02 April 2016

B is for Baking

Baking pies was never one of my strong points.  I watched my mother make pies for years.  Then, when I was tall enough to reach the table, she tried to teach me.  Well, that was an experiment with a disastrous result.

Even in high school home economics class, my crusts weren’t the picture of perfection.  The only reason I passed the class is cause the teacher said my family would never starve since I could cook a few things.  So, for many years, I refused to make pies for the family dinners, specially Thanksgiving.  Thanksgiving, to me, was the most important meal of the year.  I’ve never figured it out, the reason.  Many times, I’d hide the results of my baking attempts until I could toss the thing into the nearest garbage, unnoticed.  Then, sneak to the store and buy one of the handy, dandy frozen ones and bake that.  Always thought I’d fooled everyone.  Hmmpph.  Now, I know.  There’s a difference, a noticeable one.  Very noticeable.

When my sons were old enough to notice other people’s celebration and started asking questions, well, I determined that I’d conquer the pie crust.  I’d spent so many years saying that I couldn’t make a good crust.  And the job usually fell to me since no one else really wanted the onerous duty.  I nabbed one of the old fashioned cookbooks, ya know, the ones that don’t really tell you anything cause the author assumes one already knows how to cook and what all the terms mean?  

Took me many years to actually measure out a teaspoon, a tablespoon, a cup of solids in my hand so I’d  have an idea of how much it was since my mom’s idea was that I’d absorb the knowledge by osmosis.  Never could figure out a lot of what she’d tell me.  Not that it was wrong.  It was just that we had different ways of looking at things.  The source of frustration for both of us that we finally learned to stay out of each other’s way when cooking.  Naturally, I continued measuring out in my hand and wrecking quite a few pie crusts.

Light bulb!

Why not use the expensive implements that usually sit around in the drawers, if they even made it out of the package.  Well, that usually happened after Sister visited and cooked a meal for us.  She follows recipes to the dotted I and crossed T which she tries in vain to have me do.  Another light bulb moment in which the thing went into strobe light mode.

The ancient recipe books.  There was something in there bout what is done precisely.  I looked in others cause my dough didn’t roll out right.  Eureka!  One had a picture of those pea-size globs of dough.  Showed me how to sprinkle in the water, carefully roll it out.

Ahh!  The pure joy of the tasty smelling apple pie with perfectly brown crust, my favorite part of any pie.