Adventures with Pinterest

I know I'm addicted to Pinterest because I spend hours on there pinning things I'm unlikely to ever make, do or cook. Before Pinterest I used to store "Things I was never going to get back to " under the heading "Things Im probably never going to look at or find again" in my bookmarks on my computer. But with Pinterest I fool myself into thinking if I pin it I've almost made it ...so I don't need to go to the trouble of actually doing the work. 

Aside from the fact I've invested a huge chunk of my life in my co-dependant relationship with Pinterest when I could have been using my time for productive pursuits like brokering world peace or discovering a preventative cure for ingrown toenails I've come to realise that Pinterest makes me really angry.  If I have to look at one more salted caramel dip, cake, cookie, cupcake, icing, frosting, donut or sauce  I may just go postal. I'm so over salty caramel ANYTHING. Let it go. It's the Tiramisu of 2013. Let's all just move on shall we? And peanut butter - every second thing I look at has PB in it. That's right up there with Salty Caramel too. 

And all those talented people out there pinning DIY home gorgeousness - don't they realise that just makes the rest of us feel inadequate? Stop showing off ! Why cant they just live in chaos and disorder like the rest of us? 

Anyway this post does have a point. I've decided to beat Pinterest at it's own game and start making at least some of the stuff I pin. And blogging about it - or submitting my attempts to Pinstrosity because I'm pretty sure there will be stuff ups galore along the way. And being the worlds most prolific Pinterest stuffer upper might be my ticket to fame. 

At some point in the last few weeks apparently I'd taken the adage "an apple a day keeps the doctor away " a little too seriously and I had about 6 kilos of apples slowly desiccating in the bottom of the fridge. I like to tell myself that those kind of things are science experiments so I can leave them there with no feelings of guilt when we all know I'm just waiting for them to go so bad I can legitimately throw them out.

But yesterday I was on a "waste not want not" kick and so I turned to Pinterest for inspiration with apples. 

And came across a lot of recipes for apple butter (and salty caramel apple butter too) It seemed straight forward enough and I thought of all the cool places I could use apple butter- like on toast or pancakes or on ice cream and in cakes and on cakes and as a dip. So I set about peeling and coring umpteen million kilos of apples (OK about 3 kilos worth) and dumping them in the crock pot with Cinnamon, all spice , a ton of sugar , some extra liquid and a teeny weeny bit of ground cloves. And then I checked it every few hours for about 10 hours and occasionally gave it a loving stir.

Before bed I turned the crock pot down to warm for overnight ...because I wanted to gently coddle my apple butter into submission. And I went to bed and dreamed of apple butter pancakes for breakfast. 

And when I woke up this morning I checked out my apple butter goodness and realised that we had obviously had intruders overnight who broke in to turn the crock pot up to high.

All my apples had gone from filling the pot to barely covering the bottom and you could literally stand a spoon up in what was left. 

Not to be deterred I was still confident I could save it. I added some water, mixed it up, turned the crock pot off and waited for it too cool so I could put it in the food processor. I'm an optimist and it's never over till the fat lady sings. 

I processed the apples to within an inch of their lives while the fat lady did her thing and then Mr. P and I bickered over who was going to be the taste tester (and who was going to be the person who ultimately lived) I won and Mr. P drew the short straw because I didn't want to eat something that looked like it belonged in a toilet.  And I kept mentioning that too as he was trying to eat it. 

Its quite funny to see man who will eat almost anything bar beetroot and brussel sprouts struggling to swallow a mouth full of apple whatever the hell that was  because his wife was deliberately blocking the sink so he couldn't spit it out. 

When Mr. P had finally recovered the ability to speak he squeaked out "Ugh - it tastes like medicine-it's horrible ". I thought he was over exaggerating until I put a tiny bit on my tongue. The consistency was like eating a mouthful of wet sand. While I lamented the waste of apples and time Mr. P muttered "Some one at work might like it" and pointedly followed up with "YOUR work"...Enough said. 

I think I'm calling this a fail.