Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Cookin' School ~ PW's Maple Pecan Scones

How to Make The Pioneer Woman's Maple Pecan Scones for the First Time Ever

Step 1: Find your countertop.

Step 2: Even wipe off the stove, like a good girl.

Step 3: Turn to Page 68 in The Pioneer Woman Cooks.

Step 4: Be so, so thankful for all the explanatory pictures.

Step 5: Begin to gather together all the necessary ingredients.

Step 6: Discover that you are fresh out of eggs.

Step 7: Send your husband out for eggs.

Step 8: Sit and read about your childhood and gain new sympathy for your longsuffering older sister while you wait for eggs.

Step 9: Gather all the ingredients for the scones.

Step 10: Gather all the ingredients for the icing, even though you don't like icing, because your husband likes icing, and you owe him, because he brought you eggs, even though he is not the kind of person who says things like, "You owe me."

Step 11: Show off the apron your husband made you during your first year of marriage, when you were just coming to grips with the fact that his domestic skills outstripped yours by leaps and bounds, which sent you into a non-cooking tailspin so severe that you are just now pulling out of it and beginning to try to be domestic again.

Step 12: Remind your readers, at your husband's request, that he is not just domestic, but can also rebuild engines, lift very heavy objects, chop down trees, rewire electrical devices of any kind, build campfires like nobody's business, explain the science of temperature variance at the atomic level to his children in language they understand, make even the most rabid dog worship at his feet, go faster than a speeding bullet, be more powerful than a locomotive, and leap tall buildings in a single bound. And fly. Probably. And maybe double as a reporter whose black horn-rimmed glasses completely mask his super hero identity.

Step 13: Make scones. Follow the recipe carefully.

Step 14: Wear a long-sleeved black hoodie under your super cool apron that your husband made you, and dip your entire arm into the flour bag.

Step 15: Deviate dangerously from the recipe by replacing the pecans with walnuts (because the local market didn't have pecans) and doubling the amount called for. Maybe tripling it. You don't know. All you know is you love nuts in baked goods.

Step 16: Scrounge around through your husband's extensive kitchen knife collection to find the right kind of knife for chopping walnuts. Settle for a knife that has the word "chop" on it, and figure you can't go wrong.

Step 17: Realize that your cooktop knobs make a perfect cookbook rest.

Step 18: Don't take pictures of the scone-making process because Pioneer Woman already did that, and her pictures are way better. Instead, take a picture of the evidence of scone-making.

Step 19: Take the finished scones out of the oven and set them on the countertop to cool.

Step 20: Decide to halve the icing recipe because you hate icing and will therefore put icing on only half of the scones.

Step 21: Have absolutely no idea how many cups are in a pound of powdered sugar. Remember that your husband's dad told you "a pint's a pound the world around" and, knowing there are two cups in a pint, use one cup of powdered sugar.

Step 22: Observe that one cup of powdered sugar produces very runny-looking icing, and ask your husband what to do. Be too lazy to find out just how many cups are in a pound of powdered sugar, but guess that the answer must be four.

Step 23: Still don't look it up even though you are sitting down to write the blog post about maple pecan scones and the answer is just a mouseclick away. But do bother to look up the word "mouseclick" to see if it is really one word when your crack spell checker doesn't acknowledge it.

Step 24: Add the word "mouseclick" to your crack spell checker's dictionary, and consider writing to Google Chrome and telling them they gave you a crack spell checker. Decide they don't care and it's not worth your time. Just like it's not worth your time to look up how many cups are in a pound of powdered sugar.

Step 25: Just look it up already, for cryin' out loud. Copy and paste the answer here: "1 pound = 4.564816278739 cup [US]"

Step 26: Stop digressing. Go back in time to the moment you made icing. Take your husband's advice and add another cup of powdered sugar. Observe that the icing now looks like icing, even though it is not quite the same color as the icing in Pioneer Woman's picture.

Step 27: Further observe, at the time of the writing of your blog post, now that you know that there are a little over 4.5 cups in a pound, that you were still missing about a quarter-cup of powdered sugar, which might have made your icing look more like the icing in the book.

Step 28: Spread icing on five of the scones.

Step 29: Take a picture of the evidence of icing-making stacked on top of the evidence of scone-making.

Step 30: Spread maple syrup on two of the scones, because even though you don't like maple icing, you do like maple syrup, and you don't want to miss out on the maple aspect of the maple pecan scones, which you should really be calling maple walnut scones by now.

Step 31: Sprinkle chopped walnuts atop the iced and syruped scones, as per the Pioneer Woman's suggested variation.

Step 32: Eat the scones. Open your eyes wide in wonder at their delectable sweetness.

Step 33: Discover that the scones are very, very crumbly. Be unable to figure out why they are crumbly, beings as how you followed the recipe so very, very closely, except for the teency tiny side venture of doubling (or perhaps tripling) the recommended amount of chopped nuts.

Step 34: Still be pleased, overall, with your scones, even though they are so sweet that you can't eat very many bites at a time. Then go to Bible study and discover such a thing as miniature scones, which would have been just the right size for your overly sweet creation.

Step 35: Ask your blog readers if they know why your scones turned out so crumbly. Hope they are kind in their responses and refrain from the copious use of exclamation points and all caps whilst explaining the obvious reason for crumbly scones that everybody who's anybody in the kitchen has known since they were nine years old.