The Spinster Librarian

I've had a lot of interesting dates and pseudo dates in the last few months. It helps my self esteem to count any one-on-one time with a single guy as a date, and I'm sure they're all really into me, too. Definitely some highs and lows (very lows!) in the mix.

I could write a book on relationships. I guess everyone thinks that. Here's one piece of advice: If you're in a long-distance relationship, demand some kind of collateral from the guy, like a piece of expensive furniture that's worth more than he is. Hopefully all three of you will be in the same location at some point in the future, but if not, you and the furniture can make a very happy couple. Or it can be good kindle for a fire when you're ready to burn all the pictures, cards, and gifts he gave you.

You can't get that kind of golden advice just anywhere. Here's another one: keep the top of the backrest of your leather couch dusted. If you're snuggling up on the couch and your date tries to put his arm around you, getting an armload of dust is a real mood-killer.

So here's the thing, what do we think about online dating? I've had friends that have met some crazies that way, but let's face it, I'm dating crazies anyway. I've kind of tried that scene before. It was more to make new friends, not love connections, and it worked only passably for that.



My dear friend Kim keeps telling me to try it, but I don't know. The Lubbock market is a small pond, but I don't think I'm in a position to strike up a relationship with anyone out of town, either. Any advice, opinions, or funny stories appreciated.

Dinner and a Book

I'm a hypocrite. I'm a bad piano teacher; I don't practice. I'm a bad librarian; I don't read books. I could rationalize it somewhat when I was in grad school, but now that I'm past that, I've found other lame excuses. Over the last few months, I've been socializing at such a breakneck pace, I didn't have time for it. I've realized that I'm not going to miss meeting any fabulous men if I cut the outings down to 3-4 nights a week.

If I weren't a librarian, I'd like to be a sociologist or maybe a behavioral economist (except that would involve that pesky math stuff). I ordered a slew of books in that vein that have been on my Amazon wish list for awhile:

• Predictably Irrational, Revised and Expanded Edition: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions
  By: Dan Ariely


• The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable
  By: Nassim Nicholas Taleb


• Connected: The Surprising Power of Our Social Networks and How They Shape Our Lives
  By: Nicholas A. Christakis, James H. Fowler


• Made to Stick: Why Some Ideas Survive and Others Die
  By: Chip Heath, Dan Heath


• SuperFreakonomics: Global Cooling, Patriotic Prostitutes, and Why Suicide Bombers Should Buy Life Insurance
  By: Steven D. Levitt, Stephen J. Dubner


• Freakonomics: A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything (P.S.)
  By: Steven D. Levitt, Stephen J. Dubner


• What the Dog Saw: And Other Adventures
  By: Malcolm Gladwell


• Stumbling on Happiness
  By: Daniel Gilbert


• The Desk and Beyond: Next Generation Reference Services
  By: Sarah K. Steiner, M. Leslie Madden

Which one of these things is not like the other? That very work-related book on the bottom, which was the most expensive and least enticing of the lot. It also had these goofy pixelated cover graphics. Thank you, library world, for being stuck in the 20th century as usual.

So when I can, it's no phone, no accompanying friends, just me and a book at home or in a restaurant booth if I really don't feel like being home in my lonely house. Last week, it was Cancún for the Durango Special: juicy, marinated grilled chicken and shrimp smothered with melted cheese; served with rice, guacamole, and pico de gallo; with Predictably Irrational. It is a little hard to concentrate with Tejano music blaring in the background, but the food was great, and the book enthralling. Last night, it was Lean Cuisine Linguine Carbonara with The Black Swan. I've been excited to leave work every night and get home to my books; when it's to get home to my cats, then you can really worry.

Last night, I read until I fell asleep, ignoring any calls, texts, emails, calendar reminders all evening. I did get a call at 5:45am or so this morning. In a case of friendship fail, I had forgotten to set my alarm clock to wake me up so I could drive some friends to the airport for an early morning flight. Already fifteen minutes late, but luckily I arrived at their house two minutes after the call. I think all was well, but maybe a little reading is a bad thing.

Ship of Fools

Intel "Rockstar" from Crystal English on Vimeo.

