My favorite part of Thanksgiving is making pies. For the past ten years, I’ve gone to my friend’s mom’s house for Thanksgiving, and for the past ten years, I’ve made one pecan pie and one apple cranberry pie for all to share.
There’s something immensely satisfying about baking. How you follow simple instructions, and walla! you have something insanely delicious. My favorite part of making pies is rolling the dough for the crust. It’s the transformation that amazes me. You take a cold ball of lumpy dough, and with a few strokes, it magically becomes a lovely, thin, round pie crust. I love the weight and the smoothness of a solid wooden rolling pin, sliding the silky flour over it before rolling the dough. Feeling the stretchiness of the dough, the give and take as I roll, roll, roll the pin back and forth.
I also love the slowness of it. The time that each step takes, as well as the waiting in between steps. Of making the dough, letting it chill, rolling it, preparing the filling, assembling the parts, and then the baking. The warmth and aromas that fill my small apartment as deliciousness is forming.
And it’s a treat. I don’t make pies very often, maybe once or twice a year. The process in itself has become a luxury, something I look forward to, a signal that I’ll be with loved ones soon.