Pie

Even though peaches are considered the quintessential Southern fruit, the phrase “as American as apple pie” applies to the South, too. Apples grow in the cooler mountainous regions from Georgia to Virginia. There is no longer an issue with refrigeration, but apples were an important fruit for people in the country who lived off the land. When held in a cool cellar, apples lasted for months, providing much needed vitamins and nutrition in the winter. Many factors affect an apple’s juiciness: the age of the apple, the weather and climate where it was grown, and how it has been stored. In a pie, there’s sometimes a fine line between juicy and sopping wet. Flour is one ingredient that will help absorb some of the cooking juices. This is my sister’s favorite dessert and she always requests it on special occasions.

When I was her apprentice, Nathalie Dupree spent hours on my baking and pastry education, patiently showing me again and again how to create perfect pie crusts, homemade breads, puff pastry, and rolls, until I had the techniques down cold. She crafted this recipe for beginners: it’s an easy crust for novices because it’s made in the food processor and because of the combination of butter and shortening. Shortening does not melt as readily as butter does and makes for a more forgiving dough. As Nathalie knew, a beginner’s first taste of sweet success in the pastry kitchen can be inspirational. For a double-crust pie, simply double the amounts and divide the dough before rolling out.

Cousin Michele makes this pie for her family each and every holiday. She learned it from Aunt Dolores and has taught her daughter, Nina, and son, Walker, to make it, too. The passing of recipes from one generation to the next is a thread of continuity, of family roots and place. Sweet memories in every bite, it’s a small but amazing bit of history. Let me just say I have never had “French” coconut pie in France. This pie is more along the lines of winning a blue ribbon at a country fair, not Le Cordon Bleu.

Too many pecan pies are mostly goo without enough pecans, making them far too sweet. The secret to the success of this pie is that its pecan-to-goo ratio is just right. As a child, I helped Mama make this pie. It was my job to help her coarsely grind the nuts. She still uses a hand-held grinder; it has a crank that forces the nuts through two opposing forklike blades and a glass jar to catch the nut pieces. The metal top that screws into the glass jar is bent and dinged, but the tool still coarsely cuts the nuts just right.

Meme’s sister, who died long before I was born, was named Julia. She also liked to cook. Meme used to tease me that I was a lot like Julia in that we both would dirty every pot in the kitchen when we cooked. This is hands-down my favorite dessert. Mama makes it almost every time I come home to visit. When I was in culinary school, I took a look at the recipe and was certain with my newly learned techniques I could improve the consistency of the pudding. Wrong. It was a disaster, and the pudding mixture never congealed—which brings to mind the expression, “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it.”

I love all banana cream pies, but this one is absolutely the best ever. Although this recipe is a little time-consuming, it is really not difficult to prepare. You spend most of your time just waiting for things to boil or cool, and the result is an awesome desert that will impress your family and friends.

There’s lots of controversy about which fat makes the best pie crust: butter, shortening, or lard. I’m not a fan of shortening or lard because I always feel like I’m being unfaithful to butter by not baking with it. And besides, I like its taste. As long as you keep the butter cold and the ice water to a minimum, this dough bakes up plenty flaky. I prefer to use glass pie plates as they make it easy to check on the browning underneath, but metal pie pans work well, too.

The first time my parents took me to Disneyland, they probably assumed that they’d be spending the day racing after an energetic tyke who’d try to get on as many rides as possible. Instead of hitting all the main attractions, I discovered the Welch’s grape-colored pavilion and begged my parents to let me spend the day there, chugging inky-purple Concord grape juice. I doubt the pavilion is still there, but it was the start of my lifelong love affair with this native American grape. You might think seeding the quantity of grapes for this recipe would require a considerable amount of time. But I timed myself, and it took less than 30 minutes. Simply slice each grape in half and pluck out the seeds. If you have kids, you can get them to assist, although don’t hold me responsible if any of them develops a grape addiction as a result.

