Pie
I once won a blue ribbon in a pie baking contest. It
was at the 1996 Martha’s Vineyard Agricultural Fair, and included a
whopping cash prize of four dollars. Though a pleasant surprise, this check
didn’t begin to cover the cost of the pie (blueberries on the island were
going for about $5 a pint), nor did it compensate for the painstaking hours I
had planned and labored. But the blue ribbon... I hold it as a symbol of one of
my greatest accomplishments.
It is a
simple fact that the aforementioned pie was the most beautiful pie ever made.
It came to me in a dream, and that I was able to bring it to life is a testament
to the imperative of its being. The heart of the pie was wild blueberries
spiked with lime. A woven crust adorned the top, but it was not the open
lattice pattern you see on so many cherry pies. Each ribbon of dough was no
more than two millimeters wide, and the weave was as tight as I could fit it
without tearing the delicate strands. It was as fine as cloth. I laid it on
the pie like a warm coverlet and lined the rim with small circles of cut dough,
mirroring the blueberries within. This pie, I tell you truly, earned the blue
ribbon before it ever reached the
Fair.
If you watch food television
religiously, you might happen upon an interview I gave the day I won. The
reporter asked me my secret to perfect pie and I will tell you now what I told
her then: Plate Tectonics.
I realize
this may not be the answer you expected, but as Sally taught me when I was a
young girl, it is the foundation of great pie-making. “Picture
this,” she said as I peeked my nose over the kitchen counter to watch her
masterfully manipulate the dough, “the earth is composed of thin layers
that slide flexibly over each other.” She held her hands out to show me,
one hand laid flat over the other, slipping back and forth. “We want to
create the same condition in the dough. The flour and butter form the plates,
and the water sits between them. In the oven, the water steams up and creates
space between the plates. The result: tender flaky crust. If, on the other
hand, you just mash the dough together, you ball up the flour and butter and
trap the water inside, making tough crust.” To show the contrast, she
made two fists and butted them against each
other.
It was an AHA moment. Everyone
talks about being careful with pie dough, but no one else could ever explain
why. Sally’s theory of pie tectonics has guided me through a highly
successful pie baking career, the high point of which was the blue ribbon. In
some circles, you might even say I’m famous for
pie.
Recently, however, I’m
beginning to feel out of sorts with my crusts. I used to approach making them
with confidence, but I’m out of practice these days and I’ve come to
experience some of the pie-dough-anxiety that plagues so many others. Earlier
this week, for instance, Jacob and I brought home several pounds of apples from
a local orchard. A pie was in order, and I set to making it quite happily. But
when the time came for the crust, I became anxious, and then sloppy. I threw in
some extra Crisco without measuring too carefully, and I poured in a stream of
water knowing that it was getting some of the flour too wet. Inevitably, the
dough reacted haphazardly; some parts stuck to the counter while other areas
cracked. I watched in misery as evidence of my dread rolled out before me.
Talk about self-fulfilling prophecy: anxiety begets anxiety, and who is to
suffer most but myself?
Luckily, this is
one psychological woe I think I can face. I made a resolution. No matter how
many attempts it takes, perfect crusts will once again grace my pies, so help me
God. Jacob was pleased with this undertaking – apple pie is his favorite.
Unluckily for him, I nailed it last night on the first try.
What
changed?
My new-found determination
helped to be sure, but I made note of a few other details. For one thing, I
created a happy baking environment. Laugh if you will, but I’m living
proof that it works. I cleaned the kitchen, plugged in a string of Christmas
lights and put on some music. I also added some fabulous new tools to my pie
paraphernalia. For instance, I had been frustrated with the bowl I was using
to make the crust because it wasn’t wide enough for both of my hands to
comfortably mix the shortening and flour. Solution? New wide-mouth glass bowl:
$2.99 at the mall. I was also unhappy with my counter top which (ingeniously)
sits over the radiator in the kitchen and gets just warm enough to screw up my
crusts. Solution? Some time in the fridge, and (drum roll please) Pastry
Cloth. I had never heard of pastry cloth until I saw Jacob’s
sister-in-law using one - you can get them pretty much anywhere for next to
nothing, and they work wonders. In a package, you get a large square of canvas
and a stretchy sheath to cover your rolling pin. With a minimum of flour, dough
rolls out beautifully and doesn’t stick at
all.
I can’t tell you how good it
felt when the pie came out of the oven golden and steaming. And how much better
it felt at the first bite, with the soft fragrant apples still warm from the
oven and the flaky crust melting on my tongue. I was overcome with
satisfaction, vindication, and blissful relief, and inspired by success, rather
than failure, to try again.
Posted: Fri - October 22, 2004 at 12:03 PM