Chicken Pot Pi © 2010 Cameron Blazer // Cottage Industrialist

I love pie. But I really love pi. Like, as in, I wrote a poem about it. But I really love that March 14, also known as 3.14, is a chance to indulge in pastry goodness in the name of the great ratio.

In that spirit, I set about to make a pie worthy of Sunday supper: a chicken pot pie. Now I know at least one person who is so traumatized by the childhood spectre of frozen pot pies with pearl onions and english peas that I can do nothing to remedy her image of the dreaded pot pie. But I didn't grow up with pot pie—my mom never made it fresh or frozen—so I have no ties to the old ways of doing it. As an adult, I have tried many a pot pie--some good, some, well, if you can't say anything nice... I had one a few months ago that featured a light broth studded with edamame and lima beans, and it was fabulous. And another not too long ago sported a thicker bechamel-y sauce chockablock with duck confit and carrots. Also fabulous.

For my version, I wanted to make personal-sized pies. Because who doesn't like tiny food? But I didn't want to go the route of most personal-sized pies I've had: a pie served within a piece of hot crockery. My little boy is pretty clever, but I didn't think it was fair to serve him a molten piece of ceramic filled with boiling bits of chicken and vegetables. So I used my tiny springform pans (available in my OpenSky shop) to make personal pot pies that could stand on their own.

Photo © 2010 David Mandel // Ampersand Industries

A few weeks ago, my dad gave me a hand-crank pasta machine that he hadn't used very much, hoping, perhaps, that a new machine would cure me of my curious wafflemania. It worked like a charm. I am now totally pastamanic.

This weekend, while fiddling around with the machine, I decided to make filled pasta. But there was one problem. I had no ricotta, no ground meats, no beautiful vegetable purées with which to fill my pasta. But there was a fresh carton of plain, whole-milk greek yogurt. Why couldn't that be a filling for tortellini or ravioli? Friends. Friends! It can be a filling for tortellini. A gorgeous, silky, tart filling. When both my husband and my son (he of long months of entrenched mistrust of all things pasta) devoured it and asked for more, I knew I had a winner on my hands.

And so my husband and I put together this wee (ok, "wee" is a bit misleading, since this thing clocks in at 20 minutes) video tutorial illustrating from start to finish how to make the semolina pasta dough I used (no eggs!), the filling (eggs here!), and the classic tortellini shape. This was our first crack at making a video. I hope you guys like it. But be forewarned. There is a fair amount of 1) me talking and 2) my ghostly pale skin throughout this video; only the brave should venture forward:

Click here for the recipe and video:

If you want to read my natterings about the process of designing these (and my relief at finishing them), there's more than enough nattering to go around (just scroll below the thumbnails). But without further ado, I give you July through December:

Ever since I started Cottage Industrialist (well, really before I started it), I have dreamt of opening a shop—in a cottage, of course—that would corral all of the craft and kitchen products that I use and love, and that would be a source of community to get to know others who share my interests.

But real life always makes itself apparent, and my dreams have been shelved in favor of more pressing issues like paying the mortgage, putting dinner on the table, and giving most of my energy to my real job as a public defender.

Until now.

I first learned about OpenSky a few months ago when Amy Powers launched her shop—a shop featuring craft products she uses and loves, some of which I'd never even heard of. A few weeks later, Michael Ruhlman followed with a shop full of the cooking tools he uses every day. And I got curious.

Friends, I have sacrificed in the name of waffles. And by sacrificed, I mean, I have made waffles every weekend for a month in a quest to suss out the greatest home-made waffle I could make. Which is to say I have gained 5 pounds in a month. 5 tasty, tasty pounds.

I'm really not such a big Valentine's Day person. I tend toward the sardonic more than the saccharine in my personal life. So in the spirit of keepin' it real on this here blog, I'm offering up three printable cards that are in line with my personal romance philosophy. These are definitely tuned to my sense of humor—your mileage may vary.

I don't know about you, but I sometimes I think a little menace adds necessary spice to boring old love. To wit: feeling preppy & vaguely stalker-y? Go with alligators.

Continue Reading . . .

Ok. So I did a little math. And though February is a shorty of a month, by its end, there will be 50+ extra minutes of daylight per day (at least here at the 32nd Parallel) that we didn't get at the beginning. I think that's pretty good for such a wee little month. We're going to need all that extra sunlight for Spring and Summer's bumper crops. In the meantime, we're still trying to keep it seasonal around my house, and Heather is back at it at Home Ec 101 with a new batch of seasonal recipes featuring some of my favorite cruciferous veggies.

  © 2010 Cameron Blazer // Cottage Industrialist

Well, it's that time of year again. While I don't care about receiving flowers or chocolate on February 14 (or the 18th, for that matter), I find that, as with most things, my enthusiasm is far greater when I consider the holiday through my kiddo's eyes. And, since he seems to see the world as one giant construction site/rocket ship launch pad for mankind, this year I put together these rocket ship valentines. Well, we did. Le kid was instrumental in the design of the ship, though he is a little disappointed that "da Spaceman" doesn't have a face. And I'm a little disappointed that I can't draw faces. We are both learning to live with disappointment. It doesn't mean we can't share the love.

   Photo courtesy Clemson University Flying Club

To the seven members of the 1928 Clemson Aero club, their advisor was a teacher and mentor. To my family, he was known simply as "Boppy."

Boppy taught at Clemson and ran the woodshop there for decades. His specialty was furniture, and pieces of his handiwork are scattered across the eastern seaboard among the members of my mother's family. And among my mother and her sisters' fondest memories is flying from the trees in airplane swings fashioned by Boppy. Though he died the year I was born, his impact even in my life has been profound in ways I am only now coming to understand.

Notwithstanding the cognitive dissonance of a tropical leaf made of wool felt, I'm pretty happy with the way this laptop sleeve came out. It should have taken me an hour, but I got ridiculous and pulled out the embroidery needle, so it took the better part of the afternoon. Good thing I had the afternoon off.