As long as I can remember I have been a huge fan of pie.  It’s likely I was weaned on it right from mother’s milk since it seems there was always one being pulled from our oven.  I can remember spending summers as a young girl practicing different crusts recipes.  They rarely ended up in a finished pie,  rather, I would cut out shapes from the dough,  sprinkle them with sugar and cinnamon, and then bake them until the sugar just began to caramelize around the edges – a treat I had learned to make from my Grandmother.  I was mesmerized by how a few simple ingredients could produce something so perfect and satisfying.  To this day, pie is my dessert of choice to both make and eat – primarily because of the crust.  The filling is simply ancillary.

The majority of the crusts I made and ate as a child contained lard as the shortening.  Was that the secret ingredient that had placed those pastries in such high esteem or was it simply nostalgia?  Some swear by lard, believing that it makes the flakiest and most tender of pies.  There was a time when one dare not admit that they used lard, lest they be shunned and considered a heretic among the “healthy eating” police.  However, we now know that lard isn’t the villain it was made out to be.  It actually has its own fair share of health benefits – believe it or not!

For quite some time now I have been trying to find lard in an attempt to recreate this elusive crust of my past.  Living in a city the size of Los Angeles, you wouldn’t think it would be that difficult.  It probably isn’t hard to find if you know where to look, but all my attempts came up empty.  That fine rendered fat and I have crossed paths a couple of times during my recent travels – a butcher shop in Seattle, and Chelsea market in New York – however, it’s not exactly something I wanted to bring home in my luggage, nor did I think it would have escaped the suspicious eye of the TSA agent had I tried to carry it on the plane.

From the time I launched my blog I couldn’t wait to have a baking day with my Mom.  Last week during a trip to visit her, I got my opportunity – and I knew exactly what I wanted to bake.  Pie!  Not just any pie, but a pie with a crust made from lard.  If ever I were to find lard, it would be in Cincinnati – the town across the river from where I grew up.  In 1835 Cincinnati was given the nickname Porkopolis.  It was the chief pork packing city in the country with herds of hogs literally roaming the streets.  I was sure I would be able to find that precious, creamy white commodity somewhere in town.  And I did – at Avril-Bleh & Sons Meat Market.

Mom was in charge of making the crust.  I just wanted to observe and reminisce, recalling childhood memories of watching her sitting at the end of our kitchen table putting her baking talents to work.  Whether it was bread, cookies, crisps or coffee cake, everything she made was delicious.  All these years later, with nothing more than a bowl, pastry blender and a wooden rod (the only rolling pin she has used for years) she worked together the dough as a potter works their clay.  I treasure these photos as I capture her moving through every step of the process.  They tell a story all their own.  I love her sweet hands – gentle hands that have seen their fair share of hard work.

I chose to fill her masterpiece with fresh organic strawberries from the local farmer’s market.  A simple glaze made from extra berries cooked with a bit of sugar added the final touch.  Actually, whipped cream was the final, final touch.  This pie screams for a dollop of whipped cream!

I often wondered if the flaky, fork tender pie crusts of my youth were just a fiction of my nostalgic memory or were they really a cut above the ones I make today?  I wasn’t sure until I tasted the pie my Mom and I made together.  My memory had not played tricks on me – lard was the secret ingredient all along that made those crusts  so much better.