Yesterday felt like Spring. It had warm, clear skies, and it was not wet. In addition to staying dry, we got a pumpkin. Living in little hippie Eugene, Paul has had the opportunity to take a class called Urban Farm. Part of the deal is that all the food the farm produces goes to the students. So yesterday surprised us with a giant slice of pumpkin. And we were so so excited. Because pumpkin means pumpkin pie.
We roasted it in the oven all afternoon with butter and brown sugar. And it smelled like heaven. This past fall we never actually made pumpkin pie. We perfected pumpkin cheesecake, but never the real deal. I have also never made pumpkin pie from scratch with a real pumpkin before, so this was a treat.
We ate it for breakfast this morning. Paul said it was the best pumpkin pie he has ever tasted. It is light in color and beyond fluffy. We did have a few minor mishaps along the way, though. We underestimated how watery the filling would be before it was baked. We overfilled the crust until it actually flowed over the edge of the pan. Then we tried to pick it up to put in the oven and more spilled out, all over my phone. We finally got it safely to the oven, but when I went to check on it 15 minutes later, I was under the impression that it would finally be more solid. It was not. A large wave splashed over the pan and onto the oven floor sizzling and smoking when I yanked the oven shelf out to check on it. So the moral of the story is to give the pie filling some credit, and just leave it alone. Once it cools, you can eat it and you will be so happy that you will forget about how it spilled all over your kitchen floor.