Full disclosure: This is not our apple pie.
It was the last weekend in August, and it was still well over 100 degrees in Phoenix. Before noon, it was 100 degrees. The high temps can make it really hard to think about fall. After all, we were still swimming. And yet, a few weekends ago, my son and I tried to will fall upon us. Labor Day was around the corner, and we were ready for the sweetness of autumn.
Choosing Our Treats to Bake
Flipping through an America’s Test Kitchen magazine, I discovered a recipe for strawberry pie. It was beautiful and summery, and it required no oven time — perfect for the hot weekend. It seemed like a lovely treat for the pre-Labor Day weekend. It was also a clear acknowledgment that we were still very much in summer.
My son loves strawberries, so I showed him the picture of the pie and tried to get him excited about making it. He shrugged. “How about we make an apple pie instead?” he asked.
Um, maybe because it’s 110 degrees out? That seemed like reason enough, but another — also very good — reason was that I had never in my life made an apple pie. Pie crust makes me angry. And fruit pies have really never been my thing.
Still, I heard the request. He’s thinking about Halloween and fall. So, I said, “How about we make pumpkin bars?”
“Let’s do both.”
Darn it.
Well, at the very least, I figured, if the apple pie was a massive fail, we’d still have pumpkin bars. So, I strategically started with the pumpkin bars on Saturday evening so I’d have one success under my belt.
Then, my son and I went to the store and purchased different kinds of apples for a pie. I also tried one more time to get him on board with the no-bake strawberry pie. No dice.
Baking Day
I put the flour and sugar in a bowl. Next, we added the butter. And I let him smush it until he could smush no more. The sensory experience of the changing flour texture was one that made him giggle with glee. We put the disc of our pie dough in the fridge, and it was time to move on to the filling
This was the part my son loved the most. I pulled out my apple peeler/corer/slicer that I’d bought at a Pampered Chef party over a decade ago. I needed a bit of a refresher, but I slid the apple on and turned the crank. The peel came off in one long glorious thread, and the apple fell off the rod, thinly sliced. My son took his knife and cut them in half, then placed them in a bowl with some lemon juice. He couldn’t wait to turn the crank on the remaining three pounds of apples.
Next, we cooked the apples in butter and added sugar. At this point, we’d been in the kitchen for just over two hours. He was fading and was interested in playing baseball. So I let him off the hook for the final steps. It was just as well … I was reminded why I don’t make pies: Pie crust is my nemesis.
But still, I got some version of a crust into the pan, the cooled apples on top, and then an ugly (but perfectly delicious) crust on top.
THIS was ours.
The Experience
After it baked, we were pretty excited to indulge in our creation. And it struck me: My first experience baking apple pie was also my son’s first experience baking apple pie.
What I hope he takes away from this experience is that the two-plus hours we spent in the kitchen that day weren’t just about pie. It was welcoming fall and being together. (And there happened to be an apple pie at the end of it.) I also hope he saw his mom try something new in the kitchen. I hope he saw that even though I was frustrated, I persisted.
And I hope he saw that even though that a photo of our pie will never be in a magazine, it was still delicious — and it was made from the heart. And that’s what matters.