I love pie. When I was growing up, my Grandma made pie for church dinners and hootenannies, each held monthly. She'd also make pies for major holidays. and the yearly Lord's Acre at church. That meant LOTS of occasions for pie-making. I remember Grandma making lemon meringue, pumpkin, cherry, apple, pecan, coconut cream, banana cream, chocolate cream, and strawberry-rhubarb pies. She also made blackberry and peach cobbler.
My grandma's generation knew how to make pie. None of those soapy-tasting little store-bought pumpkin pies for them, although we'd cautiously examine the lemon meringue to assure it wasn't a cop-out pudding filling. Every woman knew how to make pie crust, and most were known for one or two specialties. There were always so many different kinds to choose from, and we could usually tell who'd made a pie by the crust crimping style.
Here's where I kick myself, because as a picky and paranoid child, I would only eat pecan, apple, pumpkin, cherry, or lemon meringue pie. When I was about ten years old, I bit into a pit in a cherry pie, and then I wouldn't eat cherry pie, either. I would gladly eat any of those kinds of pie today, though I still have my favorites.
I wold also dearly love to have Grandma's pie recipes, but there aren't any. Like many other cooks of her era, she didn't use recipes. Grandma was a wonderful intuitive cook and made everything by memory. Since there were so many occasions for pie, I did watch her make pie crust many, many times. She always kept a large, yellow tupperware bowl in the corner of the kitchen, with flour and the sifter in it. I own this bowl now, and it always makes me think of her, singing in the kitchen, clacking her hard-soled shoes on the floor.
She'd sift a large pile of flour into her speckled melamine bowl, then sprinkle in a dose of salt, measured out into the soft palm of her hand. A generous dollop of Crisco was cut in with a fork until the mixture was evenly crumbly. She'd pour in a few spoonfuls of ice water, and mix with the fork until all held together in a ball. Then Grandma would get out her big, scarred wooden cutting board and sift flour onto it, roll out the dough in a perfect circle of even thickness, She'd gently transfer it to a pie tin, and trim and crimp the edges.
I was always so impressed with how fast and surely she did everything, but I loved the edge-crimping the most. She'd pinch the dough into little scalloped ridges with her thumbs and index fingers, and I was always amazed that it came out right every time. Re-rolled dough makes a tough pie crust, so Grandma would always put the crescent-shaped scraps onto a cookie sheet and sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar. We called these "piecrust cookies."
It all looked so effortless and easy. When I was married and grown (probably in that order), I wanted to make pie. I used a recipe,and followed the instructions and my memories. It was a total crap disaster. The dough was either crumbly or sticky. I tried rolling the dough into a regular circle without tearing it or having it stick permanently to the table, to no avail. I've made many pies over the years, but I still don't have the skills to roll a crust out without chilling it first in the refrigerator. I always make pie crust cookies with the scraps, and I tell the kids how my Grandma used that bowl to make pie crust, and she always made these same cookies for us.
Pie: it's not just food, it's heritage.
*Hootenanny: a monthly gathering where live music is performed by community musicians. Pie, desserts, and coffee are served. Also the punchline to a favorite inside family joke.
