Showing posts with label traditions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label traditions. Show all posts

There's Something About Pie

Saturday, August 11, 2012
Fresh baked pies (cherry/cranberry and peach) waiting to head over to the pie and ice cream social at work today
"What is it about pies," Andy asked the other night. "Why do people go so nuts over them?"

Where he works, they're in the habit of providing their week-long stays with a pie. In the years that Andy's worked at the business, they've gone through a series of pie-bakers. (I suppose if we didn't live in the woods, we might go so far as to call them "pastry chefs.") One baker made pies that were too sweet and goop-y (instant pudding has no place in a pie shell, I say), another had trouble achieving an affordable wholesale price, the last had a severe gluten allergy that made assembling pie crusts rather tricky. In the end, the business opted to go the frozen, pre-made pie route, buying the pies directly from a wholesale restaurant supplier. But homemade or "home-baked," the guests don't care. They just want their pie.

What is it about pies?

I'm hard-pressed to think of another common dessert that strikes more fear in many of even the most experienced bakers' hearts. You're either a pie baker or you're not, although these days, with the advent of frozen and pre-made pie crusts, many non-pie bakers can limp along admirably. But despite the fact that many bakers would rather serve cake, cobbler, cookies, anything but pie for dessert, pie remains the ultimate in all-American desserts. (Keeping in mind, of course, that apple pie isn't really American - it's English, don't you know.)
    
A pie's complexity lies in its simplicity. More often than not, it's just two layers of pastry with some sort of fruit filling in between it. But a beautiful pie can quickly turn to disappointment if the crust doesn't flake when cut in or the pie filling spills out in a puddle when served.

I didn't really come from a pie eating family. My grandmother was well known for her fresh berry pies, which involved fresh fruit placed in a vegetable oil pie crust and covered with a Jell-O glaze. The fresh strawberry pie (which my brother still requests for his birthday) was delicious . . . the fresh blueberry pie with lemon Jell-O glaze remains a memorable flop. My mother's fear of pie crust meant most pies I ate as a little girl had a crumb topping, so she could avoid the hassle of a top crust. It wasn't until I discovered pie baking at age 13 that pies started be served with some regularity at home.

If you asked me if pie was my favorite dessert, I'd probably tell you "no." Ice cream and cheesecake rank above pie in my book. But when it comes to birthday treats - both those I request and those I bake for others - I find I gravitate towards pie. Key lime for me, please, molasses bourbon pecan for Andy, pumpkin or cherry for Dad.

You can't make a good pie without confidence and a bit of love for the craft. I once told an apprehensive pie baker that the secret to good pie crust was "telling the pie crust how good it was going to be the whole time you're making it." Oh and time. It doesn't take that long to roll out a homemade pie, but you just wouldn't want to rush a good pie.

So what is about pies?

I think a good pie conjures up a warm, fuzzy feeling of nostalgia and love. A good pie speaks of a slower pace of life, when there was time to futz about in the kitchen, when people worked hard enough to have their pie and eat it each evening, when ingredients were fresh and locally sourced, when our chief worry about what was going in our mouths was how it tasted.

 
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Life without a Television

Monday, March 7, 2011
I grew up in a household lacking a television, but least you fear my brother and I were raised as some northern hybrid of the "homeschool jungle freak," let me assure you that we did not spend our afternoons studying up for the National Spelling Bee. In the summer months, our maternal grandparents were our next door neighbors and more afternoons than not, we'd head over for our diet pop and a couple hours in front of the tube, watching Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon (and later on, MTV and VH1), slowly turning our brains into a soft jelly.


During the winter, my grandparents headed south, forcing us two kids to depend on the library for some old fashioned entertainment. In college, I enjoyed the hundreds of complimentary cable channels that came with on-campus living and quickly discovered that people really meant it when they said "there's nothing on." Now that I'm on my own, I once again live in a household without a television and it's hard to miss the blaring, commercial ridden box when there's Netflix.

Through it all, there's always been a time every year when everyone in my family actively seeks out a television.
Yep, Minnesota High School Boys Hockey tournament time! The four-day tournament always takes place in St. Paul over the second weekend of March. It almost always handily coincides with my birthday (including my birth day) and I have gone so far as to have friends tape the championship games on the two occasions when I've been out of the country during the tournament. Needless to say, the tournament offers the best hockey in the world. The color commentary of intrepid tournament announcer Lou Nanne is basically the soundtrack to this annual weekend at my house.


Over the years, we've come up with pretty creative ways to get around the fact that none of us own a television to watch the tournament. One time, my father (who always walks or bikes to work) came home from work with a borrowed t.v. so small, it fit inside his backpack. If I remember correctly, the only thing the teeny t.v. ever displayed was a whole lot of static. Another time, we borrowed a larger television, but the set only got reception in our (unfinished) basement. That year we huddled around the t.v. on the concrete floor between the wood pile and roaring furnace. More often that not, we ended up crashing at the (sometimes unheated) home of some out of town accommodating friend or relative to get our annual fill of hockey.

The ridiculous television adventures seem destined to continue. Just last weekend, I headed over to the neighbors' for some Oscar viewing. We figured we could stream the awards show, but the only thing streaming was a backstage commentary, complete with the thank you cam and press conferences, but no actual shots of the actually ceremony. Figuring out who actually won required careful deductive skills. But that's just life in the woods, alienated from the world of popular culture.   

As for the hockey tournament this year, Mom says she's figured out a way to stream it. We'll just see how that goes, eh?
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