My mother’s mother had a weapon. She used it every family reunion, get together or semi- special occasion. It was her pecan pie!
This pie was so amazing, people would shove other’s out of the way to get to it. Family members would track her entrance with their eyes, with that nine inch aluminum foil wrapped offering, waiting for it to be released – set down, so they could jump up and claim a piece, or try to be the first in line.
The older ones would nod to her hands and just say, “is that it”. If she really liked them, she would tell them about the second pie. The one she kept for the people she really liked. The one that would guarantee purveyors of fine pecan pie.. one slice.
It was amazing to watch people young and old, the ones who had it before, who had tasted that golden brown delicacy, encourage other pies to be eaten, claiming they were the best. Some old loud and proud person would always proclaim “you can’t beat Lucille’s pie”. I felt bad for the bakers of those other pies.
Those unfortunate makers would sidle up to my grandmother and ask so sweetly, “how do you do it”, “can I have your recipe”. Grandma would tell them it was the same old recipe on the bag of pecans, or the brown sugar, or the butter – and the only thing special she did different was add her own special brand of love. No one was fooled at her white lies. No one expected her to actually write it down for them, this was a ritual. A way of worshipping her superior skills in the kitchen.
She really did have a way in the kitchen. It wasn’t because she had spent so much of her life cooking for a large family, or because she particularly cared about her husband, kids or grandkids. No, it was because it was truly an art form for her.
My grandmother had a 7th grade education. Which belies the fact that everyone who reads for hours a day, educates themselves. She read a lot. She read a lot of cooking magazines, and would save up for special recipe books, in order to push her boundaries.
I remember in the late 70’s, she made her first pot stickers, egg rolls, fried noodles, wonton soup. This was Macon, Georgia – a place known for it’s pickled pigs feet, cornbread, butter beans and fried chicken. She made things with things because we were poor, because you made do, because nothing was thrown out. Her watermelon RIND jelly, was just as good as her fig preserves. http://www.watermelonrind.com/watermelon-rind-jelly-recipe.html
When this silver headed yet still glamorous goddess of the kitchen felt her end was near, she asked me what I wanted out of all of her possessions. I really had a hard time with that question. My answer was, “I want it all, because I don’t want you to go, if you go.. there is nothing you have I want”. Yet, this question bugged me, what if anything would I actually treasure? Then it dawned on me.
After learning to crack an egg at the age of 5. Learning to keep bacon drippings in a tin can, how to make pancakes over the phone, how to make the perfect cornbread, how to make creamed corn, how to roast a turkey – all before I was 11 years old – when I got older, I started to really cook.
When the macular degeneration made her eyes hurt in the light, I replaced all her switches to dimmers. She got to the point where confusion was the norm, she boiled her water because she was afraid of germs and started fainting for lack of electrolytes. She brushed her teeth with actual bleach.
There were a lot of signs that things were not going well. A month or two before she passed away, she handed me her cookbook. It wasn’t her original one from 1974, it was a brand new one she bought just for me, and circled all her favorite recipes with a few handwritten ones of her own.
http://www.amazon.com/Stuffed-Griffin-Georgia-Utility-Club/dp/0960758402
There circled in by her own pen, was THE pecan pie recipe. Her secret finally revealed from the grave. I had not opened the book until she passed. It felt almost sacred, and I wasn’t sure about my emotions. One day, I was looking for a pecan pie recipe and pulled out all my cook books, not realizing THE recipe was here circled “Uncle Mike’s Favorite”. Well, I guess that was the determining factor. What a surprise. All those memories came rushing back. There was a certain pride in her pride, in watching people admire her art form.
Gathering all the ingredients, I made it. It was so wonderful, I made a second doubled batch. It was perfect. How could I not share this, especially at this time. Here is the magical pie from it’s mystical origins. The one that makes sinners whisper, and saints shout for joy!
6 eggs, beat slightly. Add 1 1/3 cup sugar, 1/2 tsp. salt, 2/3 cup melted butter, 1/2 cup cane syrup, 1 1/2 cup dark Karo syrup. Pour into a nine inch pie pan and put in your pecans – stir them about gently, I use 6 oz. bags, one for each pie, you can use twice as much if you like a lot of nuts.
Bake for 50 minutes at 350 degrees. This makes two 9″ deep dish pies. I precook my crust, per directions (unless you are making your own).
Here in the North, they don’t grow pecans. I have to suffer with some sad little dried up morsels that cost as much as walnuts in the South.
Good luck and enjoy your Holidays, whichever ones they are!
wesleycarter 