In my foodie world, Christopher Kimball is like a rock star. The bow tie is hot; the food snobbery, condescension, and choosiness about ingredients is attractive. He's the editor and founder of Cook's Illustrated and the host of America's Test Kitchen. Cook's has been a go-to recipe source of mine for awhile now. Their recipes are almost always perfect in terms of flavor, technique, etc. I feel comfortable making their recipes for dinner parties without a dry run, because they rarely give me any trouble.

Kimball wrote an Op-Ed article inspired by the closing of Gourmet magazine. He lamented the shift of loyalty away from experienced, credentialed chefs and towards untrained cooks and the democracy of the Internet, read food blogs. My favorite quote from Kimball's piece is: "The world needs fewer opinions and more thoughtful expertise." He talked of food media specifically, but it's the same issue for all of them - radio, television, publishers, recording industry - and it's a similar problem in libraries and academia as well: Why would you want to pay for anything when you can find what you want online for free? Why would you want something that requires more effort than a Google search?

So I set out to write a ditto blog post, complete with passion and exclamation points, railing against "the democracy of the Internet." I was prepared to support all of Kimball's assertions.

And then I started writing.

Duh, I'm completely guilty of succumbing to the democracy of the Internet, where content is free and conveniently accessible. I don't have cable or even local television channels these days, because I usually just check YouTube, Hulu, or Netflix for whatever I want. They've got Matlock. Purchasing music? Why would I want to do that? There are more free radio stations and free sample downloads than I could ever listen to. Magazines and newspapers - a complete waste of money if I can get their content online for free. Most products of the mass media are complete drivel anyway, but it's also a factor of my pretentiousness to isolate myself from all of it.

I didn't read Gourmet. Any Gourmet recipes I've made came from the free site Epicurious. My mom has a few cooking magazines at her house, and I've never looked at a single one of them and thought it was something I'd want to subscribe to. I don't buy cookbooks. When I need a recipe, I always search food blogs, Epicurious, and yes, the Food Network site. You can bet I'm right there reading all of the comments and reviews written by inexperienced anonyms.

What was I going to rail against? I'm part of the problem.

Now that doesn't mean that I don't still use a LOT of Cook's recipes. Kimball followed up his Op-Ed with a post on his blog titled Ship of Fools? and I agree with his statement (down in the comments section) "I have had hundreds of people tell me over the years that the one thing that Cook’s has done for them is to build their confidence — they realized that they were not lousy cooks, they were just using lousy recipes." I have said many times that being a great cook doesn't take that much skill or innate talent, you only need start with a good recipe. Going through the process of cooking through dozens of Cook's recipes, with their precise instructions, helped me build a knowledge base of the fundamentals of cooking.

And yet, Adam Roberts of Amateur Gourmet made a good point when he tweeted "Chris Kimball, your recipes might work, but your magazine is the dullest, most brain-numbing one around. Blogs r better." (His more gramatically correct opinion is here.)

What do you think?

Fluffernutter

What's your favorite sandwich? The favorite sandwich of the Massachusetts legislature is the Fluffernutter, a sandwich made with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff. And if you try one, it might become your favorite, too.

Have you ever heard of a fluffernutter before? I really can't remember when I first ate one. I do have a memory of visiting Washington, DC in my late teens. My family ate dinner in Union Station at some tourist trap that advertised world cuisine and had an entrée on its menu for each of various countries. Do you know what it listed for the United States offering? The fluffernutter. And Scott ordered one. It's not that he was foolish to do so. It was simply remarkable to me that of all the things that could have been on the menu, the fluffernutter was the thing chosen to represent the United States.

It's a very northeastern thing. The Marshmallow Fluff made by Durkee-Mower in Lynn, Massachusetts can't even be purchased in Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Mississippi, Colorado, Utah... I like this Mister Rogers video about how it's made.


I've half a mind to order a case of the fluff if only to support a small US company that's still in the family and still making their product one small batch at a time. It's probably the only business using Comic Sans on their site that I'd patronize. And after all, the shipping costs couldn't be that much - it's just fluff.

My personal favorite thing to order at Sheridan's is a vanilla custard concrete with peanut butter and marshmallow fluff, so I may venture to try a few of these Fluff recipes. And you've got to listen to these catchy jingles:

Fluffernutter Theme
The Flufferettes

Update: You can purchase Fluff at United Supermarkets and World Market in Lubbock. Hat tip to Brent!

