For Thanksgiving, per family request, I made a Backwoods Pie, or Maple Pie. Eggs, brown sugar, half-and-half, and maple syrup -- real maple syrup from a tree, not a factory -- poured into a pie shell and baked. It's similar in consistency to a pecan pie without the nuts, and it has the sweet yet edginess to it of maple sugar.
Monkey1 helped a bit, and she was fascinated by my pie crust technique, where I make the ripple edge using two fingers and a thumb. "I learned by watching my Mom," I told her.
"So I'm learning too?" she asked, nose just clearing the top of the counter.
"Yes, and someday you'll be a Mommy making Backwoods Pie with your children," I told her.
Fortunately she has not hit the "But what if I don't get married?" issue that I had from about second grade until I met my husband. She thought that "someday" doing this same thing, mother-daughter cooking Pie was exciting.
Once piece of Backwoods Pie survived the Thanksgiving table.
My husband made an apple pie. He made the crust dough one night and let it chill in the fridge and then made the rest of it the next, peeling four different kinds of apples and finding a substitute for "grains of paradise." It tasted terrific. Half survived the Thanksgiving table, so we had some more for lunch today.
Now I'm making my list for my annual Christmas Fruitcakes. Six cups of dried fruit and nuts. It's always a guessing game as I stand in the store holding the packages in my hand and trying to figure how many to buy. And then the mixer has got to go into the shop for a tune-up. I used to be afraid of using the thing, and now I can't stand the thought of being without for a week.
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