Apple Pie
by Gary Wittmann(c)2006
All rights reserved.
My grandmother could make the best apple pie around. All the aunts would be trying to get her secret. It had a perfect crust, and the edge was perfect all the way around with it wave. My aunt would sneak through her belonging looking for the secret.
We had a couple of cousin called the snot cousin. That's because they would always run their finger through their nose and wipe hair, which was green by the time they would be done. The snot cousin always got to grandmothers apple pie and eats off the crust before anyone. She would hide the pies and they still find them.
One weekend I was walking by my grandmother's house and knew she would be baking apple pies. So i snuck up to the window peak in. My breath fog up the window as I watch her roll out the dough and spread it over the pan. She picks up the pan taking her knife and slowly cut, cut, and cut away the edge around the pan. She then took her big heavy orange bowl and dish out the apples, sugar and cinnamon into the pie pan. She rolled out more dough and plop it down on top smoothing the edge out. I knew the secret to that perfect edge was about to happen, so I press my nose against the window and watch her take out her false teeth and run it around the edge of the pan. Next time you eat apple pie, you will be remembering my grandmother's apple pie, but I say, "Thank God, for the snot cousin who got there first."
