Pie

Rhubarb custard, my favorite. Photo by Paloma Rozales.

I am a pie baker. Not the kind of pie baker that buys those frozen crusts from the freezer section of the grocery store, then takes them home and fills them with god knows what. I am a bona fide dyed in the wool make it from scratch pie baker, just like my Grandma Aldrich. The only difference between us was she used butter and I use Crisco in the crust. Other than that, I think Grandma would be proud of the creations that come from my kitchen. One of my favorite recipes is Grandma's homemade butterscotch pie. Divine.

Grandma Aldrich, my mentor.

We are a rare breed nowadays. With places like the Grand Traverse Pie Company (GTPC) popping up across the Michigan landscape, women have traded in their rolling pins for GTPC gift cards. Pie baking is becoming a mystery, something our Grandma's used to do. Women fear a pie crust almost as much as a visit to their gynecologist.

I have learned over the years that there are certain things that give women mystical magical powers. Pie is one of those things. No matter what your request, you can make a pie and your wish will come true. Guaranteed. Why in the world would women want to give that up?

People cannot resist a homemade pie. They stand over it, drooling and marveling at the light flaky crust, the intricate lacing on a lattice top, and inhale the soul-penetrating aroma. They are transported to another time, another place, they are flooded with memories of old home. Their eyes close. Their arms involuntarily take their hands toward the pie, only to be slapped by the cook. "Not yet!" she will say.  Eyes pop open and are fixated on the circular piece of heaven, and eating that pie becomes an obsession. They can think of nothing else. They are hooked. 

“Humble Pie:Musings on What Lies Beneath the Crust" by Anne Dimock is a great book about the story of pie in our lives. The following is my adaptation...

"Pie is a window to a person's soul, a lens by which you can see their true nature and know the measure of their worth. You won't be able to take it all in, not in one slice of pie, not in a thousand. Pie is so revealing -- especially rhubarb pie. But to start with, you can choose several traits and look to confirm their presence.

Is the person generous of nature? Look at how they cut the pie. How large are the bites? Not very? Good. 

Do they bear down on their fork with the index finger? They should.

Do they take a bit of crust with each bite or leave it to the last? Oh, the last!

Be mindful of where they begin to eat the slice. While most of us will start at the apex, a particularly curious and lively soul will start elsewhere.

Watch for pauses. Count them. As the number increases, so does their attention to the details of life.

Digging out the filling reveals a propensity to lie.

Nibbling away at the rest of the pie in the pan predicts a person who wants to have things both ways.

And oddly enough, slow, thoughtful chewing has no relation to introspection, but only to how acute their sense of smell is."

Ladies, this is female power personified! The stuff of gypsies, crones, tarot readers, fortune tellers, witches.  All you have to do is make a pie!

Grandma Barton's pie basket

Pie bakers stick together, but they do have their secrets for making the perfect crust and keep the cards close to their chests (bosoms?). Do they use Crisco or butter or lard? Do they use their hands to mix the dough or do they prefer a fork? What type of pie plate do they use most often? Do they bake in their Grandma's apron or stark naked? Vinegar or no vinegar?

It pains me to think of all the wonderful pie crust recipes that have been passed on from generation to generation, only to be lost to the frozen food section. Pie baking is becoming a lost art, something to be showcased at historical reenactments alongside the Civil War battles and the fur traders. Congress should throw money at preserving this important part of our heritage. What is more American than mom and apple pie?

I was so excited the day I discovered my Grandma Barton's pie basket I could of squealed. It looked just like a picnic basket, but was square and had a removable shelf so you could stack two pies. I started collecting them and had about six or seven at one time. But I can't resist gifting a pie basket to another pie baker, especially those who have never seen one before. My stock is down now, but I dream of baking so many pies that each basket is filled to the brim with delicious pear, rhubarb custard, buttermilk, berry, peach, cherry, and butterscotch pies.

So come on gals! Take back one of your mysterious feminine powers and learn how to bake pie before it is too late and all us original bona fide dyed in the wool make it from scratch pie bakers are DEAD! I'll be making the first rhubarb custard pie of the season tomorrow, stop on by.