Remember When We Cooked?

I attended a "cooking demonstration" on Thursday night, where two cookbook authors were promoting their cookbook "Remember When We Cooked?" That was pretty much the most ironic title ever for a cookbook, because for most of the recipes, the two ladies on stage merely combined a couple of ingredients from a can or the freezer. I don't think I'm shattering their reality by saying what they were doing wasn't cooking. One of the ladies even said, as she poured several cans of fruit into a bowl for "Spiced Hot Fruit," "This is my kind of cooking, dumping." The same woman later said she didn't go in for that fancy stuff like kosher salt. Here is one of the recipes that they demonstrated from their cookbook:

Mystery Fruit Salad
Serves 12

6 crisp apples
6 bars (2 ounces each) Snickers
12 ounces whipped topping

Cut apples into bite-size chunks. Cut Snickers into small pieces. Combine apples, Snickers, and whipped topping in a mixing bowl. Chill before serving.

Maybe you're like me and surprised that anyone had the need to write that one down, not to mention that it's being passed off as a fruit salad. The ladies seemed like your stereotypical sweet, rural, baby boomer soccer moms, and I say good for them creating a moneymaking opportunity out of a cookbook that any community church's ladies society could have put together.

But back to their cookbook's title, "Remember When We Cooked?" I didn't think it was a reference to the days when grandma went out and caught, killed, plucked, gutted and roasted a chicken for dinner, but I thought at least they meant the good old days when grandma combined flour, sugar, eggs, and milk into something without opening a can or boxed mix. Even the ridiculous opening sentences in the A-J's writeup - Really, all they require is water, electricity and a table. Then stand back and watch the magic - make no allusion to, you know, food! being involved in their recipes.

One of the most beautiful things I've read in the New York Times lately is Michael Pollan's Out of the Kitchen, Onto the Couch, which discusses among other things, the popularity of the Food Network amongst people who couldn't boil water properly, and how the amount of time spent on food preparation has an inverse relationship with obesity. He wrote:

I spent an enlightening if somewhat depressing hour on the phone with a veteran food-marketing researcher, Harry Balzer, who explained that “people call things ‘cooking’ today that would roll their grandmother in her grave — heating up a can of soup or microwaving a frozen pizza.” Balzer has been studying American eating habits since 1978; the NPD Group, the firm he works for, collects data from a pool of 2,000 food diaries to track American eating habits. Years ago Balzer noticed that the definition of cooking held by his respondents had grown so broad as to be meaningless, so the firm tightened up the meaning of “to cook” at least slightly to capture what was really going on in American kitchens. To cook from scratch, they decreed, means to prepare a main dish that requires some degree of “assembly of elements.” So microwaving a pizza doesn’t count as cooking, though washing a head of lettuce and pouring bottled dressing over it does. Under this dispensation, you’re also cooking when you spread mayonnaise on a slice of bread and pile on some cold cuts or a hamburger patty. (Currently the most popular meal in America, at both lunch and dinner, is a sandwich; the No. 1 accompanying beverage is a soda.) At least by Balzer’s none-too-exacting standard, Americans are still cooking up a storm — 58 percent of our evening meals qualify, though even that figure has been falling steadily since the 1980s.

So perhaps the dump-and-stir brand of cooking the ladies did at the demo was in fact cooking.

Red Ribbon for Red Velvet Cake

The South Plains Fair is back in all its glory. A few hours there is enough to last you for a year until it returns. The freaks of the town come out of the woodwork for it, and that includes me. They even shipped Eddie Money in for a pretty pathetic concert. I don't ever want to get old or listen to his songs again.

The typical assortment of fair foods is available, with nothing too shocking to report. The hit of the state fair, Deep Fried Butter, hasn't made it west to Lubbock yet. The only new vendor I saw was the frozen chocolate banana stand, which I fully expected to see the Bluths manning.




As usual, my focus was on the women's building and the culinary competition. This year proved to have no shortage of cake wrecks. I was completely befuddled by a Best of Show decorated cake that had strange blue smears on top and Goldfish pressed into the sides and by the cake with off-center pecans and crumbs scattered on top.


