This recipe is one I haven't made in years.
I used to make it all of the time when we lived at the other house. The other house . . .
Isn't it funny by what means we use to tell time? My married life is divided in time by the two houses we have lived in. Life with babies and toddlers was at the "other house" and life with school age kids has been at our current house.
It's kind of like how Daddy remembers what year we three kids were each born. "Oh, Elaine was born the year I bought that four-row planter," or "Danny was born that summer when we had the bad drought and it didn't rain from May to August."
Actually, I do remember the year Danny was born - it was really hot and dry and eventful.
We had an old sow that had a hurt leg that summer. She had gotten into a squabble with some of the other sows and had lost. Daddy took her out of the barn with the others and let her rest and heal just outside the feed lot.
We built her a temporary shelter for her to lie under and be protected from the sun, and it was my job to water her. I would water her with the hose a couple times a day and spend time talking to her and singing to her because that's just how I am.
It helped her heal. My singing can do that.
But the old sow wasn't the only thing that needed watered that summer. We also had to water our propane tank. It was accidentally over-filled, and when it got too hot it would spray propane out the top.
I am not exactly sure what the consequence of this free-spraying propane was, but I was certain that it was of the utmost importance that the tank did not get too hot.
So when I watered the old sow, I would also spray some water on the propane tank. Keeping it cool and thus keeping the world from ending.
A lot of responsibility to put on the shoulders of an eleven year old.
In between my life-sustaining watering responsibilities, I was also responsible for keeping the goats out of the road.
These goats were not livestock but rather our pets. Pets who had the propensity to stand in the middle of the road.
Fortunately, we lived on a dead end road with just a few neighbors. Neighbors who knew our goats liked to stand in the road.
When the goats were in the road, the neighbors would honk their horn and we would quickly come running - waving the fly swatter and chasing the goats back into the yard. All was well and good until one of our neighbors found it amusing to just stop and honk in front of the house even if no goats were in the road.
It seems he found it amusing to see us running and waving the fly swatter after non-existent goats.
That was one of the best summers I remember growing up.
Anyway, this recipe was one of my standbys back at the "other house." Which means, Joel doesn't remember it, Megan turned her nose up when I mentioned it, and Levi started to drool at the thought of it.
So for what it's worth, here is cheeseburger pie c. 1995.
1 cup Bisquick
1/4 cold water
1 pound lean ground beef, browned and drained (Actually, you don't have to use the whole pound. I would usually save out 1/4 of it to use to make patty melts another day. Just keeping it real.)
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
2 Tbsp. Bisquick
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 cup small curd cottage cheese
2 medium tomatoes, sliced thin
1 cup shredded cheese
In bowl, mix 1 cup baking mix with water until soft dough forms; beat vigorously 20 strokes. Gently smooth dough into a ball on a floured board. Knead five times. Roll dough 2 in. larger than inverted 9 inch deep dish pie plate. Ease into plate; flute edge of desired.
Mix browned and drained ground beef with salt, pepper, 2 Tbsp. Bisquick, and Worcestershire sauce. Spoon into pie crust; set aside.
Mix eggs and cottage cheese in bowl; pour over beef mixture. Arrange tomato slices in circle on top; sprinkle with cheese.
Bake at 375 degrees about 30 minutes or until set.