Table Of Content★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Copyright © 2014 by Kate Lebo
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form, or by any electronic, mechanical, or other
means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published by Sasquatch Books
Trade paperback editor: Gary Luke
Trade paperback project editor: Michelle Hope Anderson
Design: Anna Goldstein
Photographs: Rina Jordan
Food styling: Jean Galton
Prop styling: Jenn Elliott Blake
Copy editor: Diane Sepanski
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-57061-911-3
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-57061-910-6
Sasquatch Books
1904 Third Avenue, Suite 710
Seattle, WA 98101
(206) 467-4300
www.sasquatchbooks.com
[email protected]
v3.1
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contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introductions
THE ART AND SCIENCE OF PIE
How to Make Piecrust by Hand
How to Choose Your Best Tools
How to Make a Double-Crust Fruit Pie
How to Make a Galette
How to Be a Pie Roller
How to Be Fruitful
How to Keep Your Cool
How to Bake
How to Bake Blind
How to Weave a Classic Lattice
How to Put a Bird on It
How to Be Scrappy
How to Multiply
WHAT MAKES A PIE A PIE (or, Recipes for Piecrust)
Extra-Flaky Piecrust
All-Butter Piecrust
Purple-Ribbon Piecrust
Cheese Crust
Galette Dough
Gluten-Free Buckwheat Piecrust
Gluten-Free Almond Flour Piecrust
Any-Cookie-Crumb Crust
A HUBBUB OF RHUBARB
Rhubarb Custard Pie
Rhubarb Ginger Pie
Raspberry Rhubarb Pie
Bluebarb Pie
BLUEBERRY BEAUREGARDE
Blueberry Lemon Verbena Galette
Maple Blueberry Pie
Blue Peach Pie
Blue Goose Pie
SHE’S MY CHERRY PIE
(She’s My) Sour Cherry Pie
Cherry Jack Pie
Apricot and Sour Cherry Pie
Cardamom Cherry-Apple Pie
THE PERFECT PEACH
Peach Potpie
Peach Whiskey Pie
Peach Ginger Pie
White Peach and Raspberry Galette
A TYRANNY OF PLUMS
Plum Thyme Pie
Pluot and Elderflower Galette
Lavender Aprium Pie
Apricot, Plum, and Raspberry Galette with Chambord Glaze
BLACKBERRY, BLACKBERRY, BLACKBERRY
Blackberry Pie
Marionberry Pie with Hazelnut Crumble
Mumbleberry (Mixed Berry) Pie
Free-Form Gravenstein and Blackberry Galette
Gluten-Free Blackberry and Honeyed Mascapone Pie with Almond Flour Crust
Huckleberry Pie
AN EVERLASTING APPLE PIE
Apple Pie
Brandied Apple and Cracked Cardamom Pie
Cheddar-Crusted Apple Pie
Whiskey Crumble Apple Pie
Ginger-Honey Apple Pie
Three Pear and Gouda Pie
Apple Pear Cranberry Pie
Apple, Pork Sausage, and Rosemary Pie
Crab/Apple Pie
Rose Family Pie
SNOW CUPBOARD PIES
Banana Cream Pie
Shaker Lemon Pie
Coconut Chess Pie
Whiskey Maple Pecan Pie
Cherry Cranberry Pie
CHIFFON PIE CHIC
Strawberry Chiffon Pie with Vanilla Crumb Crust
Raspberry Chiffon Pie with Chocolate Cookie Crust
Lemon Chiffon Pie with Gingersnap Crust
Black Cherry Chiffon Pie with Chocolate Cookie Crust
Gluten-Free Pumpkin Chiffon Pie with Almond Flour Crust
The Gift of Pie
Acknowledgments
Suggested Reading
Index
Conversions
About the Author
introduction
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Thanks for joining me, fellow pie lover. Let’s get acquainted.
I am a writer, teacher, and baker. I founded this school when I was about to graduate from the MFA
program at the University of Washington. As a flip answer to the question, “What are you going to do
with a creative writing degree?” I said, “Start a pie school,” diverting attention from the fact that I
wasn’t exactly entering a booming job market, and no, I didn’t have a plan. With enough repetition, the
idea started to seem like a good one. It stuck. I applied for a business license, made a website, and
rented a bakery kitchen in Seattle. My students and I tied our aprons and learned together how to make
what we could with what we had. They went home with a pie; I went home with plenty to write
about. My crazy idea was looking saner by the day.
But the story begins long before that first class.
I was raised in the Pacific Northwest by Iowans. If we’re talking in broad generalizations, that means I
come from friendly people who’d rather eat than argue.
We lived in a small city just north of Portland, Oregon, that people often mistake for a much larger
Canadian city, sometimes so badly they wander to the wrong side of the state and wonder why they
don’t need their passports to cross the Columbia River. By trading fireflies and snow for volcanoes and
rain, my parents gave me a personal topography that is damp, moody, exaggerated, and rich, with the
conquered beauty of the Discovery Channel and the lurking wildness of the West.
I learned the geography of my region at the grocery store. Sweet apples from Wenatchee, pie apples
from Skagit Valley. Cherries from Hood River, peaches from Yakima. Strawberries from Cornelius,
plums from the neighbors’, blueberries from my own backyard. And, of course, blackberries. On
mountainsides, on roadsides, in the last bit of forest left in the housing development. Poet Mary Oliver
calls them “the black honey of summer.” I called them lunch.
My first apartment in Seattle had a view of the Space Needle and the busiest chunk of I-5 in
Washington State. I joked that except for the air brakes and car horns, it sounded like the ocean (it
sounded like exactly what it was: a 24/7 traffic jam). On Thursday nights, with 90.3 KEXP’s hard-core
honky-tonk show blaring on my radio, my parents on speed dial, and Joy of Cooking cracked on the
kitchen counter, I taught myself how to bake.
My culinary romance started with a hunger for making things—I couldn’t afford to buy DIY supplies,
but I did have to eat. Flour and sugar stood in for fabric and glass, peaches and blueberries for thread and
yarn. That’s the best explanation I have for what happened when, after baking my way through cookies
and cakes and bread, I made my first pie: love. Not with eating it—like Star Trek and cats, I can’t
remember a time I wasn’t a big fan of pie. I fell in love with the materials, in love with the process. I
was at home. A natural. Easy as pie.
Soon, baking became hopelessly intertwined with writing. I baked to procrastinate on a poem; I
baked to have something to blog about; I baked because, unlike writing, I knew when the pie was done
and I knew if it was good. I didn’t get irritated with pie for being anything but what it was. When I
gave it to people, they knew exactly how to respond: with delight, appetite, and thanks. Poems are
harder. They should be. I needed baking to comfort myself through the hard parts (i.e., almost every