But what do I know? I delivered my Red Velvet Cake entry with pride, saw another red velvet cake already in the display case, and snickered at it. It's not really fair for me to enter. How could I lose? My cake is twice as big and much better looking. Well, if you can't tell from the picture below, the cake that I laughed at got a blue ribbon, and mine, a red.


I wish the judges had to give me feedback on why my cake came in second. I think I should challenge the winner, Theresa, to a Throwdown. She's probably a very nice person, but when it comes to baking, the gloves (cooking mitts?) come off! I think I could take her.


My undefeated fair run is over, but I guess when you think about it, red is really the best color ribbon to award to a Red Velvet Cake.

Red Velvet Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting
from Cook's Country - Serves 12

ingredients

Cake
2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
Pinch salt
1 cup buttermilk
1 tablespoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons natural cocoa powder
2 tablespoons red food coloring
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar

Frosting
16 tablespoons unsalted butter , softened
4 cups confectioners' sugar
16 ounces cream cheese, cut into 8 pieces, softened
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Pinch salt

preparation

1. For the cake: Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour two 9-inch cake pans. Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt in medium bowl. Whisk buttermilk, vinegar, vanilla, and eggs in large measuring cup. Mix cocoa with food coloring in small bowl until a smooth paste forms.

2. With electric mixer on medium-high speed, beat butter and sugar together until fluffy, about 2 minutes, scraping down bowl as necessary. Add one-third of flour mixture and beat on medium-low speed until just incorporated, about 30 seconds. Add half of buttermilk mixture and beat on low speed until combined, about 30 seconds. Scrape down bowl as necessary and repeat with half of remaining flour mixture, remaining buttermilk mixture, and finally remaining flour mixture. Scrape down bowl, add cocoa mixture, and beat on medium speed until completely incorporated, about 30 seconds. Using rubber spatula, give batter final stir. Scrape into prepared pans and bake until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean, about 25 minutes. Cool cakes in pans 10 minutes then turn out onto rack to cool completely, at least 30 minutes.

3. For the frosting: With electric mixer, beat butter and sugar on medium-high speed until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Add cream cheese, one piece at a time, and beat until incorporated, about 30 seconds. Beat in vanilla and salt. Refrigerate until ready to use.

4. When cakes are cooled, spread about 2 cups frosting on one cake layer. Top with second cake layer and spread top and sides of cake with remaining frosting. Cover and refrigerate until ready to serve, up to 3 days.

Goddess of the Library

My optometrist asked me if I have a lot of people come up to me and ask for directions, help, etc. He said that my pupil size is a subconscious indicator to people that I'm friendly. Once again, I have to think that I chose the right line of work for myself, because that is the majority of how I spend my workday: doling out directions and instructions, leading tours, and generally caring way too much about solving people's problems.

People come up to the reference desk and need help finding things in the library, and I talk them through the process step by step. Teach a man to fish and all that. But I'm starting to talk to myself all the time because I'm so used to showing people how to do things. "Now I'm going to check my Gmail. First, I'll open a new tab in Firefox, and then..." It's starting to draw some stares.

The job is very rewarding. I had a professor tell me that I changed his life by showing him how to locate articles through the library website. I helped a couple of new students with a library scavenger hunt, and they were effusive in their thanks. One of them said, "It's like you're the goddess of the library. No one else could help me. They just gave me your card." So I think I'm changing my title from reference librarian to goddess of the library. Definitely has the connotation of superpowers, which should help with job security.

I get some funny questions, too. This summer, a new student asked when the first day of classes would be. I answered August 27. She said, "Oh, I wondered, cause that's the same week as Rush and I didn't know if they'd conflict." I get plenty of questions with seemingly obvious answers such as "Where is the basement?"

I had a freshman come up to the desk to ask where room 159 was, or wait, maybe it was 179. Yeah, she had no idea where she was supposed to be to attend an extra-credit lecture. We don't have a room 159 or room 179 here, I told her. I did some hunting, walked her around the building, even took her to the room that later turned out to be what she was looking for. To all this, she said no, no, I don't think this is it. "What's your instructor's name? I could call him or search the library calendars..." She didn't know the instructor's name and wasn't too sure what the course number was.

"I wrote all this down in my planner, but I lost my planner."

By this time, another student had come up to the desk with the same question. "I'm looking for an extra-credit lecture in room 200."

"Room 200?" I said, "There's really not any place on the second floor where that could be..."

