I recently listened to the cadence of five pies consecutively – my ear against the heavy thwump of throbbing apple, the crackling of a blueberry, the bubbling of two flawless blackberry confections, and the soft gurgle of perfectly sweetened huckleberry. It was a morning of passionate pie baking interrupted only by a blackberry picking interlude. Kate McDermott, (www.artofthepie.com), a pianist by trade, gave me an elegant lesson on pie making. She’s a masterful conductor, “think up!” she says again and again as we fluffed leaf lard and flour into a crumbly consistency. Soon Kate was in the sun with a pitcher of lemon water, surrounded by our cacophony of desserts, reading a sermon on apple pie from 1862, by Henry Ward Beecher, while I fed myself spoonful after spoonful of the lovely stuff, every bite a fruitful adventure, different than the one before.
I want to eat all of these pies. Reminds me of the kind my mom used to make.
There are few things better than a perfect pie…
Oh, wow. These beautiful pies make me wonder why I only make them for Thanksgiving, even though I am quite good at it. But these pies. Perfect.
Make a pie! Send me pictures from Germany! You’re a lovely baker.
Sure would like to get some dove. I have never had it before.