Pie

Pie is a part of my family tradition. My grandmothers were excellent pie makers. They passed their knowledge on to my mother, aunt and uncle, who added their own techniques. Flaky homemade crusts surround sweet fillings throughout the year, especially when fruits are in season. In the summer, they make cherry, peach, berry and rhubarb pies. In the fall and for the holidays, we have pumpkin, apple and mincemeat pies. On occasion, banana cream and lemon meringue pies have been known to be tossed into the mix.

Their adept hands make these pies quickly. They typically frown upon any type of cooking which requires, “too much messing around,” as my grandma says. The process still takes a couple hours, which makes each pie seem like a gift, but the pie is just part of it.

Cinnamon and sugar crisps are made with leftover pie dough and toasted in the oven. Luckily, they are done long before the pie, and can be eaten as soon as one’s fingers can pull them off the pan. It is always fun to see the design on the top of the pie. Sometimes it is a few quick pokes with a fork, or a letter indicating the type of pie. Other times, my mom will cut out a little dough shape with a cookie cutter and lay it on top. Some of my favorite memories are of the times I got to try to cut out the design.

When the pie comes out of the oven, it is placed on a little elevated cooling rack. It stays in this position of importance until it is cool enough to put into a pie container where it awaits serving. While cooling, we all walk by to check it out. If the design on the top is a letter, my brother likes to ask if it is a M or a W. He hopes it is a W, even though we don't make pies with any significant ingredients that start with W, because if it is an M that means it is probably mincemeat pie, his least favorite. The letter A indicates his favorite pie, Apple.

Even if it isn’t a holiday, the first slices of pie are usually not eaten until they can be shared; say, after a meal. Then, all other slices are eaten when one has the urge, except for the final piece. The last piece is not just eaten, but is awarded with some sort of determination through official channels that you deserve the last piece, either because it is your favorite kind of pie, or you didn’t have a piece after dinner.

When my father was a boy, he actually knocked a pie out of a window on two separate occasions, because he was trying to examine it while it was cooling. Even though it is a hilarious story, I think we are all still disappointed that noone got to eat those pies. Each time it is told, I feel my own eyes bug out as I imagine what a predicament it would be to wreck the fresh pie, and then you'd also have to tell someone you did it. Then I look around the room and everyone else has the same expression on their face, or a smile acknowledging this rascally moment in time which probably marked my father for life.

Although the phrase ‘as American as apple pie’ still evokes images of wholesome, family tradition, pie-making has become old fashioned. Store-bought pastries or easy-to-use mixes for brownies or cakes are more typically seen as desserts at social gatherings. The fresh pies that used to be spin prominently in restaurant display cases have often been replaced with trendier sweets that stay fresh longer and can be made at offsite production facilities such as cheesecakes or tortes.

I cherish my family’s love of pie. It is a simple metaphor for the way we live. Family is special. It is warm and comforting. It doesn’t require elaborate expressions of commitment or thanks, but it is a gift built upon a framework of tradition, respect and love. Above all, it makes you feel good on the inside.