothy rage over this. I have a specific reason to request a vaccine that I have strong reason to suspect that I actually need, that the CDC recommends a person in my situation receive, and that, on the off chance I do not need it, will not hurt me. I honestly cannot fathom a reason why this would be refused. Is there one I'm missing? Because this seems completely outrageous to me. Cue the ragey rage.

Luckily, I am headed to MA on Friday, and my parents' friend is willing to sneak me in to put an end to this nonsense. (HOORAY.) In the meantime, perhaps I will channel this rage into writing about more interesting things, like all of the ridiculously delicious food I have been making around here, despite the fact that my ass is big enough crush Wisconsin? Just you wait -- stupidly easy peach pie, kielbasa mac & cheese, wild mushroom pizza, backyard basil pesto. Talk soon!