Apple Strudel

If you’re supposed to have a green thumb for being a good gardener, then I think I have two of those. But if you’re supposed to have … oh, let’s say … a white thumb for being a good baker, I have two black ones!

I can cook till the cows come home. I think. I am not as good as my dad, of course, or mom, not as good as an Iron Chef, on TV, but let’s just say it’ll be tough for anyone to starve at my place! But I cannot bake. I even tried those cans of dough where everything comes prepared, and all you have to do is follow directions about the heat and the time in the oven, and I cannot even bake those! I either burn everything (most common) or everything is raw, if it involves dough.

It seems like the Good Fairies forgot to put that in my mix upon my conception . That is very strange, too, because everyone in my family is a cook and a baker. Mom makes pies and cakes every weekend. My sister makes her own crème brule and her own birthday cakes, too. My mom’s mother made everything: Easter and Christmas pound cake, with walnuts and cocoa, the best apple pies and apple strudel that I have had in my life, the best puff pastries ever! Not me. I cannot bake to save my life. I waste ingredients! I should be restrained when I attempt it. It’s a disaster …

But every once in a while, maybe once a year, I become brave and attempt baking. This weekend’s been cold and dreary and I had some leftover apples in my fridge, from my nephew who would not eat them. I do not eat apples. But I love apple-made stuff. Go figure!

So, I bought some puff pastry dough, and thinking of my grandma and asking her for guidance, I threw the apples in the food processor, mixed some vanilla extract and sugar in with some lemon juice, and make this paste … Filled the dough with the paste, smeared everything with melted low fat butter and put that in the oven.

Of course, the directions failed me again: 350 degrees for 30 minutes rendered my strudel raw. So, I watched it like a hawk for the next 15 more minutes, and it turned out beautiful! Now, I am waiting for the cool down so that I can slice it … My grandma used to use confectioner’s sugar on top of it, but you know me and sweets: we don’t mix. So, I will just eat it as is, with coffee in the morning …

I cannot wait! It looks like there is nothing but pure delicious flakiness and freshness in there!

Flaky perfection! Yum! (if I say so myself)

I am just shocked that it looks done and it’s not burnt. Not even the bottom! It smells delicious in here. Today is the day when I should show my house for selling. Anyone would buy it smelling like this! It smells like Christmas, like home, like happy memories.

This is definitely a first success! I have never made anything edible with dough! I think my grandma’s spirit visited this weekend, on her birthday, and took care of my oven!

Happy birthday, grandma, and … thank you!