Pie is the end-all be-all of desserts. Some people will argue that cake is the grandmaster of all sweets with its luscious frosting cascades and its light, airy texture.
However, throughout my many cookie-baking binges and midnight meringue whipping, I have found that pie is the mother of all sweets. It’s the real reason I found my love of baking in the first place.
There comes a point in a baker’s life where certain dishes feel like addictive drugs. First, I was on straight sugar, then I was on cookies – chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin – any recipe I could get my hands on. Finally, I found the real beauty of baking, and I found it in pie.
If I were to eat myself sick and succumb to the American obesity epidemic for the rest of my life, I would want to reach that goal by gorging myself in pie, specifically apple pie.
Baking a deep-dish apple pie is like a religious experience. I can hear the angel choir sing as I peel each apple. The day I baked my first apple pie was the day it became my addiction.
I would be selfish to keep such a godly recipe to myself, so, without further ado, here it is – the recipe for pure sex in a pie tin.
First of all, pie is 50 percent crust, 50 percent filling. That being said, the crust is just as, if not more, important than the filling itself. If you are too impatient to make your own pie crust (as I am sometimes), frozen pie crusts are OK.
For the filling, you’ll need at least eight apples. When baked, apples shrink significantly, so to achieve a beautiful, towering apple pie, the more apples, the better. After the apples are peeled, cored and sliced, mix them with ¾ cup of sugar, 1 teaspoon of nutmeg, 1 teaspoon of cinnamon and a dash of allspice.
Now spoon it into the crust and bake it (on a cookie sheet to avoid sticky spillage) at 350 degrees for about 50 minutes.
When the crust begins to brown, take it out of the oven, let it cool, serve it warm and prepare for all your friends to write poetry about you.
Column by Madison Wepfer, Assistant Features Editor