The pie crust recipe I have came from my mom with about a hundred disclaimers about how difficult it is and that she rarely gets it just right and not to blame her if I end up eating custard on a brick on Thanksgiving instead of pumpkin pie. I was certain, however, that I could create the perfect, flaky crust without much ado. Maiden aunts are born to bake, I told myself. It's what we do. It's how we bribe people to be our friends.
But by the time rolling attempt #3 resulted in a hockey puck, my confidence began to waver. I abandoned that batch of dough and mixed up a fresh one. I was beginning to get a feel for the texture, and for how much water I needed to add at the end to bring it all together. I decided that my mom forgot to mention when she gave me the recipe that it makes two crusts if you know what you're doing.
After it rested for a while in the fridge, I rolled the whole ball of dough out into a big circle, transferred it to the pie plate, hacked off what I didn't need, and crimped the edges. Some filling and an hour in the oven later, I had a pie. Fear not, Gentle Readers. I did not throw away all that extra dough; I made pinwheels. Melted butter, sugar, and cinnamon can solve a lot of problems.