There is nothing like pie.  Warm apple pie, strawberry rhubarb pie, cherry pie.  It’s the total comfort food for me.  It’s breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My mother was always the pie baker.  She had a reputation.  She would make some sort of pie almost weekly, for dessert for dinner on Sunday. We had a neighbor that would show up on a Sunday in the early afternoon with a fork in his pocket.  We all loved my mother’s pies. There were times when they weren’t the most attractive pastries but they were always, always delicious.

I probably didn’t pay much attention to her making pies when I was younger because that was just what she did.  What I do remember her saying was that she used more shortening than the recipe called for.

My mother passed away on the night of November 16, 1989. When I arrived at the house there was an apple pie on the counter.  A few weeks later I remember thinking “Oh my God, who’s going to make pie?”  I took out the only cookbook I ever saw her use and opened it to the pie crust section.  I remembered what she said about the shortening and modified as I went along.  Those first pies were not the prettiest pies but they were good.  It’s amazing how there are some foods that just keep you connected.

To this day I make pie often.  I use her tools and I only make them in Rowe.  There is something about the counter, the rolling pin, the flour shaker – they have the magic that makes my pies my mother’s.