Crimps and Crinkles: A Pie Maker's Manual

[Adhering to Pie Principle # 3 with my wine bottle rolling pin. Improvisation at its finest]

According to the Bible of Pie Making (in my world, this is Beth "Pie Lady" Howard's Ms. American Pie), there are basic four principles that govern the creation of America's favorite dessert:

1. Pie is not about perfection.

2. Pie is an expression of your individuality.

3. Pie is about improvising.

4. Pie is not complicated.

Every time I throw on my apron, roll up my sleeves, and plunge my hands deep into the chilled blend of flour and shortening, I try to remember to live by the Pie Lady's laws. For those of you who have attempted a pie crust, however, you know how difficult it is to practice what you preach. Pie making takes a great deal of patience, particularly in the beginning. It's easy to overwork the dough, stubbornly pounding the mix into a mound as the equally ornery flour refuses to hold shape. It's easy to just throw your hands up in the air and high-tail it to the grocery store in pursuit of a stress-free, mess-free, perfectly molded, crust already in the tin.

But then I return to the Bible. Pie Lady puts it perfectly:

"Pie is like life. It's memory. It should look homemade, handmade, and real... "Pies are a reflection of our personalities, our feelings. They are our own personal signatures."

She continues:

"If you can get past your fear of pie dough, you can get past other, bigger fears."

Amen.

I dubbed 2016 the Year of the Pie, 365 days of learning the folds, crimps, and crinkles of the doughy creation I adore. Self therapy and exploration come in many forms. For me it's coming in a 10-inch tin. While mastering the tricks to a perfect filling and falling comfortably into improvisation in baking, I'm also learning to embrace new ingredients I have never worked with before. Like rhubarb. Before this month, the extent of my knowledge around rhubarb was this: 1- it looks like a piece of celery and 2- it's baked into a pie that the old-timers request at Marie Callender's.

Rhubarb isn't exactly the first ingredient people think of when they dream of pie. It's earthy and bitter and doesn't have the allure of a plump, juicy strawberry or the sinfulness of a slab of milk chocolate. It's sorely misunderstood. With enough love and care, rhubarb is a thing of nostalgia, an ingredient that can be coaxed into a warm, cozy mixture that can be decadently drizzled over ice cream or, in my case, wrapped lovingly in the embrace of a pie crust.

Rhubarb is a seasonal offering and slim pickings in California grocery stores, at least in the San Gabriel Valley. I was fortunate to land on the last bundle for sale at the local Sprout's Market. The parting words I received at the grocery store: "Make sure to use lots of sugar." Many people pair rhubarb with strawberry to cut some of the plant's strong, tart taste. A lover of both the sweet and the bitter, I fully intend to follow Pie Lady's lead and make a straight rhubarb pie. However, I didn't want to sour my first attempt at working with the stuff. Strawberry season is in full swing so I decided to take advantage and make my very first strawberry rhubarb worthy of the old-timers love.

The next bit of advice I received from my dad: "Make sure you do your homework before baking." He had a solid reason for his remark. As I discovered, the leaves of the rhubarb plant are poisonous. Many soldiers learned this the hard way during World War I when the leaves were wrongly recommended as a food source in Britain. Although it would take a whole lot of leaves to be lethal, the consumption of rhubarb greens will make very a very uncomfortable stomach ache. Thankfully the bunch I bough was already de-stemmed so no fear of serving a poisonous pie!

I sliced up my strawberries and diced the rhubarb, all the while thinking of how weird it is to add "celery" to pie. I threw in an extra 1/3 cup of sugar and a splash of lemon juice and sealed it up with a lattice. This was my first time attempting the latticework and I was quite pleased with how I did. It wasn't perfect, but I am definitely improving! (and so is my patience).

[Working the weave]

[A few bumps and glitches, but practice makes perfect]

The end result was a rhubarb pie to be proud of.

The smell that wafted out of the oven reminded me of a freshly toasted strawberry Pop-Tart. The jam-like consistency within the golden brown crust was heavenly, not a hint of bitterness and not over sugared. It was the perfect marriage of sweet and savory. With a scoop of cold and creamy vanilla bean, it was a wonderful treat for a sunny California afternoon. It paired perfectly with the barbecue ribs Nathan had cooked for the family.

These are the kinds of traditions I crave. Memories with family tied together like the lattice of a homemade pie. Exquisite.