The two students huddled with me for a moment. Then luckily another student, a total overachiever, came up at that moment and asked where room 309 was for the lecture. Eureka. "You guys really need to write things down," I said and smiled. I'll be a great mom.


You see, these are the kind of goofy stories and non-funny jokes that librarians sit around and tell each other for a laugh. I made up this joke I'm rather proud of:

What's a reference librarian's favorite question to get?
"What's your number?"

After some pondering, I decided that joke lacks the essential element of truthiness that makes a joke funny. So here's the revamped one:

What's a question that a reference librarian will never get?
"What's your number?"

The Once and Future Beans

I've wasted a lot of time despising West Texas. I thought cowboy culture wasn't my thing, and maybe it isn't, but I feel like I can at least appreciate it more than before. There are fun things to do in this town, as mentioned in this long column, and Lubbock is full of honorable, hard-working folks. I decided to cowboy up and start supporting local tradition and heritage.

Mike and I went to the Ranching Heritage Center fundraiser where they staged Andy Wilkinson’s "Charlie Goodnight: His Life in Poetry and Song." The five inch stilettos I wore turned out to be very impractical for the walk across the dirt and grass to the seating area. And that's one thing a West Texas woman should never be, impractical. I should have worn my boots to keep from being bitten by ants.

I've been going over to my granddaddy's house once a week to watch old film reels from the 1950s of my dad's family and to see slides of the farm, family parties, and vacations. The family and the farming equipment look completely different, but it's pretty amazing how little the view has changed from around my folks' house in the last fifty years.

In the cowboy tradition, here's a recipe for baked beans worth a long trail ride: Once and Future Beans - the beans that will change your life. Although I've alluded to the fabulous recipe here, here, and here, the Once and Future Beans deserve a post of their own.

These beans are so simple, a cowhand could make them, but they do require some advance planning. First, you have to soak a pound of dried beans overnight, and then the beans themselves have to cook for 6-8 hours. Not a recipe you can be spontaneous about. There are basically only four steps after you soak the beans.

Step 1: Chop 1 pound of bacon and cook over medium heat.
Step 2: Add a chopped onion and a couple of chopped jalapeños. Cook until soft.
Step 3: Stir in the tomato paste, dark brown sugar, and molasses.
Step 4: Add the beans and soaking liquid, season, and cook for 6-8 hours.

These beans fill your home with the most wonderful aroma while they cook. Last time I made them, I left the house for a few hours and was fairly overwhelmed upon pulling into the garage, opening my car door, and catching the scent of the beans cooking in the house. Another time the smell wafting through the neighborhood attracted a dog to my garage door.


Serve them alongside some beef, chicken, barbecue, taters, or let them stand alone. I cannot overstate the greatness of this recipe. They'll be the hit of the party every time.

Vernon, Florida

I read the preprint of an article discussing the documentary Vernon, Florida. After reading that the town got the nickname "Nub City" because people in the town were lopping off their own limbs to collect insurance money, and that at one time more than fifty such cases were reported in a town of only 500 people, I knew the film would have some colorful characters.

So I invited Steve, my good docu-/mockumentary watching friend, over. And what menu goes with this film?, I asked myself. I could do turkey, because one of the main characters was a Zen Master of turkey hunting. Other possibilities? Ham perhaps? All my ideas seemed too conventional, and then it came to me.


I had seen frog legs in the seafood case at the United Market Street stores. I had heard they tasted like chicken. If ever there was a perfect dish to accompany a film about "Nub City," surely frog legs was it. I went to Market Street on 98th & Quaker and searched without success for frog legs. I asked the girl behind the counter if they had any frog legs. With a half smirk, she said they were out, but I should try the other Market Street store, because "they sell weird stuff."

I went to the Market Street on 50th & Indiana and approached the seafood case. There were the frog legs at $5.99 a pound. I made eye contact with the woman behind the counter. "I would like one pound of frog legs, please." The face she made was classic. It was a perfect combination of surprise, horror, and disgust. "You don't get that request often?" I asked.

I bought my frog legs and went home. The meat was almost as inexpensive as chicken. I had a recipe ready, Sauteed Frog Legs with Tomato Garlic Butter. Unfortunately the recipe did not specify whether to sauté the meat bone-in or not, and since I had not cooked frog legs before, I wasn't sure what the norm was - if there is anything normal about eating frog legs.


