Tag Archives: pie

Baking Wrecks: A GF Cherry Pie Wreck on Pi Day

Lulu and Phoebe were willing to eat this – We weren’t!

I really do know how to make a pie.  I’ve made some fabulous pies over the years.  But once in a while a whole bunch of pies will come out of my kitchen less than edible.  It seems to happen in cycles.  And because I am stubborn, I keep going until the pie-wreck cycle is broken.

I’ve gone through pounds of butter and flour with mixed results.  Some would make better wall-paper paste than pie crust, but as long as I could stuff it into the pan – it would be baked.  Other doughs rolled out perfectly and went into the pan like a pie crust should only to come out of the oven like it was exchanged for dessert sand. Continue reading


A Very Gluten Free Thanksgiving

Photobucketgluten free drunken pumpkin pie

Holiday food memories are like a family photo album with scratch and sniff pages.   Ask anyone about their earliest Thanksgiving memories and chances are it is a combination of the Macy’s parade and the smell of yams with toasted marshmallows or pumpkin pie.  Then again, some of us might only remember Uncle Zeke’s shiny flask filled with something that added a certain charm to the boring punch bowl filled with preseason eggnog.

My brother reports that we always had a Thanksgiving dinner growing up; that the Ad Man recited the same typed poem/prayer of thanks each year.  But I cannot muster up one solitary memory from childhood about the holiday.  There aren’t even any family photos from Thanksgiving to use as a memory crutch.  I’m puzzled that the guy- the Ad Man- who photographed anything and everyone would skip a major holiday opportunity.  I suspect that we actually ate liver and onions for Thanksgiving and that is why I’ve blocked out those early years.

My Thanksgiving memories actually begin when I was a 17-year-old bride attending the famous holiday feast with combined families at the newly minted in-laws.  Just because it was Thanksgiving and the new lemon loving in-laws were hosting my father and stepmother, assorted siblings and guests meant there was something nothing to be nervous about. The gathering would take place in their beautiful colonial on a wooded lane where the neighbor parks his helicopter.   Perfectly Norman Rockwell – in theory.  Spending most of that memorable holiday with a “nervous” stomach ailment was mortifying.  The Ad Man even rustled up the family doctor by phone who diagnosed “stomach ache”.  It would still be years before the gluten intolerance diagnosis, but I was suffering all the way back then. Continue reading

Chocolate Pudding Pie, Gluten Free

gluten free chocolate pudding pie

It begins with shiny red shoes and ends with pie.  The years I spent on the floor in the kitchen watching my mother bake and learning how to roll strudel dough or make poppy seed cookies is almost second to coveting her red shoes. Mesmerized, I was convinced that all red shiny shoes would smell like freshly baked cookies.   I can recall that moment years later as a young teen, long after my mom was gone, when I was shoe shopping and saw a pair of shiny red shoes and smelled them expecting the aroma of apple pie or freshly baked cookies to waft forth.  Sadly, reality bites.

While I can close my eyes and see my mom rolling out strudel dough, and carefully slicing Mandelbrot, or forming poppy seed cookies into even little balls, I can barely see the image of her rolling out pie crusts.   I know there was a  pastry cloth and a ratty old rolling pin with red handles, the paint long weathered from years of pie making.  Feeling the flour snowing down all around me on the flour while she rolled the crust, I still can see the unfinished edges hanging from the little metal pie tins, ready for filling.

And this is where the image fades like an old grainy film.  I don’t remember at all what went into those pies.  My brothers tell me that apple was the most popular, followed by cherry and then chocolate pudding.  I’ve been baking apple pies since I was old enough to have custody of a rolling pin, and I am sure in part I am following how my mother prepared the pie, but it is a memory that just won’t form into a clear picture.  But it doesn’t matter. Continue reading