Mushroom Hand Pies Recipe
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Category: |
Category: |
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Ingredients: |
Ingredients: 2 pie crusts
1 Tbsp. butter
1 C onion, diced
1 1/2 C mushrooms, sliced or chopped
1/2 tsp. salt and 1/2 tsp. pepper
2 Tbsp. thyme, chopped
2 1/2 C Baby spinach, chopped
1 1/3 C Gouda or Gruyere Cheese, grated
Egg Wash: 1 egg yolk and 1 tsp. water mixed together
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Directions: |
Directions:Filling: Add mushrooms, onions, salt, pepper and thyme in a skillet with butter. Cook 3-4 mins. until softened. Stir in spinach while warm and remove from heat. Let cool and drain any excess juices.
Cut 5 inch circles from pie crusts. A bowl will work for shape. Spoon filling onto one half of each circle and sprinkle with grated cheese. Leave a 1/2 inch space of crust around the edge of the circle. Paint a little egg wash on edge of dough to help when sealing. Fold over the other half and press ends together with fingers.
Lay each pie onto a baking sheet. Make two small slits in center of each pie. Apply egg wash on top and sides of pie. Bake at 350 for 20 mins. |
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Personal
Notes: |
Personal
Notes: I learned about my hands in 2020. Over and over again, I learned how to wash my hands while humming the birthday song. And then I spent the bulk of my days washing my hands. I washed them when I left home, when I returned home, when I got inside my car, when I left my car, when I picked up my mail, after I placed my mail on the table. I used my hands to sanitize grocery carts and I kept my hands on my cart instead of pulling the husk away from the corn to decide if the corn was ripe. I kept my hands in my pockets when I chatted with a friend. I held scissors in my hands as I cut my bangs. I used my hands to place a mask over my face time and time again. My hands wiped away tears as I heard predictions and then real stories about the loss of life during the pandemic. I prayed with my hands more than I have ever prayed before. I was fearful about how I would respond in a conversation so I kept my hands over my mouth. I used my hands to text, to write and to call friends and family who offered familiar voices during scary times. I ran my hands through my hair when I became nervous. I folded my hands in my lap when I wanted to fling a nasty gesture at the tv. And I finally removed my hands from my lap and sent that gesture. I clapped my hands when the tulips bloomed, when the Ballard opera singer sang Nessun dorma and when the Seahawks won. My hands petted my dog every time he walked by me. I put one hand over my heart and clenched my shoulder with the other hand offering myself a hug. I put my hand under my chin and looked upward and thought about the meaning of all things happening. I put my hands over my eyes with viewings of vaccination shots...over and over again. My hands gripped the ladder as my husband placed Christmas lights around our house and I believed that my hands would miraculously catch him if he fell. And I turned pages and wrote pages and tied knots and pulled weeds and played the piano to keep my hands busy. I turned the knobs of the radio and heard Leonard Cohen’s, Hallelujah. I know the day will come when I will throw my hands in the air and shout Hallelujah. Thank you, my hands, for gracing me through this.
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