In our daily IM chats my sister Esther and I frequently talk about food. She lives with her son and cooks for the two of them. Dinner is usually waiting for him when he comes home from work, but her diet is quite restrictive so her meals are different from the ones she serves him. Recently she made a blackberry cobbler and when I asked her how it turned out, she said it was really good. I reminded her that blackberry pie was a favorite of Dad’s and that got us reminiscing about Mom’s pies.Some years ago, when the folks lived on Calera St in Covina, California, an acquaintance offered to buy a coconut cream pie from Mom if she would make it. Mom hesitated, but after being coaxed, she agreed. Mom took special pains to make certain her reputation for good pies held and she did a top notch job for her friend. The pie was served that night and the friend was so pleased she phoned Mom and ordered two more, one coconut and one banana. At $5 per pie Mom was suddenly in the pie business! Over the next several days Mom filled her friend’s order for both cream and fruit pies. Surprisingly, Mom began to get phone calls from the woman’s co-workers asking if they could order pies. Mom was so tickled about her new found fame as a pie maker and actually earning money baking them that she continued filling orders as they came in.
Her baking schedule depended on how many pies she had to have ready for pick up by 5 in the afternoon. It wasn’t long before the whole morning was taken up baking pies. The fillings were all made from scratch as was the pie crust and as the work progressed, pies, tagged with names of customers sat cooling on every available table top and shelf. As word spread about Mom’s homemade pies, orders increased. The pies were baked in the oven of the kitchen stove and only so many could be baked at one time. Soon the afternoons were given over to baking and many times a customer picked up a pie as it came out of the oven. Dad, always a great one to help Mom in her various endeavors, became her assistant. My sister Adeline and I often came to help. In the evenings Aunt Margret and Uncle Chester and Uncle Lester would drop for a visit and to hear how the pie business was going. Of course pie was served as refreshment.
One day Mom realized she was spending all her time cooking and baking. She had enjoyed her little pie business, but the time had come to stop and smell the flowers and maybe spend some of the money she had been earning.
Many years later, when the folks and I lived next door to each other in Texas, we enjoyed morning coffee breaks with my brother Charles, who lived with them and worked with Dad in his antique repair business. During one of our breaks, Mom mentioned that her father’s favorite pie was Vinegar Pie. I asked if it tasted like lemon pie. Mom said yes, and that gave her the idea of making a Lemon pie for supper. I said that if she wanted, I’d make the pie but I’d rather make a Lemon Cream. Charles, who liked to stir the pot, suggested we have a contest to see who could make the best Lemon pie. Amid lots of laughing and sudden bragging, Mom and I accepted the challenge.
As the morning went by, Mom and I got busy with our pie making. Charles, acting as a double agent, came to give me a report on Mom’s progress and in turn gave Mom an update on mine. I never measured ingredients, always guessing amts and relying on sample tastes for my Lemon Cream filling. I had modified a recipe taken from a magazine and had never written down the changes, but I had made the pie so often I was confident that my pie would be sensational.
It was a fun day and everyone got into the spirit of the contest. After supper that night Mom and I brought out our respective pies and waited for oh’s and ahs. Small wedges were served and suspense increased when Dad and Charles asked for second samplings. Finally, it came time to vote. There was no question of who the winner would be. Even I had to vote for Mom’s pie. It really was superb. But of course I had to make out like the voting was rigged!!!!
The ability to bake delicious pies helped Aunt Bessie Ross earn a living during the great depression. She baked pies in her apartment and delivered them to the cafes that gave her standing orders for so many every morning. I often baby sat cousin Homer when she had to make deliveries. Over the years, she could always rely on baking and selling pies to help her over any financial hardship.
I once had a fling at baking and selling pies when my husband and I lived in Paris. I often baked American style apple pie for dessert when we invited other Americans to dinner. Occasionally I was offered money to bake an apple pie for a guest. The French make wonderful tarts but when some of our American friends longed for a slice of an old fashioned apple pie, I’d comply.My favorite, when it comes to pie, is as changeable as the wind. As a young girl I liked rhubarb custard as only Mom could make it. A leftover slice of cold apple pie for breakfast is a delight but hot apple pie with melting vanilla ice cream is always on my favorite list. I grew up eating gooseberry pie and will order it when ever it’s on a menu when I eat out. Pumpkin is ok if there is lots of whipped cream. Pecan pie gives way to chocolate and coconut cream. Peach and berry cobblers have been favorites from time to time; they certainly have to be considered by any pie enthusiast.
