Yesterday we picked 4 boxes of gala apples from our tree. They weren't quite ready but I got overzealous so there they are-- not as wonderful as they should have been but still nice, large, slightly tart apples. Of course everyone wanted pie. When they all want pie, it's fairly easy to get help in the kitchen. So my youngest son, a high school senior, made the crust for two 9 in. apple pies while I cut up the apples.
He said: Mom, remember last year when we had Pie Week?
I said: Yes, that was so nice. You learned how to make crust and every day after school we made a new kind of pie. Pie Week was fun.
(There was apple, peach, and something involving pudding and whipped cream I think, but I can't remember all the kinds of pie. I only remember how delightful it was that my teen-age son wanted to be in the kitchen with me making pie. That doesn't happen often. In fact, only then. And today.)
He said: I was telling my friend Megan about Pie Week and she said when they make pie at her home, she makes the crust while her mom does the filling, and when they're done they roll out the bits of dough and sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on top and bake it. I thought it was weird that we did the exact same thing.
I said: My mom used to do that too, but I didn't help her much with anything. She and I didn't cook together like we're doing now. Shall we have Pie Week again? We can make more pies than this. You can come home from school everyday this week, and we'll make pie again.
He said: No, let's just do this one. What did you do that was wild when you were young? Did you toilet paper anyone's house?
I said: I never heard of that when I was a kid. But once a friend and I wrote nasty things about another friend on a bathroom wall. And I used to smoke straws. You light the end of a straw and smoke it.
Anyway, we had a lovely afternoon, and the apple pie was delicious.