Mmmmm pie

Last night I made beetroot pie. Hmmm I hear some of you groan with distaste – what a horrid thought. Yes, well beetroot is one of those vegetables that you either love or hate, but I think it is absolutely delicious – especially when mixed with cheese in a tasty, yet extremely soggy, sandwich. However, most of those in residence here at the present decided that it would be well worthy trying out, so bravely I set about preparing it.

As anyone will know, beetroot bleeds – profusely. The recipe demanded the vegetable in its fresh state, so I set about peeling and grating one and a half pounds of the little balls of beetiness. After attempting to grate one with the aid of the normal grater, then tossing this aside in frustration after once again peeling my fingers (slippery little suckers, beetroot) I then tried the mouli. No luck – it refused to even try and grate. I then decided that this was a job for my super-dooper electric mixer – you know the sort – the ones with so many attachments you need a specially devoted cupboard to keep them all in one place. However, even that had trouble! Great lumps of dark pink vegetable thumped and scraped around the grater attachment, refusing to be shredded, but, with gritted teeth, I persevered.

Eventually, all was done, but the mixer, the kitchen surfaces, my hands and everything I accidentally touched became covered in a rather fetching shade of dark pink. The water in the washing up bowl became a darker, richer colour - as if I had tried to clean off the evidence after having committed some macabre act of vengeance upon some unsuspecting visitor, who had unwittingly ventured into the kitchen during my labours. The whole kitchen had become a scene likened to those glorious days of Hammer House of Horrors. If you listened hard enough, you could almost detect the unequalled rich, dulcet tones of Vincent Price in the background.

But, guess what? The pie was delicious. I would thoroughly recommend it to anyone who likes beetroot, and who can stomach the trials of trying to grate the little sods.