If you’re as wild about berries as I am, you’ll find that this pie is the height of luxury and one of the season’s greatest treats. It’s a dessert that I make only in the summer, at the moment when berries are abundant and at their peak. When I lived in San Francisco, I’d drive east across the bay to Monterey Market in Berkeley where flats of berries were so plentiful—and so inexpensive—that I found it impossible not to come home with at least a few piled up in my trunk. In addition to turning the berries into jams, compotes, and sorbets, I’d always bake this pie. A total of 6 cups of berries makes up the filling—use whichever types you prefer. Unless you buy berries by the flat, like I did, most berries are sold in half-pint or pint baskets, so expect to have some leftover fruit, which I know you’ll put to good use. I always did.

Growing up in New England, I stayed as far away from pumpkin pie as possible. I did whatever I could to keep my distance from those dubious wedges of orangey-brown filling. For some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to try it. But when I did, later in my life, I mourned for all those opportunities I missed. (I wouldn’t eat lobster either, which was cheap and plentiful back then. Talk about regrets!) One thing I don’t regret, though, is trying butternut squash in place of pumpkin in my pie. The cooked squash is naturally sweeter and thicker than pumpkin, and makes for a silkier pie. Note that in this recipe, the filling is added while still warm to the prebaked pie shell. This reduces the baking time for the pie and eliminates the problem of the crust burning while the filling bakes. You can make the filling in advance, but be sure to rewarm it gently before pouring it into the crust.

I’ve been accused of peeling bananas incorrectly. Several people have pointed out that I, who always peel bananas from the stem end, do it wrong, and they advised me to peel them like monkeys do: by grasping the bottom of the fruit and pinching the banana open. To be honest, I found that it doesn’t make all that much difference, especially when using the bananas in a dessert. Peeling technique aside, this pie does differ from the usual butterscotch cream pie. I use homemade chocolate-cookie crumbs in the crust and make the filling with lots of dark brown sugar, which gives it a toffee-like creaminess that separates it from the jungle of other pies out there.

When you have your own website, you develop a thick skin and come to expect all sorts of questions, including being asked advice about marketing $4,000 keepsake boxes for storing chocolate truffles (“Don’t do it,” I responded) to inquiries about preferred styles and brands of undergarments (that one didn’t get answered). This recipe was a topic in an online forum that I came across, and some fellow remarked, “Why would anyone make their own marshmallows? Or graham crackers?” While I wanted to respond, “Well, why would anyone make a hamburger from scratch? Or a salad?” I thought that not getting to taste this pie himself was punishment enough. Personally, I can’t think of anything more fun than making marshmallows and graham crackers, but if you’d prefer to take a few shortcuts, I’ve offered suggestions in Variation.

If you want to wow your guests at your next Mexican fiesta, make this dessert. Period. This lime confection is a cross between an ice cream and a pie, and the pretzel crust adds just the right amount of saltiness to make it fun and totally unforgettable.

Here’s a staple no-roll piecrust that’s assembled in minutes.

Another no-roll piecrust—life is good.

The key to this amazingly thin and flaky crust is to freeze the butter (or butter substitute for a vegan version) and chill the flour so both are super-cold. Doing so creates lots of flaky air pockets in the crust. Easy as pie.

Here’s a picture-perfect apple pie—filled mile high with juicy apples. Sprouted spelt flour makes the crust unbelievably flaky and easy to work with. Serve it hot with a generous helping of vanilla ice cream and listen to the raves. For a vegan version, use butter substitute instead of butter, and serve with Soy Vanilla Ice Cream (page 83).

This is a delectably creamy vegan pie with a deep, rich chocolate almond flavor. I love it topped with soy whipped cream. This dessert will satisfy the most discerning chocoholic—guaranteed.

I love lemon desserts. But lemon meringue pie was strictly off-limits to me since typically it’s all sugar. Not this one. It features a flaky, tender whole grain crust with a tart and tangy lemon filling topped with mounds of fluffy meringue—and not a single drop of sugar. Truly a lemon lover’s dream. The meringue may weep a bit after refrigeration, but this will not affect the taste or texture of the pie.