The Transplanted Baker: Pie Appreciation

I know a Norwegian woman who really knows how to live it up.

Not to say that she’s a party animal or anything, it’s just that the she doesn’t hold back when it comes to enjoying the finer things in life.

She’s a talented cake baker and a professional grocery shopper. She’s the kind of person that stays up until 3 in the morning baking a cake for her guests, because she’s not sure they’ll like the first four that she’s already glazed and slivered almond, gumdrop, and meringue kiss decorated. When she comes for a visit, she makes sure to bring her weight in sweets and salty things- just in case we’re eating too many carrots and bran muffins. And after all that daily giving and care taking, she likes to finish off the night with a cup of coffee, a glass or two of cognac, and a crystal bowl full of salted peanuts. After all, she deserves it.

So it made me excited to come to her home last Christmas with my freshly baked Caramel Apple Pie. Pure Americana. Pure leisure. Pure indulgence. It was sure to be a hit with her, the Queen of Indulgence. Or so I thought....

The first sign that my pie wasn’t golden, was when she left more than half of her slice on the plate. For a woman who, on average, goes for a third slice of cake, not eating more than two bites of a damn good pie was the equivalent of spitting it into her napkin and hiding the evidence between a cheek and a couch cushion. To the appearance of those not familiar with her quirks, she was simply still full from Christmas dinner. To me, she just didn’t get the beauty of pie.

The saying goes that something is “as American as apple pie”. It’s a cliché that has stayed put in our vocabulary, and for good reason. As opposed to cake, which really is more the center of the European lifestyle and celebration, pie is the essence of the American home and party. Along with the bald eagle, Liberty Bell, and Old Glory, the pie is a symbol of The U. S. of A.

The idea of defining American food and tradition is always a topic stuck in my head. It’s really a topic worthy of a full dissertation, so I won’t even try to go into it in detail now, but I do think the subtopic of why pie is so purely American is worth a mention. Why is it that a cake, candy, and ice cream addict like not only this woman, but many Norwegians I know, just can’t seem to come to appreciate the ultimate American dessert? Why is it that we stuff ourselves beyond the last belt notch on Thanksgiving and still manage to find room for a few slices of The American Pie Trinity- pecan, pumpkin, and apple? And why is it that Heinz Ketchup, Budweiser, and sadly, even TGI Fridays have taken Norway (and I imagine much of Europe) by storm, while the humble, perfect American pie has not?

I think it has something to do with the early American ideas of pioneering and sharing- that every hard working person deserves a slice; be it a slice of land on the Midwestern prairie, or a slice of blueberry a la mode. I also think it has something to do with how you bake a pie according to season, just like grandma did on the farm- peach in the summer, apple in the fall, and maybe a berry preserve pie in the middle of winter... Don’t try to tell me that the same thing goes for cake. What’s the season for Devil’s Food, for Lemon Chiffon, for Vanilla Bundt? And then of course, I think the nostalgia we hold in pie and old timey foods plays a key roll. When a nation is brought up on specific traditions, ideals, and flavors, we remember the flavors of our childhoods past and certain events just aren’t the same without pie.

Pie was the first recipe I posted about on The old Transplanted Baker. Three months after moving to Norway, it was pie that I yearned for, that I missed the most, that sent me digging out the rolling pin and cutting in cold butter with two forks. That first pie (and first post) was a Strawberry Nectarine. In a way, it helped relieve the homesickness for my country by making it. It helped even more to eat a slice. But what surprisingly helped the most was to sit down in front on the computer and type what it is about pie, about tradition, about roots, and about country that really helped me get over what I was missing.

Maybe that’s why Americans adore pie so much- every slice reminds them of who they are, where they came from, and who they intend to be.

We just moved into our first “really, truly, ours on paper” home- what better dessert to present at a house warming party? “Moving In Day Pie”- recipe to come...