Tomato paste? Hmm, nope. Worcestershire sauce? Maybe…actually, no way. Thyme? Too tricky, forget it. Cabbage? I’m the only person in our house that even likes cabbage.

What does that leave me with then? A cooked pile of ground beef and diced potatoes absolutely, undeniably, unequivocally, unabashedly, utterly devoid of flavor that was to be the filling for my first crack at savory hand pies for dinner.

Aw man.

Let me tell you how I ended up in such a sad state of affairs. In my travels through the Twitterverse, I saw a recipe around St. Patrick’s Day for Irish Beef Hand Pies tweeted by Kitchen Daily by way of Martha Stewart and I quickly favorited it to have on–sorry to type this–hand.

I never had this particular dish before, but I’m really good about getting behind savory hand-held pastries. Who knows? Maybe it brings me back to those Hot Pocket days of yesteryear I enjoyed so much (but am in no rush to revisit now). Anyway, I was down to give these a try. However, one question always comes to mind when talking about food for the family:

Will Tillie eat it?

Not with those aforementioned ingredients, I figured. Visions flashed through my mind of her biting through a hand pie as originally intended and curling her mouth up with such disgust that I might never want to cook again. So I left out the tomato paste, Worcestershire sauce, thyme and cabbage. And evidently, the flavor.

That ground beef and potato mixture was some of the driest and tasteless food I’d ever put in my mouth. I tried to add more salt, but nothing doing: It just wouldn’t, couldn’t get right. And I was left thinking, “Van, you took the coward’s way out. Better to go out knowing you went for it, then self-sabotage.”

After beating myself up over this for a while and resisting the urge to call my wife to tell her and Tillie to just pick up a pizza on the way home, I picked myself up and decided to fight back.

“Horrible-tasting, dry meat and potatoes, you’re goin’ down!”

I reached in the fridge and grabbed this marinade I recently bought from a butcher’s in Brooklyn. I put a spoonful of it in there, then another, then another until it started to look like some moisture action was happening. I wasn’t tasting it, though, as I went along: I figured it was smelling pretty decent, so maybe it would be alright.

We’d all find out together!

Then, I went to work on my pie crust—store-bought, of course. I had to roll out the shell, then cut it into the necessary pieces. We had a crust from 1996, or at least it seemed that old because when I put the dough roller to it, it practically crumbled.

Luckily, the fresher ones I picked up that day held true and I got to hand-pie-making. Soon after I got them into the oven, a nice aroma started making its way through the kitchen and I started to have a glimmer of hope that everything would be OK.

Tillie and Nancy came home from their bike ride, then went upstairs for T to take a bath. While the hand pies were baking, I sauteed up your favorite green and mine, some kale. I heard exclamations from Tillie and Nancy that things were smelling good, which was great to hear.

Soon, it was hand-pie-removal time. I took a bite of one of the shoddier-looking ones—they didn’t all make it into the oven looking picture perfect—and was pleasantly surprised. It came out with some nice flavor.

I asked Tillie if she wanted to try a bite, but then quickly rescinded my invitation. I didn’t want her saying “no way” before she even sat down at the table. I fixed her a full plate and served myself up one. Nancy got her own dish together, then we convened at the table with me anxious to see what Tillie thought. She took a bite and…

She liked it! She really liked it! Success! But not just regular success. No, this was snatching victory from the jaws of defeat success! Despite myself, I did it—and Tillie rewarded me with two thumbs up.

The pies were a hit—plus she was killing that kale.

All in all, it was a good meal. Granted, she did lose her enthusiasm about eating the hand pie. But I have it captured for posterity that she was happy at one point while eating the dish. Would I make it again? Probably. I can’t see Tillie clamoring for it anytime soon, but I’ll give it a shot in the future—maybe even with all the ingredients.

That’s something to ponder for another day, though. Right now, it’s moment-savoring time!

NOTE: Oh, before I forget, the headline says Part 1 because I’m going hand-held for the next dish, too: stay tuned!