An apple pie from “so long ago”

As I sit in my room surrounded by a gloomy silence that is interrupted sometimes by the clanking and rattle of kitchen utensils, the disciplined metronome of the ticking clock, and the occasional digs at the laptop keys, I am trying hard to erase the gloom. I am feeling cold and ill since yesterday and while I am trying hard to counter the heaviness inside my head, I am in search of something that will cheer me up, creating shapes and presences from out of my head (following on Plath’s solipsistic footsteps) that I would like to have around me now, for a few hours, even for a lifetime. I want to speak to them, respond to what I say myself, by being them. That way, I can hear what I wish they would say, even how I would like them to say it – to make these all up, how wonderful. It doesn’t last. I suddenly recall that I must finish writing the blog post which, amid travel and other commitments, I have not been able to get to in these last three weeks. Apologies to my readers (a handful, perhaps) who might just be missing it (a little, no?).

Five days ago 

I was back at Morrisville this past weekend at Sarah and Jay’s, where Sarah was carrying out the promise of sharing with me her recipe-memoir for an apple pie her grandfather taught her to make. She forgets when she encountered it first – elementary or middle school. But it was certainly during thanksgiving, she recalls, that this apple pie used to be made and she learnt it from her Grandpa. In fact it used to be made at least twice a year.

It feels like it was so long ago, Sarah tells me.

Thereafter, she continued to make it since the time she was a sophomore.

In her grandfather’s apron that, and I will say this, she rightfully owns (given that I will eat the most part of the pie for over two days because it was beyond delicious and perfect – add “est” to both adjectives), she begins what is going to be an arduous task to get the pie in order. But it doesn’t feel like it is that arduous a task with Sarah’s deft handling of everything in that kitchen. I hardly used this expression, but I will say: Oh MAN! (Haha)

There are three stages to the pie, as Sarah demonstrates: the pie crust, the filling, and the crumb topping. The preparation for the pie crust is what begins first. She always makes the crust herself at home, never buys it, I am told.

So, for the pie crust, you need flour, salt and then once you sift a bit, keep adding a teaspoon full of water to the mixture and tossing it till everything leaves the sides of the bowl and a nice dough forms. Sarah never had a chance to make it for her grandfather, she says as she adds water to the mixture. There is a slight change in her expression when she says so. I catch a glimpse of it, but only a glimpse. Shadows pass quickly, at times.

After the dough is put inside the refrigerator for thirty minutes, the Grannie Smith apples surface. Why these and not the red ones? They are tart, I am told. Then comes out the tool that is going to help with de-coring, peeling and slicing the apples ALL AT ONCE! That is all upper case because I am fascinated by this magic tool that just by being turned round and round – that is rather an unsophisticated way to put it – can reduce the entire exercise of readying the pile of apples to go into the heaven, I mean oven, to a far-less tedious one, not to mention a far-less tedious one! (See the video?) As the cores are dismissed, the peeled apples are a perfect shape, one that Guinness, one of the three dogs doesn’t fail to identify. It waits, at times jumps, to have a few of these sliced greenie-Grannie Smiths. Very persistent, in fact. And who can say no to that pleading glance?

The thirty minutes are over – talking, watching, capturing, and playing hide and seek with two-and-a-half-year-old Nicholas. (He is yet to however give me a hug or even shake hands with me. But hide and seek is allowed.) He is simultaneously going round and round (there again) the entire drawing room through the kitchen while he plays with Sarah’s father (Uncle Tim).

A plastic silicon rolling mat is brought next to the dining table where now, the dough will have to be flattened to form the crust for the pie. After having completed this task, the flattened flour-salt-water mixture becomes the base of a deep-dish. “Deep is better,” Sarah says. Agreed.

On the base, now are placed the apples. The filling – made of sugar, flour, cinnamon and nutmeg – follows. All tossed together, then it is time for sprinkling the crumb topping. For this last, Sarah mixes brown sugar (has greater consistency, flavor and molasses than white sugar), and flour and puts sweet cream unsalted butter into it, cutting the chunks by a pastry blender (a hugely useful device to have in a kitchen). Having added the topping to the existing mixture of apples and the filling, the oven is ready to welcome it all. In the meantime, we have pre-heated the oven at a 425 degrees, by the way.

To be checked after 30 minutes, for the first time in this entire pie-story, I concentrate on the smell of the Adobo chicken curry/soup that’s been cooking in the slow cooker and is going to form part of an elaborate dinner that evening. The smell of the cinnamon on the chicken is mind-charming (does this expression exist?). I also go out on to the back porch, run around with Nicholas and Aunt Sharon (Sarah’s Ma – you met her in my last story about the ham in barbecue sauce), play some more hide and seek with him as the trees give me a good cover, and smell the grey clouds and the seducing light breeze that help me forget it is still summer. There is of course conversation and wind-chimes in between it all.

It is finally time. But, before the pie, comes the dinner: the chicken dish, rice, and an exquisitely made salad of fresh tomatoes and mango slices. Uncle Tim notices my silence over dinner, mentions it and we all laugh on the table. I hardly get up from my chair through the rest of the meal. I was not being an ungrateful host – yes, they believed me. I was just enjoying the pleasure of not having to prepare my meal myself from scratch everyday, and eating them in the company of myself everyday with the laptop in front of me. My own company isn’t unwelcome, but sometimes the company of something akin to family or even friends who care, is equally desired. And so it was that day.

So I sit to be served a slice of the apple pie. It is one of the most delicious pies I have ever had the good fortune to allow my palate. The crust was soft, the apples crunchy, and stew-y and not overly sweet, and the butter, the cinnamon, the salt – perfectly blended. It was warm, and I wish I had some more space in my stomach for some more of it. Later, when Jay graciously asks if I would like to take the rest of the pie home, I smile a shameless grin, shut my eyes, and say “yes.” I don’t let it out of my sight through the whole of the following day.

A warm cup of honey chamomile tea with sugar soon follows. I would probably have slept on the table too, if I did not have to return.

This apple pie from “so long ago” will probably form a happy part of my “so long ago” years from now, but I won’t put off thanking Sarah and Jay till then. I am doing it now: thank you, Sarah and Jay for the pie, the care, and a memory.

Adieu to gloom.

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