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••• Sunday, October 12, 2003

The Pie that Launched 1,000 Snits
Yesterday my husband and I went to the farmer's market. It was a gorgeous day with fall harvest in full swing.

We try to go to the market weekly during the summer (it became more trouble than worthy after The Cakers became mobile and refused all things stroller). But the fall market is my favorite. It's crispy and busy and colorful and just so...I don't know...fertile.

Yesterday I was shopping for pie apples. Northern Spies, for perfect pies. ::I know, that was so easy, it's almost unappeeling:: Fresh picked that morning.

Spies are available for a limited time around here and you can't get them at the grocery store. Many farmers have quit growing them because demand has decreased over the years. And although you can purchase less than fresh, sweeter spies later in the season, there is a small window for the perfect pick, and yesterday that window was wide open.

My mom makes the best apple pie in the world. And there's a tiny story that gets passed along with her infamous recipe. Way before I was born, my mom and dad were eating dinner at the home of a favorite couple, and apple pie was served for dessert. My dad's compliments to the chef included something to the effect that the pie was the best he'd ever eaten.

My mom was stunned, crushed, then pissed. The legend goes that they fought all the way home and there was significant poutage for days after.

My mother wanted that recipe, in a bad way. Back in that day, however, it seemed that homemakers were a somewhat competitive lot, and prize recipes weren't shared with just anyone. The friend said "no" to the request, and my mother continued to seethe.

Somehow my dad joined the mission, likely with two agendas. One, to make peace in his home and two, to bring that pie into the house, forever.

I really don't know the rest of the story, except that my father somehow procured the recipe, much to the delight of my mother, current and future offspring and their offspring. My father was an incurable flirt, and I've always wondered how that factored in.

My mom doesn't bake much anymore, and neither of my sisters do much baking (although they are both very good cooks) so the apple pie torch has been passed on to me.

And I'm here to tell you, 'tis a powerful thing. In my hands, this pie recipe has inspired impromptu marriage proposals (which I declined and suggested that the issue be reconsidered by all parties when not under the influence of pie nectar) and another snit between a husband and wife. The latter occurred when the elderly father of a friend proclaimed "This is the best pie I've ever had!" in front of his elderly wife, who immediately slammed down her fork and briskly began clearing the table. Despite a fire in the hearth, there was a definite chill in the air for the rest of that evening.

But there's been way too much talking and not enough pie, I say. So here's my autumnal gift to you.

The Pie

  • About 8 cups of tart, firm apples (Northern Spies work best, Wolf River are second favorite), pared and sliced thin.

  • 3/4 to 1 cup sugar (depending on personal preference and apple tartness)

  • 2 Tablespoons flour

  • 1/2 to 1 teaspoon cinnamon

  • Dash of ground nutmeg (I overdash to 1/8 teaspoon)

  • Dash of salt (A couple of pinches out of my palm)

  • 2 Tablespoons of Butter

  • Pastry for 2 crust 9-inch pie. (My favorite is the ancient standby, 2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt, 2/3 cup plus 2 Tablespoons Crisco or butter and five Tablespoons of ice water).


    • If apples are not tart enough, sprinkle with 1-2 teaspoons of fresh lemon juice. Combine dry ingredients and mix with apples. Fill pastry lined pie plate with apple mixture. Dot apples with chunks of butter and cover with remaining pastry. Seal, flute and puncture top pastry to allow steam to escape. Bake at 400 for 50 minutes or until nicely browned and juices are piping.

I protect the crust rim with foil or one of those cool pie crust ring thingies.

Here's what one of mine looked like today. I'm not great at "artistic" presentation with my pies. My crusts tend to be hard to manage (which means they're perfectly flaky in the end) so I often end up doing patchwork. The angel is my pie trademark. (I collect angels, and even have a "pie angel" in my kitchen)



Warning: This recipe should be used only by responsible adults or maybe teenagers with adult supervision. It's not a plaything.

P.S. I love the legend of the pie because I don't remember many details about my parents' interactions with one another (outside of lots of kanoodlin' in the kitchen). This story makes "them" as a couple, so real to me. And flavorful.
# posted by Marcia @ 1:00 PM


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