I had lunch with my grandmother on Thanksgiving – the Kid stayed home with sniffles. He’s mad because he hasn’t been able to go with me to see her. “But I’m not sick today!” I asked her about her favorite pies. She was a fabulous pie baker, I hear. She claims she baked pies because her attempts at cakes were all disasters, but I’m not sure I believe her. She told me about the cream pie her mother (or grandmother or both) made. Extra pie crust, some flour and sugar in the bottom, cream poured on top and mixed up with a finger. Bake until done. Oddly enough, Mom and I were talking and remembering that same pie earlier that day. I remember Mom making it once or twice and she remembers my grandmother making it with leftover crust. Funny how we talk about/remember the other folks and not our own bakings. Mom’s favorite pie is her mother’s (my grandmother/Mema) apple pie. Loved to watch her slice the apples into the crust. And that’s something I loved watching Mom do. So I made myself a little cream pie the other day and it was delicious. The next day, I made two little apple pies, with an apple the Kid left after a bite or two, and poured cream into one for me. Also delicious. And Mema says Mom came up with the leftover pie crust spread with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, rolled up and cut into cookies.
(A silly thing the Kid just said: I can pick up a million things in one hour!)
Apple pie is the Kid’s favorite. And the rest of us love it too, especially baked up in hand pies.
It’s time to gather up my grandmother stories and hold them close and Remember them.