I set myself to the task of cutting the meat off the bones, and it took me awhile just to finish a pound of legs. It took me so long, in fact, that poor Steve had to go to work mashing potatoes. The meat cooked quickly. I added tomatoes, shallots, and substituted sherry for the white wine. I didn't measure it out, and I may have put too much in. Added a little chopped parsley and plated it up with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. I tried the first bite. The frog meat was a little rubbery, springy, you might say, if you're into bad jokes. It had a slightly fishy flavor as well.


Suffices to say I wasn't the biggest fan of frog legs. What was even worse was that I tossed the bones and scraps of frog meat into the trash, but I didn't take out the trash for a couple of days. By that time, the stench was quite lethal. Scott said it could be used in chemical warfare.

For dessert, I made a Buttermilk Chess Pie, which sounded good and Southern to finish off the meal. I tried a recipe from the Good Book. I guess I undercooked the pie, but it was still especially awful. Perhaps it was bad kitchen karma on account of what I did to the frogs.


As for the film, it was interesting, though not quite the freak show I hoped for. I had to turn on the captions to understand the speakers due to their thick accents. The panhandle of Florida is a lot like the Panhandle of Texas. I could envision any one of those characters sitting at the local Dairy Queen telling the same wild tales.

Harold and Maude and Ginger Pie

I'm on a great streak of combining my food with movies, the latest pairing being Harold and Maude with Ginger Pie. Talk about a quirky little movie. I hadn't seen it in years; the thing I remembered most about it was that I liked the soundtrack provided by the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens.

A few months ago Rob asked me if I could make ginger pie as in what Maude serves Harold in the movie. Humph, I've never had that or made it or heard of anyone else doing so either, I told him. I started searching for recipes online. There's nothing out there, I've looked, he said. There are only recipes for lemon ginger, pear ginger, ricotta ginger, but there's no ginger pie. He was right. I found Mile High Ginger Pie, but it still looked to be more instant vanilla pudding than ginger.

Rob arrived as I was finishing the pie filling. I had no idea how this pie-making project was going to turn out. We tried the filling before pouring it in the crust. Hey, that's not bad--actually it's good. Filling in the pie crust, pie in the oven, checked it at 30 minutes, decided to let it stay in a few more, then out of the oven to cool.

We started Harold and Maude, and at the part where Harold is over at Maude's and she offers him oat straw tea and ginger pie, we paused the movie to try a slice. We liked it a lot. It definitely had the dark, sweet ginger flavor of gingersnaps or gingerbread. Rob was especially excited to taste it, because apparently he'd wanted to try this pie since 1985 when he first saw the movie. So without further ado, I present a completely original Kimberly recipe, that is, best I can tell, unlike any others out there:


Ginger Pie

ingredients

8 ounces crystallized ginger, chopped
1 cup water
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1 tablespoon honey
1 egg
1 prebaked 9-inch pie shell
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, chilled

preparation

Preheat oven to 325°F.

Combine the crystallized ginger and water in a heavy saucepan. Cook over high heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon, until water is mostly evaporated and mixture is thickened and sticky, at least 10 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in the heavy cream.

Mix the flour, brown sugar, honey, and egg together in a separate bowl. Then stir in the ginger mixture. Pour this mixture into the prepared crust. Thinly slice the butter and arrange the pieces over the top of the filling.

Place pie on the lower-middle rack of the oven and bake for 35-40 minutes. Cool to room temperature before cutting.

One change I made from what I originally did was specifying that the ginger be chopped. Last night I used large pieces of crystallized ginger, instead of chopping them, and when I got a bite with a big piece of ginger, the flavor was a little too strong for me. Also, it was only after the pie was in the oven that I realized that I hadn't added salt or vanilla to the pie filling, which things I'm pretty sure every pie needs a little of, so I may make that change for future experiments. The only other problem I see is that the filling is a little shallow for a 9" pie. I would remedy that with a little more cream and sugar and an additional egg.

Between the Ginger Pie and Sunday's Summer Berry Pie, I'm on quite a pie kick. I would love to know how the recipe turns out for you.

You can do what you want.
The opportunity's on
And if you can find a new way
You can do it today.