by Diana Cercone
I grew up on pies. My mother was a natural, turning the ripe fruits of summer and fall—blueberries, cherries, peaches, apples and figs—into luscious pies that could have easily passed for sin. To cheer up cold winter nights, she’d unlock the flavors of summer into her pies from the fruit she had canned. Family lore has it that when she married my father, my Italian grandmother and aunts gave up baking. That’s how good my mother’s pies were. Come time for picking the fruit from the trees in our backyard, my grandfather, Rocco, had no problem enlisting his buddies to help. With the sun still rising on a Saturday morning, I’d see them climbing wooden ladders before disappearing behind branches thick with green leaves and laden with fruit. I wouldn’t see them again until they descended. With their baskets brimming, they’d carry them into our kitchen and offer them to my mother as if they were bushels of gold.
For their efforts, all they asked were a still-warm pie to take home and her promise for more come on Thanksgiving and Christmas. She never let then down. Often she’d roll out their initials—as she did for us—with extra pie crust as decoration. Seeing your initials regally sitting on top one of her pies, gave you this warm feeling ... like having just won a prize. Of course once she got wind that my sisters, brother and I were keeping score as to which of us racked up the most initials, she stopped, replacing them, instead, with artful designs.
Much of what I have learned about cooking comes from my mother. I can duplicate just about any of her dishes: cannelloni, osso bucco, pasta Bolognese, shrimp scampi. But her pies? Not even close. I finally gave up trying. Which explains why I’m always on a quest for great-tasting and beautifully made pies, for there’s more to making a great pie than flour, shortening and liquid. The crust has to be just right: not too thin or too thick, flaky but not crumbly or tough. Attention must be given to the filling. For it demands the right amount of seasoning, especially when adding nutmeg, cinnamon or sugar. And the filling can’t be too dry or too wet. Then there’s the question of which type of topping works best with the pie: a double crust, covering both the bottom and top; a crumb; or a lattice? And still there’s something else—something more elusive. It’s an ingredient you won’t find listed in any pie recipe. For it calls for love: the love of baking pies and putting that love into every pie baked for others to enjoy. My mother did that. And I think you’ll find—like I did—that the pie makers you’ll meet in the following pages do the same. Now if I can only convince them of putting my initials on their pies.
When walking into The Market at Styer Orchards, don’t be surprised to be met by an aroma heavily—and heavenly—perfumed from more than several generations of pie makers. Though things have changed since the first pies were pulled from the oven decades ago, today The Market’s pie makers are still baking the freshest and best-tasting pies they can. After all, they say, buying pies at The Market is more than just buying fresh-baked pies: it’s continuing a tradition.
It’s a tradition, says Kathy Anderson, the head baker in charge of the fruit pies, that none of them takes lightly. “A lot goes into baking our pies,” she says. “There’s love in them—and we love working together.” True, she says, because of the volume of pies they make—not counting the many thousands in orders for Thanksgiving, Christmas and fundraisers—they no longer can make every pie from scratch. Still, she says, “We bake and finish all pies here. And we’re constantly taste-testing pies to offer our customers the best.”
To finish reading this story go to page 81 of Fall 2012 issue of Bucks County Magazine.