I was in a huge baking mood last week, wanting to get some goodies ready for Valentine's Day, and decided to make marshmallows and a pie of Jim's choice. (He chose Pecan Pie, he IS a Texan boy at heart after all.) The marshmallows were just a whim. So last Friday Diego and I set up a chair along the counter, some bowls, the standing mixer and all of the ingredients and we poured and mixed and whisked and got powdered sugar over EVERYTHING. I think he had fun. And now, when he sees the egg carton in the fridge he points, OOO!, and throws his hand down like he's cracking an egg. Which he now helps me do in the mornings when I make his eggs. That was enough of a mess so I thought I would wait for time alone, while D napped, to make the pie.
While making the crust and the filling I couldn't help but feel like the worry of the day was melting away as I stirred in the pecans and eggs and sugar. The vanilla is almost always the last step, and it's always one of my favorites. I love that sweet heady scent. I want to take all of those feelings and use them in the rest of my life. I often feel like I'm too hard on myself, tense and stumbling along life, cursing myself for not knowing exactly what I am doing and going to do. But when I bake, mistakes come and go, I learn from them and go on, mixing and turning over fillings, pie crusts or cookies. There are good scents, good work, and good treats at the end.
And they were delicious. Best pie to date. Not sure what I'm going to do with the remaining marshmallows. You're all welcome to come over for some hot chocolate. :)