This week I’ve been thinking a lot about the Thanksgiving holiday and menu planning. We didn't have any kind of gathering but we’ve hosted dinner in the past few years, so I have some excess catering energy that has going underutilized. I’ve been thinking specifically about pie crusts.
I think that pie crusts can smell fear and if you try to make one without the full courage of your convictions, it will fail. Maybe fail is a strong word. It will fall short of the pristine pie crust of the imagination. Maybe it won’t be flaky, or tender, or flavorful. One out of three would help. I remember making pie crusts at one point in my life like it didn’t matter, like nothing was at stake. I didn’t mind either way and they seemed to turn out fine. This was clearly decades ago in someone else’s life.
I don’t know how to make a pie crust now. I mean, I know how. I’ve read most of the easy, foolproof, and traditional recipes. I’ve even tried some of them but for holidays, I have never pulled off making a scratch pie crust. To me, it’s one thing that can ruin a dessert and it’s not like you can work around it. Once you put the filling in the pie, it’s a done deal. It seems like a cruel trick that something that seems so simple can go awry and take the whole pie down with it.
In the early stages of the pandemic, I made a pie crust for a pot pie. I finished work later than planned and was hurrying into the kitchen. I put it together quickly and when I was combining the ingredients, I didn’t trust the dough. I added more moisture and then more moisture until it seemed like dry biscuit dough, which is not good for a pie crust and also would not give you good biscuits. I didn’t trust that it would hydrate in the fridge, that the dough resting would give me the result I wanted. I wanted to see it from the dough as it was mixing right then, which is just not how pie crust works. Pie crust dough, like people sometimes, or creative processes, need time on their own to sort themselves out. There are these moments where you have to trust that things are working out even if you can’t see it right then in front of you. I lacked the courage of my convictions then and it showed in the pie crust.
In my refrigerator were premade pie crusts that I used to make pumpkin pie for the holiday and then a turkey pot pie from the leftover turkey. I’ve made my choice. I have every faith that one day I will make delicious pie crusts like it’s nothing. That day is not right now. I’m not one to shy away from a challenge but in the kitchen I take a much more methodical approach. I study recipes, work through them and then tweak them until I’m happy. There will be time one day to tame pie crusts.
Short version: How to (Not) Make a Pie Crust
• Pie crusts can smell fear
• Have the courage of your convictions before making a pie crust
• Like people or creative processes, sometimes pie crust needs time to sort itself out
• Trust that things are working out even if you can't see it happening
• Buy them from the store. If you make them from scratch, good luck to you because I can't
help you.
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