I have a small wooden sign in my kitchen that states” Pie Fixes Everything”. I believe this. Now, we all have to believe in something, right? Well, I believe in Pie.
My favorite memories usually include Pie. Nana Beardsley’s home filled with relatives and laughter on Thanksgiving, for example; on that day you were allowed more than one piece of Pumpkin, Apple, Coconut Cream, Blueberry, or Mince. How about My Mother showing up at my Boston University dorm with a homemade Raspberry pie? Or those times in Los Angeles in the early 1970’s when you could go to “4 and 20” pie shop and buy amazing Texas Pecan or stupendous Dutch Apple. Just call me Greta Carbo!
My Nana Frederick was a great pie maker, as was my Mom. They could both create these stupendous crusts that I have never been able to achieve. Although, I must say that I have become a better pie maker through the years; I think it has to do with getting into a zone of patience and focus. I am better at that now. Practice, confidence, letting go. All part of the pie process.
Today is Thanksgiving Day. My own tradition dictates that I must have Pumpkin Pie with mounds of real whipped cream. It is a spiritual moment when the vanilla-tinged cream is placed in huge dollops on top of the pie, and served to my family. There is silence as the first bites are taken. With the exception of the impatient whimpers of the begging canines at our feet, most of the pie experience is quiet. Communing with something greater than ourselves, we eat the pie with reverence.
I was taught pie making by observing my Grandmothers and my Mother, all experts. Thank you. I live in a place where I can always buy what I need to make any kind of pie I like. Thank you. I have friends who love my pies. Thank you. I have a beautiful kitchen full of cookbooks and baking equipment. Thank you. I will have my Family with me today, eating Pumpkin pie. Thank you.