I must admit, I wanted to make pie because I love eating raw dough. No, I’m not in the family way and Husband is convinced that raw flour is really bad for your tummy, but I couldn’t care less. This is what happens when you go on a diet and throw away all food apart from raw ingredients. Sadly Tesco was out of proper branded flour and their own brand stuff is generally at the sort of level of other supermarkets’ basics, so my dough way sadly untasty and a useless texture requiring me to build the pie crust by squishing tiny bits at a time into the baking dish.
Ingredients: a chopped onion, 2 strangely large, round sweet potatoes, a tin of chickpeas, some cumin, some dried coriander, a pack of sausages and some badly made shortcrust pastry. The sausages Weasel picked out at an awesome farm shop we discovered in on the way home from Denbies wine estate this week called the Kingfisher Farm Shop in Abinger Hammer. It was nice to be able to show Weasel that not all food comes in shiny packaging from Sainsbury’s without feeling like you had to pay loads or sacrifice variety. Had I not been on a diet, I would have carted home a load of local cheeses too. With all the meat scandals going on, it did make me giggle a little that our pork and watercress sausages had a picture of a cow on them though.
I went ahead and baked the potatoes, sausages and onion to try and minimise time spent in the kitchen and avoiding splattery pans now that Weasel (usually) has an obsession with pulling up a chair and ‘helping’ me. She of course decided to watch the Gruffalo’s Child for the thousandth time instead. The plan was that her ‘contribution’ could be to mix all the ingredients up in a bowl and spoon them into the pastry dish.
Verdict: Weasel refused to help me cook it, so I dragged Baby Sister’s ginormo-swing towards the kitchen for company. I’m the moron who decided that potty training a toddler with a pukey baby in tow whilst Husband was indulging in schweinhaxe and bier in Heidelberg was a clever idea, so I’m not surprised we had a rough time of it. The baking meant I could spend the rest of the time cleaning up the puddles and reloading the washing machine, again. A mega-fight over the abundance of bits she didn’t like resulted in her being sent upstairs for a little scream followed by picking out the sausages to eat. Oh well. At least I thought it was tasty. And the world’s crappiest photo of the finished product? Here you go!