Few things taste better than the pie your mother made when you were a child. In my case, my mother made pies from the apple tree out in front of our house, and those pies resonate with me 25 years later. Fortunately, I was one of those strange sons who went around to all of the family matrons and either learned or copied down the best recipes. The pie crust recipe has always been the tricky one because the water ratio seems to change from pie to pie. Today, I had V. creating the crust from the recipe while I blanched, peeled and cut the peaches.
The crust was perfectly flakey, warm and resilient. From my experience you get one of these pies once in twenty, and it was very strange to have it be with a peach pie. Neither of had ever made nor eaten a peach pie, but they were the only local, ripe fruit at the Korean corner store. The warmth and the sweetness was elusive; the flavours and textures were reminiscent of tined peaches, but then the bite opened up into deeper flavours. Definitely a keeper pie…kept until about noon tomorrow, when I will have eaten it all up with a litre of milk.
The leftovers of a crust, in my family, were always turned into little turnovers that we filled with strawberry jam. It allowed my mom to keep the actual pie from greedy children until it cooled, and the little pie things caramelized slightly to give the jam a deeper flavour. I decided to use the remainders of the local Ontario strawberry name I made a few weeks back to fill the crust as I formed it into a little Paderno ramekin. A little bit of heaven in a few bites.
India the Yorkie Poo even had to admit that this was the bestest pie baking ever. It only goes to prove that the finest bakeries seldom can match what age-old wisdom and a few recipes originally stolen from the backs of shortening boxes can lead to. Food is about the emotions as much as it ever was about the execution of the techniques.