It was 1963 and almost Thanksgiving. We had been married less than two months. The only cooking experience I had was watching my mom and grandma cook, but I did have my trusty Betty Crocker cookbook, and that's all I needed. I decided to make my very first pie, and the crust would be from scratch. So near to Thanksgiving, it had to be a pumpkin pie.
I carefully followed Betty's pie crust instructions. I make the most beautiful fluted pie crust edge you have ever seen. When it came out of the oven, it was truly a thing of beauty. It had browned just right and with the heavenly smell of spices wafting through the house, it was perfect. Too hot to eat, but we could eat it warm. I went to take a shower, hoping that by the time I got back, it would be cool enough to slice.
In the shower I was congratulating myself on a job well done, and anxiously awaiting the moment I would be taking the first bite. As I entered the kitchen, what a shocking sight! There before my eyes was this gorgeous pie shell with the most perfectly fluted edge, browned to perfection, but every last drop of the filling was gone!
I asked my husband, "Why did you do this?" His reply was, "I don't like pie crust."
I carefully followed Betty's pie crust instructions. I make the most beautiful fluted pie crust edge you have ever seen. When it came out of the oven, it was truly a thing of beauty. It had browned just right and with the heavenly smell of spices wafting through the house, it was perfect. Too hot to eat, but we could eat it warm. I went to take a shower, hoping that by the time I got back, it would be cool enough to slice.
In the shower I was congratulating myself on a job well done, and anxiously awaiting the moment I would be taking the first bite. As I entered the kitchen, what a shocking sight! There before my eyes was this gorgeous pie shell with the most perfectly fluted edge, browned to perfection, but every last drop of the filling was gone!
I asked my husband, "Why did you do this?" His reply was, "I don't like pie crust."