Constance, Age 76
I wanted to learn to bake the perfect pie. At my age, 76, why a pie? I can buy a pie at Costco. Pies are fattening and have everything in them that we are not supposed to eat; white flour, sugar, and fat. Baking messes up the kitchen. If that’s not bad enough – the time I am taking to bake a pie takes away from all the things I should be doing like checking my email or cleaning a closet of old memorabilia; but over the past couple of years I kept remembering the perfect pie dough recipe in the “Cooks Illustrated” magazine I picked up on a whim at the check stand at the Twain Harte Market on the way to the cabin –why on earth a cooking magazine? I’m sick and tired of cooking after 56 years of it, every day.
Flipping through the magazine I came across the recipe for the “perfect” piecrust. I thought, “no pie can ever compete with Jim’s grandmother Mimmy’s pies” and my cooking self esteem had hit an all time low. When Jim retired he took over the bragging rights of stuff I used to do in the kitchen, and my sister in law took over making ravioli and Christmas dinner. I became the deposed matriarch and was no longer Queen of Holiday dinners. I no longer had bragging rights or self esteem in the kitchen – art achievements don’t count for much within the greater family circle. I put the magazine in my binder of quick, easy, healthy recipes so that every now and then I would look at the pie recipe.
What intrigued me the most about this perfect pie dough was one ingredient that could make my pie dough stand head and shoulders above the rest; VODKA. I hate vodka, I’ve hated it ever since I overdosed at a party years ago (another time, another story) and had the only hangover of my life. I was not about to buy vodka to make a pie that was unhealthy anyway. The pie dough recipe was fun to look at now and then, sort of like looking at outlandish shoes at Nordstrom’s, the ones that are completely inappropriate, uncomfortable and bad for your feet. I have to try them on anyway. In the back of my mind the pie recipe was stored alongside thoughts and desires for inappropriate shoes.
Last year after a wonderful Christmas at Sandra’s (her last she decided – our combined families have grown too much), we took a trip to the cabin to recover from Christmas. While putting our groceries from Twain Harte market into the refrigerator my heart did a double flip; there on the shelf was a half full bottle of vodka left by the kids that last used the cabin.
The vodka came home with us and sat in our refrigerator for months. Life went on as usual. Finally it was June, time for Jim to put in the garden and anticipate the fresh, sweet blackberries ripening; the only problem was we had eight pounds or more of blackberries in the freezer. Jim is a perfectionist when it comes to stuff in the freezer; we grow enough berries and tomatoes to supply a fruit stand so what is not eaten or given away gets frozen. He wanted to throw out last year’s perfectly good berries.
I hate to waste food, money and time so I thought “what have I got to loose? My kitchen self esteem was at an all time low; the vodka was taking up space, along with the berries and the old magazine. Take a chance, to hell with cleaning and checking email, I don’t feel like painting.” Besides, I thought, “the Mike Bailey painting idea (painting the same damn still life 20 times till you loosen up) might work with pies.” So I took the plunge.
I sent Jim shopping for the forbidden ingredients, the Crisco, the white flour and unsalted butter. I googled blackberries to fine a recipe for the perfect pie filling then quickly emailed the coffee group that meets on Friday to come to our house the next day for pie, so I would not back out of this risky business. I cleared the kitchen counters and waited for Jim to be occupied elsewhere so I would not have him making comments about how I should do stuff.
I hurriedly made the pie dough exactly as directed then stashed it in the fridge as per “Cooks Illustrated” instructions, then went on with the blackberry filling recipe. The dough was then just right for rolling out, by now my counters were a complete mess but the pie went into the oven. Forty-five minutes later the pie came out of the oven picture perfect. Sunday I baked my fifth and sixth pies. I aim for 20 berry pies.
My self-esteem in the kitchen has recovered enough to make use of our lemons, which are 60 to 70 cents each, at the store, but fall on the ground here. My next adventure will be the “perfect lemon pie” and then on to recreate Mimmy’s famous grated apple pie this fall.
Perhaps I will then use Wayne Thiebaud as my inspiration and paint pies. Why not! Thiebaud is in his 90’s and doing his best work. I am a mere 76. I still have time for perfect pies and painting.
Hi Constance!
People have told me in the past they ‘stopped for pie after church or after the movie’, and I always wondered why on earth would anyone want to go out of their way for a piece of pie?! As you might guess, I’ve always been a cake person. Now that I’m 66 and pondering each day more than I have ever in the past, I found myself for the first time in my life, out picking Marion Berries with a friend. What the heck I wanted berries for was beyond me cause I’ve never really liked any berry except blue berries. Anyway, that day I ended up with about 5 lbs of the dang berries and the only thing I knew to do with them was to freeze them, which I did until one day I decided to make jam with them. Being the ever so conscious health nut, I knew I couldn’t add all the sugar most recipes called for, so I cut the amount dramatically down. When I was tasting the jam as it was cooking, I kept telling myself it was “sweet enough”. After I had it in the jars and put them in the freezer, I proudly presented a jar of the beautiful berry jam to my husband. One taste and with his “eewwww” comment and contorted face told me he was not a fan. Needless to say I do t really like the jam either but there it still sits in the freezer. When and if I use the rest of the berries for another try, like my brother the painter Mike Bailey, I will smugly add all the dang sugar I want. Regarding the Vodka, I now proudly keep a bottle in the pantry and every now and then pour myself a partial glass and have a contemplative evening pondering the realities of leaving my 60’s. and who knows, I might use the left over berries for a Marion Berry pie. Thanks for listening, Linda.
Hi Constance,
I recently became aware of the 70 Candles site and just read your terrific pie story. I’m 73, love pies and decided this fall to learn how to make a good crust.
I don’t know about using vodka, but I may have to try it!
Thanks!
Lynn
I loved reading your post. You have a fluid style that I like. I am so glad that your pie turned out well. I do not bake pies and appreciate those of you that do. My mother used to bake pies for recreation. She’d bake five or six at a time, and would supply all the pies for church dinners. At her funeral, the priest lovingly referred to her as the “pie lady.”