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Dents, Dings and Dough
A Baking Experience with a Personal Touch
By Donna Smith
"No, this isn't that kind. It's Brianna's mom who's having the garage sale, and her last name is Smith too. It's personalized." How can you argue with that logic?
"Can we make a pumpkin pie now?" she asked.
Now? A pie? We have a frozen pie crust in the freezer and eggs in the fridge. Evaporated milk? Yes. Cinnamon? Check. Ginger? Got it. Nutmeg? Not a problem. Brown sugar? Always! So why not?
Why not? Because the art of baking pies had ended with my grandma. I could make a mean ice cream pie, and have once or twice turned out a pretty good pecan pie (my grandma's recipe, of course), but my many failed attempts of making the pie that symbolizes the arrival of fall paraded through my mind.
"Please?" she said. "I've never made a pie."
How could I say no to that? Of course we could! But not before we took a short drive up the street to that orange-dotted lot that seemed to glow in the bright sun. The pumpkin patch. Slowly we made our way up and down the rows of pumpkins in all shapes and sizes. She found a medium-sized one that was perfect for our pie, and a larger one we would carve to adorn our porch on Halloween night.
When we got home, we turned into pastry chefs. She giggled as we removed handfuls of slimy seeds and strings from the pumpkin. I watched as she carefully dipped a measuring cup into the brown sugar and poured a perfect three-fourths cup over the pumpkin. She giggled as she shook the cinnamon and threw in the nutmeg and ginger as she yelled "Bam!" I showed her how to crack the eggs into a small bowl so she could check for shells. Soon, the thawed pie crust covered up the dents and dings of the pie pan, the edges waiting for her small hands to gently crimp.