Pie!

Ok, I figure that it’s time for a recipe. No, I’m not going to cook or bake. I’m just going to write about it. Maybe some day I’ll cook and photograph what I do, step by step, but that will have to wait for a weekend and lately my weekends have been far too busy.

But about those weekends — those weekends in the past. . .

For several years, elementary school years? For several years, I spent my weekends with grandparents. Friday nights I went to stay with Gammy and Pappy while Donnie was with Granny and Pap-pap. Saturday nights were the other way around. Today I’ll talk about staying with Gammy and Pappy.

Friday nights. Sometimes we paid visits to family. For at least a year that meant visiting my Aunt Sis, married to my Dad’s brother Larry, who was stationed in Germany in the Army. We were close at the time. Now they haven’t spoken to my dad or his other brother for years. The reason? Not important: it’s petty and is pulling a family apart.

Enough of that. Friday nights. Visiting family members. Or maybe having another couple over to play pinochle. That meant that I got to watch or sit on the floor practicing my card-shuffling.

Or we just stayed in and watched Mitch Miller — and of course, sang along. After all, that’s what it was called: Sing Along with Mitch. Gammy and Pappy also had Mitch Miller albums so we could sing along on our own time.

We also ran errands (cocoa bean mulch from the chocolate factory, remember?), sat on the porch and talked to neighbors, read, or walked in the garden. And then we went to bed.

Saturday mornings I was often awake before Gammy. I’d cut pictures out of magazines (hopefully not ones that she’d yet to read) or watch television. Yes, there was television then, black and white picture and only a few channels, but we weren’t primitive.

Of course, once everyone was up and about (and though Gammy may have slept in, we’re talking by 7:00 a.m.) it was breakfast time. For Pappy, it was always the same: shredded wheat. Not the mini-things and not frosted. We’re talking the bland hay bales.

Gammy was different. She was very much aware that her own mother was British and she followed the traditions: she and I had a tea and toast. Or maybe tea and cookies. Or tea and pie. Yep, I grew up on caffeine. To me breakfast tea was served hot with sugar and milk, usually Lipton brand. Tea at other times of day was iced tea (or as we called it, “ice tea”) with lemon or homegrown spearmint. It was sweetened but not the same as southern “sweet tea” (which I now really like but try to avoid).

After breakfast was baking time. Cookies and pies were the usuals. Gammy’s usual pies were fruit type, and she especially liked raspberry pie. But she also baked other types, and imparted bits of wisdom as we worked.

First came the crust: Gammy kept a large tin (we’re talking several gallons worth) in her pantry, a little closet under the stairs. She’d go to the tin and scoop out the flour that we’d need for the day. Then she’d mix, cutting the shortening (or lard) into the flour, expertly making a crumbly mixture before adding water, a tablespoon at a time. She warned me to add it slowly: humidity can affect the crust and you don’t want it too dry or too moist. She’d roll it out, measure it against an empty pie tin, and then fold the think dough into quarters to move it to the tin. Some pies needed one crust, some two. I’d get to help crimp the edges, the first skill I learned in the kitchen.

After Gammy was finished with the pastry dough, I had my chance with it. I had my own kid-sized wooden rolling pin and it was my job to roll out that leftover dough to make a roly-poly. Basically this was pie dough brushed with butter and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar (white or brown). The dough was then rolled up and cut into one-inch segments, much like cinnamon rolls but flatter. These were placed into a pie pan, cut side up, and baked. Yum.

Anyhow, Gammy loved her pies and we baked them each week. Along the way she imparted some important information: to make a proper shoo-fly pie (a staple of our PA Dutch culture), NEVER use Brer Rabbit molasses.

Why not? Because Brer Rabbit molasses contains sulphur and sulphur ruins the pie. I know, that’s the British spelling but remember — this is the grandmother who dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night while we were on vacation so that I would watch and remember the wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana. (mostly I remember being tired) Anyhow, no sulphur in the molasses. Use barrel molasses instead. Fine piece of advice at that time, because we could go to the neighborhood grocery store and purchase a mason jar of molasses actually dipped from a barrel. Now, however, that’s a wee bit more difficult. The best alternative I’ve found is Grandma’s Old-Fashioned Molasses.

But I’ve also discovered that both Grandma’s and Brer Rabbit have both sulphured and un-sulphured molasses.

And even though Gammy told me this often, I don’t remember her ever baking a shoo-fly pie.

However, I have a great recipe for shoo-fly pie, courtesy of my aunt Sue, who is married to my dad’s brother Ron (the one who is still talking to him). This is a true wet-bottom shoo-fly pie (the best kind).

Prepare two pie shells (either use your favorite recipe to make two single crusts or purchase these), unbaked.

Mix into crumbs:

1 1/2 cups brown sugar

2 cups flour

2 tablespoons shortening

Set aside 1 1/2 cups of crumbs for later.

Of the remaining crumbs, sprinkle 1 tablespoon into each pie shell.

Mix together:

1 1/2 cups hot water

2 cups molasses

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 eggs (beaten slightly)

Pour this wet mixture into the remaining crumbs and mix. Pour this into the two pie shells.

Top the pies with the 1 1/2 cups of reserved crumbs. Sprinkle with cinnamon.

Bake at 400º for 15 minutes.

Reduce heat to 350º for 30 minutes.

Trust me on this: the wet bottom (the molasses stays gooey on the bottom) is what makes this truly awesome!