Where to begin? It’s been nearly a year since I ransacked Mother Lovett’s recipes. I can’t honestly call it a recipe box — her recipes were stuffed into a bag, completely unorganized. Much like my life.
Well, those aren’t really her written recipes. Her true recipes lived only in her head, which we hope is peaceful in Heaven. That’s nice and all, but it doesn’t do me any good here on earth.
I decided last Wednesday would be the day I mastered her crust — or at least the crust recipe that came with her papers. Honestly, I just wanted to make any pie crust that worked.
I think the reason I’d avoided pie crust before is that I don’t obsessively love pie. I adore coconut cream, peanut butter, chocolate silk — pies that are decadently sweet and make your teeth hurt. But fruit pies like apple, peach, or cherry? They need to be warm and served with perfect scoops of vanilla bean ice cream that melt into the filling and create that irresistible creaminess.
So I set to work without a specific pie in mind. I measured and sifted my flour.
Mother Lovett didn’t even use measuring cups — she used a spoon and added until it “looked right.” Not fair. Not fair at all.
Unlike Mother Lovett, I used shortening. I can almost hear her turning over in her grave. The lard gods must be weeping.
I didn’t even know where to buy lard, and for some reason the idea of buying it intimidated me. I’m not planning to be elbow-deep in a can of lard at 3 a.m. — chocolate, yes; lard, no. Still, this recipe called for shortening, which tipped me off that it might not be authentically hers. But since it was among her recipes and the only crust instruction I found, I pressed on.
I got messy. Flour covered me and my kitchen floor. The next day I was scrubbing and picking flour out from under things.
This kitchen is where I feel most at home — baking and cooking beneath a small framed photo of my stubborn Swedish grandmother looking down. I have no formal training, but I love trying new things and teaching myself.
I also seem to enjoy failing, which I suppose is part of the learning process.
I was confident I followed the instructions carefully, even though I’m not usually one to follow recipes to the letter. I formed the dough into a ball, even though it didn’t look quite right.
I chilled the dough in the fridge.
Then I did several productive things while it chilled: watched Dear John for the third time in two days and ate half of our pre-bought Halloween candy. Waiting for pie crust to chill is serious business.
Meanwhile, Mother Lovett was probably doing laundry (only on Monday), dusting (only on Thursday), and picking lint out of her neutral carpet with one watchful eye.
When the dough finally came out of the fridge, I lost my patience. For about an hour I worked the dough, stretching and coaxing, hoping it would cooperate.
Marriage has made me a more patient person — admittedly not by much. Mr. How Sweet is a handful, and patience was necessary. This pie crust tested that patience more than he tests it when he hogs the remote each night.
The crust simply wouldn’t fit the pan the way I wanted. I aimed for perfection and fell short.
In the end I pressed it into the pan anyway.
I trimmed the edges the way I’d seen Ina Garten do it, aspiring to her effortless elegance. My lack of lard and the use of dull scissors probably disqualified me from replicating her finesse.
So where does that leave me?
Here’s what I ended up with — and what’s currently sitting in my fridge. It might no longer be usable, but that’s okay. I’ll make another. I was too scared to bake it without a plan: no fruit, no chocolate, no coconut. Clearly I was a poorly planned pastry maker.
I don’t have the pie crust gene — at least not yet. I’m not sure what it takes, but I’m determined to learn. I’ll implant the gene by sheer practice and make a proper pie.
This is where you come in:
1. What kind of pie should I make? Perhaps I should plan before I begin next time.
2. Do you have an easy, never-fail pie crust recipe you swear by?
Initially I wanted to perfect this sentimental recipe from Mother Lovett, and I still intend to try. But now I want your best recipe — the one that always works. I’m going to tackle it head on.
Oh, and if you want the recipe I used this time, you’ll have to wait for Part Two!