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I'm working on an article about Cornish pasties right now and I need to put my notes in some sort of order to get started. I figured I could either make a boring outline or I could figure out a way to put things into a BDSM context and work from there. Since I had the foresight to subtitle this blog "A completely unfocused collection of stuff," I figured the latter might be kind of fun. I was recently told that my job as a head cook in a restaurant long ago was something that was "hot," so maybe I'm on to something here. If articles on cooking are "food porn," maybe it's possible to write "BDSM food porn."

In any case, I'm willing to give it a shot. So, for your delectation, I present The Humble Pasty; Being a Instructive Guide to the Scullery Maid.

First off, let's explain what a scullery maid actually is. In a manor with a large staff, there was a strict hierarchy within the domestics. At the very bottom was the scullery maid. If potatoes needed peeling, she was the one to do it. If pots need to be scrubbed, she scrubbed them. She swept ashes out of the stove, kept the kitchen clean, etc. If there was a job everyone else was above, it was the scullery maid's job to do it. Cinderella had nothing on her. It wasn't uncommon for her to feel a switch if she wasn't working hard enough or fast enough or well enough. If she were a ten year-old boy instead of a maid, a Dickens novel would've been written about her.

And so you too, modern reader, can be or have a scullery maid. And a scullery maid is the perfect servant to either make or assist in making the humble meatpie we call a "pasty."

We won't be making a traditional pasty, because you and I, dear reader, are not traditional people. We'll be making a filling of my own and a non-traditional Northern Wisconsin crust of Finnish origin. Where as the Cornish pasty crust is strong and more of an unleavened bread, the Finnish crust is a proper pastry crust and what it lacks in strength is more than made up for with its flakiness. This isn't the peasant's pasty to be roughly grabbed and devoured from one's hands, it is a delicate -- yet still hearty -- dish requiring the use of both a plate and a fork. We are not, after all, barbarians.

I usually make my filling on the fly, without a recipe or a net, but I recorded the amounts from my last batch which -- if I say so myself -- was a good one. It is a blend of meat and potatoes which will require a bit of (well-supervised) chopping. If you have a santoku and your maid knows how to use it, this part will fly by in a jiff. Do not interrupt the maid when she's chopping, no matter how badly she's mauling the vegetables you've provided. If she needs correction, the knife gets laid aside, and then you can lay a firm hand on her behind. Not before. A scullery maid without fingers is of no use to anyone. They're unpredictable creatures in any case, and may very well stab you in a fit of animal panic.

With one pound browned and drained ground beef combine the following, chopped bite-sized:

1 large carrot
1 stick celery
1 medium to large potato (skinned or not, to personal preference)
1 medium onion

This will be a bit dry for cooking, so a simple sauce is added. Boil 3/4 cup of broth (or a cup of water with beef bouillon). In a cup, mix 1 1/2 teaspoons of cornstarch with a splash or two of water (less that 1/4 cup). Stirring the broth with a fork or whisk, slowly add the corn starch mixture. Continue stirring and boil for a bit until thickened. If you poured too quickly, there will of course be consequences. The sauce will be lumpy and the scullery maid will no doubt expect a swat or two on her backside from a suitable wooden spoon or spatula. If there are lumps, beat the mixture vigorously in a large mixing bowl with a whisk and that should clear up the worst of it. If necessary, resume beating the maid at a time of your leisure.

Pour this mixture over your meat and vegetables, mix well, and add:

1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
Salt and pepper, to taste

Heat on medium until you can hear it begin to sizzle, then cover, reduce heat to low, and let simmer while you -- or the maid -- make the crust.

And it is in the crust that the magic of this particular pasty is found. While preheating your oven to 350 degrees (f), in a large mixing bowl combine:

2 cups flour
1 3/4 cup veg. shortening (or, if you're suicidal, lard)
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons salt

Blend in a method I've developed which I'll relay here; take two butter knives and hold them parallel to each other, blades down, in the same hand -- like a two-pronged fork. With your butter knives, cut through the shortening by pulling toward you while turning the mixing bowl. Continue to do this, while occasionally scraping the sides, until the dough is all the same consistency and color and no flour is left behind. This method makes short work of what is otherwise a long and tedious job. If you ever make a pie, use this and think good thoughts of me, because I've made your life so much easier.

Or thank me now. Because the job isn't finished. Add to this one egg and 1/2 cup of cold water. Blend in the same fashion. This will go rather quickly.

You still aren't finished. Cut in two more cups of flour and blend until uniform in color and texture. If the maid is doing this, inspect the work at every turn. If you find it sufficiently uniform, it's ready to be rolled out. You have enough for five or six large pasties. I generally make six.

Separate the dough into balls of uniform size and place on a plate -- cover with a moistened towel. Dust your surface with flour and roll out one ball. You won't be able to roll out a perfect circle -- your dough will invariably resemble a map of the Scandinavian peninsula. You can either use larger balls of dough and then trim them round or, as I do, make the best of what luck gives you. I enjoy a challenge. You may enjoy challenging your scullery maid.

Pull your filling mixture off the burner. Mix it well and spoon mixture into the center of your rolled out shell. Carefully fold the dough over like an omelette and crip the edges together. It may tear slightly and this is fine. If it doesn't tear, you'll have to slit the top anyway. Seal the edges by pressing down with a fork and, using a large spatula, place on a cookie sheet. Repeat until filling is gone.

With any luck, you'll be left with enough dough for one more pasty -- I think of this as my experiment dough. Put anything in there that sounds good to you. I've come to like peeling and coring a couple of apples, covering them with sugar, dusting them with cinnamon, and adding a dash of nutmeg. Make sure you mark this pasty somehow, so you know it's different than the rest. For the apple pasty, I usually cut a sort of "A" in the top, instead of a slit.

Bake the pasties at 350 for 40-45 minutes or until they have an internal temperature of 160 degrees. These are a time consuming dish and I usauly make them beforehand, refrigerate them, then finish baking them when I'm ready to eat. To do this, bake them for 15 minutes and pull them out of the fridge about a half an hour before cooking. Finish baking for 30-35 minutes and serve fresh out of the oven with butter, salt, and pepper.

Enjoy a hearty meal with your scullery maid. Then, you may the resume any corrections she needs.

Wisco