A is for apple pie

I wanted it.  I wanted it, bad.  Oh my, I could smell it and taste it in my dreams.   Before, I tell you want I wanted………….first I want to invent scratch and sniff computer screens.  for real.

pie.  Good Ol’ American, homemade Apple pie.  

When you choose to take away lots of junk in your life, let’s face it, dessert is the first to jump ship.  In the last 2 years, my life has dramatically changed.  By dramatic, I mean going from making/baking a lovely dessert 5 times a week to once or twice a year…………..that’s dramatic, girlfriend, plain and simple.


I have had it on my mind.  I can’t stop.  I have tried.  I have really tried.  We shared one slice while on vacation.  It was so good.  So tart and tangy and full of berries.  It was perfect to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving.   December of last year, I had  amazing, shirt staining (oops) Blackberry pie while visiting my sister-in-law.  Her pie is so good, you throw manners out the window and lick your fork clean.  You then use your clean fork to smash and pick up every single pie crust flake left on your dessert plate.  So good, you almost, just for a moment, wish you could pick up your plate and lick it clean.

I have been holding hands with a girlfriend in Florida.  We hold hands to get through the tough parts of our lives.  It helps.  She somehow lifts my spirits when no one else can.  I feel like 8-year-old girls, holding hands tight and then feeling the rhythm.  Back and forth, back and forth………then jumping into the jump rope at that perfect moment.  Pig tails flying, we seem to do better when holding hands and giggling.  Last week she made an apple pie.  I swear to you, the way she writes, I could almost smell it through the phone lines all the way to Washington state.

So I went to the grocery store.  I have never bought a “store-bought” pie before.  I was desperate.  Wow, I felt weird.  Really, how on earth could I serve a $2.38 frozen pie to Mr. Right.  Oh, dang.  He is worth more than that.  Heck, I am worth more than that.  I read the ingredient list.  I had to use the bifocals part of my glasses and tip my head up like an old granny.  I had to sound out words that I had no idea what they were.   Okay, that idea was now officially dead in the water.

SNAP OUT OF IT.  It is just pie.  You just want one piece of apple pie.

One girlfriend, gently suggested I get my “fix” by enjoying a baked apple, stuffed with cinnamon and spices and butter for dessert.  While, normally a charming and delicious idea, I needed, I craved pie.

Okay, I can drive to the local bakery.  I could get an apple fritter.  They are open on Sunday’s.  It is only 11 miles from our home.  Then 11 miles back.  Not that bad really.  I could look at the pretty fall colors as I drove to the wood floor, beautiful wood and glass cases filled to over flowing with amazing sinful choices.  I would choose an apple fritter.    Good, but who was I kidding.

Since we have changed our way of thriving, our pantry is filled to overflowing with vegetables and quinoa and spinach and kale.  We have baskets of fruits and squash just waiting on the counter.  I no longer have the supplies on hand to bake a pie.

I went to the grocery store and had to buy flour, sugar, & shortening.

Yesterday, I peeled Gala and Granny Smith apples.

20141103_145302I got out my rolling-pin.  I measured and smiled.  I made a beautiful pie crust.

I overfilled and piled high gorgeous cinnamon & spice covered apple slices into my pie pan.  A regular 9 inch pie pan.  Yes, folks that is a normal sized pie pan.  Not a 15″ over sized, deep dish pie you can buy at the store in the land of huge portions.

I turned on the oven.

I put the top crust on my pie.  I fluted the edge.  I sliced the vents.

Then I cleaned up and called my sister-in-law.  Over the years, she has taught me so much about baking and cooking and taking care of family.  I owe her.  I owe her a perfect slice of pie.   I wanted to share the smell of an amazing freshly made Apple pie baking in the oven.  I invited her, my brother-in-law and niece over to share pie.  I live in Washington state.  They live in Vermont.  She played along and said,  “we will be over later tonight.”  I sort of had tears in my eyes.  I really wished we were not play acting.  I wish we were sitting down and sharing pie.  Oh and two-handed coffee.  No cell phones, no distractions, just two hands wrapped around a mug of steaming hot coffee, while waiting for pie to be served.

I tell you, one of the best aromas on earth just has to be, baking Apple pie.  No, silly, not a fancy candle scented like fresh-baked apple pie.  The real thing.  Crust turning a golden brown color, apples baking, cinnamon blending with the real butter and a splash of lemon juice bubbling away.

The buzzer rang.

I took the pot holders my niece had woven for me, I reached in and smiled.  I pulled out the most beautiful thing I have seen in quite a while.

I placed it gently on the rack to cool.

I waited.

After dinner, dishes done, juice made for tomorrow, things readied for the morning………..the time had come.

I got out a knife and pie server.  (I polished the pie server earlier in the day.  This is an event worthy of a polished silver pie server.)

I got out two dessert forks, two dessert plates, two linen napkins.

I cut two very generous slices of fresh pie. apple pie

I served Mr. Right.

I served myself.

That first bite.  Tangy, sweet, spicy, flaky crust all on one small dessert fork.   Simply perfect.

So worth every single bite.

(between you & me, I may have licked my finger and cleaned up every single flake of the crust)

Today, election day here in America, I am grateful.  Grateful for the right to vote.  Grateful for Mr. Right. Grateful for my family and friends.

You know I am going to say it……

Grateful for pie.





6 thoughts on “A is for apple pie

  1. I’m so glad you didn’t burn your pie like I burned mine. Yours tasted much better than mine, I’m sure.
    I loved baking our apple pies together!

    Love from,
    Your hand-holding,
    Pig-tail flying,
    Pie burning,
    Kick your feet up high in the swing,
    Ever loving,

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