So Many Dishes

It was baking weather Tuesday. By Florida standards, it’s been cold. It was in the mid 40s when we got up that morning, with a brisk breeze, so Ken and I both layered up for our walk. In the 40+ years that we’ve been in Florida, I can’t remember temperatures this low before Thanksgiving. It put me in the mood to bake.

Ken had mentioned that he was hungry for an apple pie recently, so that’s what I decided to bake. Actually, what I decided to make was the pie of my childhood, my mom’s apple tart.

My mother was a good baker, and she was a whiz at pie crust. I assume that there were times when the dough wouldn’t come together or would stick to the board, tear, or any of the myriad other issues you might encounter with pie crust. Growing up, it seemed as if there was an apple tart on the table once a week. Even in her later years, it was her go-to for any occasion.

I decided to bake her apple tart. The thing is, there’s no recipe. The crust is a 3:1 flour to shortening ratio, more or less, because she always “rounded” the shortening. And yes, I use shortening for pie crust, too. It’s the only reason there’s Crisco in our house. I’ve made butter crusts, but I find Crisco easier to work with, and the dough is less fussy. Just as she did, I pour some salt into my hand until it looks right, then dump it into the flour. I add the cold water a tablespoon at a time, because she taught me that you never know exactly how much water you’ll need on a particular day. Most importantly, I learned not to overwork the dough.

The pie gods were good to me, and the dough came up off the board and into the pie plate easily. But I had to do the filling from memory, too.

My mother didn’t slice the apples, just peel, halve, and core them. Once she fitted in as many halves as the dish would allow, she would cut chunks to fill in the spaces. After that, it was just a matter of adding sugar over and around the apples, sprinkling with cinnamon, and dotting with butter. No quantities were ever allocated. It was whatever looked and felt right.

I followed my instincts, and the results were delicious. I had some huge Granny Smith apples and used my 8-inch pie plate, so it actually only took three apples to fill the crust. I probably added less sugar than my mom did, but it really didn’t need any more.

I thought that perhaps I’d measure my ingredients, so that I could post a recipe, but, once I started baking, it just felt right to make it my mom’s way. All I can do is invite you to my kitchen to bake the pie with me.

Happy eating!