Mister Splashy Pants is seen here awaiting the four and twenty blackbirds she hopes will emerge from the pie.
Unfortunately for Mister Splashy Pants, the chickens who gave their thighs for the pie are long gone, and, a few days later, so was all of the bastila, with none left for her. Poor cat received none of the bird pie.
According to Paula Wolfert, who is sometimes annoying with her academic informative instructions (e.g. there are times when I want a recipe for lamb tagine, not to understand the origins and provenance of sixteen different recipes for lamb tagine), but who is very informative none the less, bastila is also written pastila, bisteeya, and bestela.
I followed Paula's recipe for "Bastila of Fez with Chicken" fairly closely-- including making a batter a day in advance and attempting to make thin
warqa pastry rather than using commercial phyllo (fillo). To make warqa by this method, one much use two different kinds of brushes: silicone for oil and natural bristle for spreading a film of batter into the make-shift double boiler. It actually works (you can see a layer in front of the cookbook below) but once I added up the 2 minutes per layer and subtracted those that weren't full circles, I finished thawing the phyllo. The final pie included six chicken thighs, nine eggs, lots of almonds and lots of spices. I flipped the whole thing twice so the outer layer was browned and crispy and there was not a soggy bottom in sight.
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| Warqa cooking in a make-shift double boiler. |
I'm rather impressed with myself for seeing all the steps through, not deviating from the recipe, and finally making a bird pie. As I was making it, I was also feeling thankful for The Mister and Aster and Dianthus, for whom cooking is fun; the cookbook,
Foods of Morrocco, a gift from my BiL and SiL; and the cookbook rack, a gift from my B and my SiL. As I was mulling how great it was that I had parents who introduced me to Moroccan food while I was young (among many other cuisines), I started thinking about Paula Wolfert and her struggles with Alzheimer's, which made me very sad. I'll admit that I wasn't particularly sad for Paula*, as I don't know her and she seems to be ending her life in a way that she chose while she had a chance. It made me sad that someday my mother won't be around and then with whom will I discuss cooking-based pop culture? Or if I'm not around, with whom will my mom discuss Paula Wolfert's last cookbook? They never tell you that a great downside of sharing interests with your parents is that you will become friends and then someday you will lose a parent (or an adult child)
and the only other person you know who discusses personalities and love lives of cookbook authors. They never tell you that a downside of being an over-thinking sensitive person, just like your parents, is that you will find yourself struggling to make lemony egg curds in the reduced spiced poaching liquid, yourself reduced to an emotional wreck because someday you won't have someone to call up and chat about a cook. It is probably telling that my response to the emotional outpouring was not to call my mother and thank her for being my friend (thanks Mom!), as she was out to eat anyway (yes, Dad, you spoil her. But she spoils you too.), but to contemplate who I can convince to follow food world gossip. Any takers?
*Sure, I'm on a first name basis with lots of people I will never meet, including several cookbook authors.
SPOILER: If it is just about the pie, you can skip my blog and read The Art of the Pie because Kate McDermott is already a non-professional pie baking advocate who has written all the tips (for pie and life, keeping cool is essential; you should host a pie pot-luck and give everyone a blue ribbon for bringing a pie; measure fruit by filling your pie shell, "smoosh" your dough) and she starts out by talking about helping bake her grandmother's last pie. The book has been written. You only need me for cute kid pictures and to bake you a birthday pie.
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