Life Moments column
By Christine Bryant
A few weeks ago I delivered a peck of apples to my grandma after picking them at a Granville orchard the week prior.
I figured it wouldn’t take her long to get out her cooking gear and whip up an apple pie in no time. What I didn’t realize was how quickly the smell of apple pie baking in the oven would fill the house.
Not long after I handed her the bag of apples, she was emptying her cupboards and drawers with the ingredients and tools necessary to craft the American staple – and looking at me to help.
Don’t get me wrong – I love to bake. But I’m the type of baker that meticulously re-reads every instruction, double and triple checking that I’m not using 2 tablespoons instead of 2 teaspoons.
I feel daring and free from restrictions if I add an extra dash of cinnamon or – aghast! – add a little nutmeg when nowhere on that recipe card is nutmeg written.
As I watched my grandma effortlessly scoop each ingredient with a measuring cup that I’m convinced she could tell the size of simply by its weight rather than by its label, I was in awe of her baking fearlessness.
Not only were there no recipe cards or books in sight, with a quick glance of the eye, she had put the canister of flour, chopped apples and rolled dough in their place. She was queen of the kitchen, and no one could argue differently.
I’ve read that baking has the benefit of allowing people to embrace creativity – benefiting their overall well-being because it serves as an outlet for self expression and reducing stress.
In many countries, baking is even an act of love. The heart of baking is the act of giving, whether it’s gifting an actual pie, knowledge passed down through generations or memories that last a lifetime.
In just minutes, the scrumptious bakery scent of freshly baked apple pie filled the air, as memories in the making filled my mind.
Christine Bryant is a Messenger staff writer and columnist.
