Can You Bake A Cherry Pie?

Thought for the Day

I don't have a lot of stories I can relate which describe activities I did with my father. There just weren't that many. He worked a lot. There was not a lot of time available for us to have one on one activities.  There were some though and they were a bit like caviar: an acquired taste.

One such event happened on a rare occasion when my mother and sister left the house together for some activity I cannot name. All I can remember is that dad and I struggled with the "what to do" monkey until making a cherry pie emerged as the winning topic of the day. It was during this father - son work project I found my natural talent to instruct others. My dad was relatively unfamiliar with the kitchen. He knew the general process but the specifics were a bit daunting. That's where I came in.

I cannot accurately give you my age at the time of this endeavor. I can give you a range of somewhere between five and seven. Even then, I was very sure of myself - right or wrong. Cherry pies, actually any pies, were made from scratch which includes the crust. There may have been some kind of mix available for the crust but I seriously doubt we had any in our house. Mother was a purist when it came to baking.

My first job was to locate the Crisco, flour, salt and sugar for the crust. Butter was not an option. Then I had to show dad where the bowls were. There was a certain bowl mother used to make the crust. That was the only bowl that would do. This was the first indication to my father that I might be a bit anal, but it was just the beginning. Then I had to locate the pie plate, cherries and tools for the preparation of the ingredients.

We made the crust without much difficulty. While my motor skills and attention to detail had not fully developed my enthusiasm for what I did know was in full bloom. And so we prepared the crust, the cherries, turned on the oven and began rolling out the crust. My pop was not a detail guy in the kitchen. I was. The crust had to be done properly. The shape, turning it over, the absence of unwanted fissures, and texture had to pass the scrupulous examination of the the pastry chef. That was me. We had to roll and re-roll the crust a number of times. When it was placed in the pie tin it had to have the exact measure of excess to allow for sealing the top and bottom layers together.

When we had finally placed the bottom layer of crust in the bottom we added the ingredients and rolled out the top layer. This time it was done properly on the first roll-out. The pastry chef was pleased but not for long. The next action was to place the top crust on the pie and flute the edges.  Dad placed the upper crust on the pie and pressed the edges against the pie tin to remove the excess crust. Then, he took a fork to place a designed edge on the seam. I lost it. That wasn't right. Stop! Stop! This is wrong!

That caught my sire a little off guard. What's wrong, he asked me. What's wrong, I said. That is not how you fix the edges. That's what is wrong. I did not know the word "flute" so I tried my best to show him but I couldn't do it right. I was making a mess of the edges and that made me crazy. I was pushing my father, a man with little patience, to the edge of his understanding.

In the end, he did the best he could with the fluting. The pie was a highlight at dinner. Everyone was amazed that we had accomplished such a feat and dad was very complimentary about my part in the preparation of the cherry pie. What is a bit sad is that is the only thing I can remember he and I doing together. But as I look back at the pie baking memory it reminds me of a few things that I could not have any other way. And when you are looking for something to hang on to as life changes from one scene to another, it's nice to have a solid memory of the people who are important to you, even if your life and the people in it are imperfect.

©Herb Ratliff, September 5, 2012, All Rights Reserved