Long before I knew how to do anything, I knew how to bake an apple pie. From the moment I was tall enough to see over the kitchen table, my Nana had me in her kitchen and at her side. Before that, I was under the table playing with her Tupper-ware and wooden spoons. Everyone in my family could tell you stories of their favorite Nana recipe. They could each remember how they tasted, how they smelled, and how they felt when they ate it. After my baking partner passed, I threw in my baking towel. Over the years since, I have attempted to bake a few pies here and there, but they never seemed to match up to the pies Nana and I would make together; they tasted like they were missing something. Tonight, and long overdue, I took out my baking towel; actually, it was my Nana's. I fired up the oven and sunk my fingers into the mixing bowl once again. I am not sure how my pies will taste, as they are sitting on the cooling racks just waiting to be enjoyed, but I was sure to add the secret ingredient. Long before I knew how to do anything, I knew how to bake an apple pie. From the moment I was tall enough to see over the kitchen table, my Nana had me in her kitchen and at her side. Before that, I was under the table playing with her Tupper-ware and wooden spoons. Everyone in my family could tell you stories of their favorite Nana recipe. They could each remember how they tasted, how they smelled, and how they felt when they ate it. After my baking partner passed, I threw in my baking towel. Over the years since, I have attempted to bake a few pies here and there, but they never seemed to match up to the pies Nana and I would make together; they tasted like they were missing something. Tonight, and long overdue, I took out my baking towel; actually, it was my Nana's. I fired up the oven and sunk my fingers into the mixing bowl once again. I am not sure how my pies will taste, as they are sitting on the cooling racks just waiting to be enjoyed, but I was sure to add the secret ingredient.
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