The young girl tied her grandmother’s faded apron about her waist. The bib hung down in a drooping manner and the loop over her head attempted to hold the top portion of the garment above the waist, in order to catch spills or clouds of flour that were bound to come its way.
Reaching up as she pulled the cabinet door open, she already knew the ingredients that were needed and seeing she was too short to get them herself, looked over her shoulder at her Grandmother in silent appeal.
From the kitchen doorway, Maude walked slowly forward to gather the flour and the large can of Crisco shortening, to place them on the countertop. Her Granddaughter had already pulled the blue box of Morton’s salt to sit beside the other ingredients.
“First we’ll need to peel apples, perhaps six to eight of them,” she said as she began rinsing the red delicious apples under the cold water streaming from the sink’s faucet. Placing them onto a large bowl she got the vegetable peeler and a small paring knife.
They both walked to the dining room table and sat down. Maude placed the bowl of apples onto the table and proceeded to show her student exactly how to peel and section an apple into quarters. Next, she demonstrated the proper way to remove the seeds and the pod casings. Using a cutting board these quarters were sliced carefully.
She pretended to look the other way when the child’s small hand sneaked an apple slice, raised it to her mouth and tasted its juicy goodness. This was a special day. A few days ago her Granddaughter had finished reading a book called “Surprise Island”, the sequel to “The Boxcar Children”, and because the children in the story baked an apple pie, she had been pleaded with to show her youngest Grandchild how to bake one too. Smiling to herself, she hugged the child close and whispered “Our pie will be so good, just wait and see.”
After the apples were peeled they poured cold water over them until they were submerged. “This is to help them from turning brown,” Maude explained.
Next came the pie dough. They measured, combined and using two table knives they crisscrossed and cut the shortening into the flour and salt, adding some drops of cold water proportionately, after the bits were small, the size of peas. Very soon they had a circular mound of smooth pie dough. They cut it into two equal pieces and wrapping it in wax paper, placed them into the refrigerator for thirty minutes.
Maude then showed her the right way to roll out the dough and even allowed the young girl to roll some too. One was for the top and one was for the bottom. Together they rolled the dough onto the rolling pin and carefully covered the pie pan. Some draped over the edges.
Butter and sugar was mixed together. The apple slices were tossed and covered, poured into the baking dish and the remaining mixture was dotted on top. The second layer of pie dough was gently placed on top. Edges were trimmed, folded, pressed or crimped and shaped. Six small holes were cut into the center of the pie to vent for steam. Milk was gently brushed on top and sugar sprinkled all over just before the pie was placed onto a baking sheet. The edges were covered with aluminum foil and then the pie was placed into the hot oven.
Maude watched her Granddaughter sit down on the kitchen floor directly in front of the oven door to watch the pie baking, through the oven door. She pulled off the apron and was surprised that it was not as messy as first anticipated. The young girl was smiling as she said, “Mama, I can smell the pie and it smells really good. I can’t wait to eat some.
Maude didn’t have the heart to tell her that they should really let the pie cool down completely before slicing it. That would come later, the next pie they would bake together.
When at long last the pie was removed from the oven shelf, it was ceremoniously cut and served into bowls. The juices flowed but that didn’t matter. Together they laughed and ate and talked for another hour. Theirs was a match made in Heaven, so devoted were they to family, each other and the food they prepared together.
On Sunday afternoon I asked my microwave popping, frozen dinner cooking husband, if he would care to browse our Half Hour Meals to choose a dessert from the recipes tab. He has such a sweet tooth that my suggestion pulled him up and off the sofa. Even the football game couldn’t keep him from sitting down in front of my computer to look for good eats.
