Tag: whitman
rustic apple and sour cherry pie
I lie abstracted and hear beautiful tales of things and the reasons of things,They are so beautiful I nudge myself to listen.
I cannot say to any person what I hear… I cannot say it to myself… It is very wonderful.
-Walt Whitman, leaves of grass
Rustic apple and sour cherry pie
for the sweet pastry
ingredients: 125g butter softened, 1egg, 90g icing sugar,30g almond meal,250g plain flour
method: place butter,sugar,almond meal,egg in an electric mixer with a paddle attachment and beat until well combined, Add the flour on a low-speed until just combined. transfer the dough to a lightly floured surface and bring together into a disk, wrap in plastic film and refrigerate for 1/2 an hour. Pre heat oven to 180°C. Remove pastry from the fridge, on a lightly floured surface roll out to 4mm thick and gently line a greased pie tin, can leave the edges for a homely look.Put the remaining pastry aside. Bake the shell for ten minutes in the oven before removing and setting aside to cool.
Pie Filling
ingredients: 1tin of pie apples,1 cup of sour cherries drained,1table spoon brown sugar
method: combine all the ingredients and pour into the tart shell, roll out remaining pastry and cover over the pie. With a sharp knife make indents in the lid, and sprinkle a little brown sugar over the top.
Bake for 25 minutes, serve hot with thickened cream.
takings from, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass
takings from, Whitman’s Leaves of Grass
I exist as I am, that is enough
If no other in the world be aware, I sit content
And if each and all be aware I sit content.
Whoever degrades another degrades me…
and whatever is done or said,
returns at last to me,
And whatever I do or say I also return.
The pleasures of heaven are with me,
and the pains of hell are will me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself..
the latter I translate into a new tongue.
I am the poet of the woman the same as the man,
And I say it is great to be a woman as to be a man.
And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.
And as to you life, I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,
No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.
St GEORGIA & Boo 