Pie Philosophy

Thanksgiving seems to be all about the food.  Tonight is Thanksgiving eve and our oven has already been running all day.  The fridge is packed with jello salads and refrigerated desserts.  Of course, we also have to make the pies tonight, as the turkey will have sole ownership of the oven tomorrow.   

For the last three or four years I have been in charge of the Thanksgiving apple pie.  Sara makes some specialty recipe she just has to try (this year it's Turtle Pumpkin Pie).  The rest; pumpkin, berry, and chocolate are divided up between Mom, Kelli, Lisa, and Kirsti.  Yet, the apple is always, and without question, mine.  It is a role I feel honored to have.  

My mom, amazing cook though she is, hates making pies.  I, on the other hand, consider it something of an art.  I pull ingredients from the cupboards and line measuring cups along the counter with a certain relish for each step of the process.  Mom is at the other end of the counter stirring mandarin oranges into bright orange jello.  

We converse easily about great books, Christmas plans, and cooking as I start working on the apples.  My pie is completely from scratch.  No canned pie filling here!  The apples are Granny Smiths; one of my favorite kinds.  They are big and almost perfectly round with a shiny, bright green skin that rarely shows signs of bruising or blemishes.  I can almost smell how tart they are as I slice into their crispness.

Brooke, my six year old sister, pulls up a bar stool and asks if she can help as I'm finishing up the apples.  I fill a pot with water and add the apples to blanch, telling Brooke she can help me start the crust now that the apples are cooking.  There is not a lot for her to do.   Pie crust has a relatively simple ingredient list; flour, salt, shortening, and water.  I measure and she dumps everything into the big metal mixing bowl.  For as simple as the recipe looks, pie crust is a rather touchy food.  I drop a few ice cubes into the water I'm using.  Cold water, not too dry dough, and as little handling as possible will keep the crust flaky and light, instead of tough or doughy.

I finish rolling out the crust just as the apples finish cooking.  A bit of apple juice, cinnamon, nutmeg, and some lemon juice will make a spicy, never-too-sweet sauce for the apples.  I spread the pie filling into the crust, carefully lay on the top crust, and pinch the edges closed.  It's not quite ready for the oven yet, though.  Unless I'm in the mood to scrub apples off the bottom of the oven, my pie needs some air vents.  I grab a knife and carefully carve my signature into the pie; a heart flanked by a couple of curlicues.  

40 minutes later the pie comes out of the oven golden brown with steam curling up from the heart in the center.  It looks like "homemade" personnified.  I can smell the cinnamon, and I can't help but think of all apple pie symbolizes to me.  It means chattering with my mom and sisters in the kitchen while covered in flour, the blessings of a plentiful harvest, stories told around the Thanksgiving dinner table, old-fashioned values, and working for something that will be worth the effort in the end.

I know, it is just a pie.  But we are heading into the holiday season.  I am allowed to be sentimental.  Happy Thanksgiving!

They Make Me Laugh!

One of my teacher friends recently suggested that several of us collaborate and make a "Book of Stupid" documenting all the crazy, stupid, and simply ridiculous things our students do.  Although I'm not sure how well it would work out as a book, the idea of recording all my crazy fun moments as a teacher seemed brilliant, so I began writing them down.  I had one today that just seemed too funny not to share.  Enjoy!

Today I forgot that my clock is a minute fast and finished my lesson and reminders with two minutes of class time left.  The kids, of course, decided to take full advantage of this brief free time.  

Two of the guys had been on one all day hitting, poking and teasing each other.  Noticing that I didn’t have anything for them to do at the moment, Tyson immediately began to chase Mike around the classroom.  Mike had already packed up to leave and was wearing his backpack.  The backpack had a strap hanging down with a buckle on the end.  As Mike ran past one of the desks this buckle hooked on a bar that connects the desk to the chair causing the desk to be jerked after Mike.  

Tyson, noticing Mike’s predicament, stopped to laugh at his victory.  Mike had a look on his face that told me he was not completely sure what was wrong;  however, he was determined to get back at Tyson, so he began running again, only this time as the pursuer.  What he did not know is that the desk was still connected and so continued to follow him as he ran, making the pursuit difficult.  

I stood nearby watching and trying with every ounce of self-control I had to avoid laughing at these boys.  What grade am I teaching again?  11^th?  No, you must be wrong.  I’m sure they’re 4^th graders!