Remember that I told you I was making a mincement pie for a dear friend? It was right after Thanksgiving when Ocean Spray quietly announced that their dried cranberries may have slivers of metal in them, when what they should've been doing was shouting from the rooftops, "WARNING: THIS SHIT WILL TEAR THROUGH YOU LIKE IT HAS CLAWS," but they didn't because making money is preferable to losing money, duh.
Well. My dried cranberries were not in the batches with claws, so I proceeded to make the mincemeat pie.
Back in the day (Victorian times, according to all I've read), mincemeat pie really did have meat in it. (Meat. In the pie. Heh heh.) Suet, too (don't click on that!). Apparently, the pie-eaters of the world were more accustomed to the marriage of the savory and the sweet than we are now. You and I flirt with a savory/sweet dish here and there, but the Victorians threw the combination up against the wall, ripped its clothes off, and made sweet love to it.
But I digress. Mincemeat pie. It's a bunch of fruit (apples, dried golden raisins, currants, cranberries) and spices...
...cooked in apple cider and rum...
...for one hour...
...two hours...
...three hours...
...and then baked in a double pie crust:
Listen, I know all too well that the term "mincemeat pie" may not sound like the most common and appetizing thing in the world--it's tough to compete with apple, pecan, and pumpkin pies--but trust Sweet Tea when she tells you that it is off-the-hook delicious. If you can resist the stuff, you don't deserve to eat.
Oh, and if you're too effing lazy to make your own mincemeat pie and you want me to make you one (my dear Michelle is the only one who gets an annual freebie), then come on over. BUT FIRST: Bring three things. Money (no specific amount, but you will most assuredly know if it is not enough), booze (no specific kind, but you will mose assuredly know if it is unacceptable), and a wild card (you decide what it is, but it better surprise me and it better be good).
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