LEMON MERINGUE PIE (A LOVE OFFERING)

No mother is perfect, it's an impossible job.

It's possible to be a mother, give it everything you've got

and still have your children wish you were different.

My children are already amused and exasperated by their mom-
I don't imagine it will get better with time.
Grandmothering seems to be evaluated differently.

Grandmothering appears to be a skill that can be mastered

and allows for more latitude in terms of execution.

Both of my grandmothers,

Inez and Annie Ruth,

were truly outstanding in their field

when it came to grandmothering.

They were so different from each other-and yet....
their love was similar in that it didn't waiver

as they nurtured and cared for my little heart with tremendous soul.
Each of them gave me different gifts, intentionally
pouring love into me with their time and attention.

If I'm truthful, some of my more ridiculous and persistent 

character traits are owed in large part to their influence.
I would not have it any other way.
On this week of Thanksgiving,
I want to share some of the gifts they gave me-
including a recipe I use to help me remember
that while love is not a pie, pie can remind us of love.

L-R: Inez, 16 year old me, Annie Ruth

Inez was not a particularly good cook or housekeeper-

her home base talents were a zest for life and a willingness to drag some

 scraggly grandkids along while she did pretty much anything. 
She was a trail blazer-working outside of the home
in a male dominated field very successfully until retirement.
She moved back to NC and turned that prodigious energy on us-
the grandkids that lived next door, or with her, depending on how
lost our mother was in the moment. 
With Inez, we were always going-

to visit her colorful sisters or friends, 

to try out a new swimming pool, on a walk to find ice cream sandwiches,

 or taking a road trip to somewhere we'd never been.  
The zoo, the beach, the mountains, museums and the new Chinese restaurant.
She had a robust sense of possibility or a deep fear of boredom.

She was interested in whatever shenanigan interested us-

at least enough to encourage us to get back at it.  

She quoted poetry, did little jigs while she made us turkey sandwiches,

and apparently had a song snippet for just about every occasion.  
She encouraged reading, academic achievement,
debate (about politics or college basketball).

I don't have a lot of Inez recipes-she had more energy than skill. 
Her home was my place of retreat and safety-
where I was always welcome to have anything I wanted to eat.
There was usually a loaf of banana or zucchini bread,
or sandwiches or soup.
She just didn't make a lot of meals necessarily-
or at least none that were over the top tasty.
Her kitchen projects were more prolonged and 
with a longer focus in mind than one particular meal.

She loved to dry apples, pick blackberries or grapes or cherries, 
make jam or pickles or chow-chow.  
The only thing I can really think of that she made at holidays was something

 she called scrabble but her other friends called trash.  

It's basically chex mix mixed with nuts and covered in soy sauce
and spices, baked until it dried back out to a crunch. 

In November there would be mountains of it stacked in ziploc bags

 on her dining table, ready to take to church bazaars and give as favors.

Annie Ruth was a firecracker-almost wholly without filter.  

I say 'almost' because as she aged, her sons often wished for 

the halcyon days where she had apparently been holding back.  

I loved to spend time with her-there was no telling what she was going to say. 
When I called to see if she wanted to go to lunch, 

she would answer the phone, out of breath, and sound truly annoyed

 that someone had interrupted her.  

Call back 2 minutes from when you hung up with her, and the same routine. 
She hadn't gone anywhere and yet-she was out of breath and exhausted,
possibly dying slowly from a preventable but terminal disease.
Every time. 
Until she found out it was a grandchild that is.

Then her voice would brighten like a child on Christmas morning.

Oh HELLOOO DOLL BABY!

Yeah, let's go up to Huey's and get the buffett.

Then you can take me to get my medicine.

She was not politically correct, she had opinions 

about everything and they were some combination
of irreverent and concerned for the welfare of someone
she had no business being nosy about.
She inhabited a place fully without ever really

expressing a desire to go somewhere new

(although she did go to the beach and to Dollywood with my Papa).

She was not a city person, trusted no one, 

was convinced she was one step away from being robbed or 

assaulted by a stranger.

This should have probably been scary but instead it was hilarious.

There were no strangers in Mebane NC-at least not strangers to her.

She wielded a cast iron skillet like a holy grail of grease.  

Her biscuits and fried chicken set the bar high for how I will forever

 evaluate Southern American celebration food.
I have yet to taste any better-and most don't even come close.
Creamed corn, field peas, fried okra, cornbread, country ham,
red eye gravy, and sweet iced tea that had to be sipped in tea cups.
Even sliced tomatoes tasted better at Annie Ruth's. 

Annie Ruth had a sweet tooth which she believed in indulging.  

Every Sunday lunch had pies, cakes, and occasional jello concoctions.  

Banana pudding (the actual cooked kind), pineapple upside down cake, chocolate or lemon chess pie, coconut creme cake...

there were always at least 4 things to choose from in the back room

 on top of the cabinator (freezer). 

 One of her specialties was lemon meringue pie.

Her version was pale yellow, sweet enough to hurt your teeth,

and fell apart immediately when you cut into it.

This pie became a symbolic act of love from her to me

during my high school and college years.

Anytime I was going to be home (at my dad's)

she would make me a whole lemon pie.

A whole pie just for me-the extravagance of it is absurd.

 It was so rare for me to feel beloved or wanted in family 

spaces-grief is a real place, that can only be navigated in doses.

  I think she tried to overcome the bitter with the sweet-

and as love offerings go, this one could have resulted in
a wave of altar calls.

This is NOT Annie Ruth's recipe-hers involved a lot more stuff.  

She made the crust from scratch and the sheen I remember 

coming off of her pies would suggest there's a 

missing ingredient that cardiologists would not approve of
(not that cardiologist would approve of this one either).  

This recipe is slightly easier than hers but is pretty close to the flavor.

It is not healthy and there should be no further attempts to 

make it more healthy-this is not daily food meant to support your body.

This is soul food-meant to remind you of heaven and unconditional love.

Eating the whole thing is possible-

but not recommended. 

Find someone to share it.
Or give it to them outright.

Lemon Meringue Pie

Ingredients:

1 store bought graham cracker pie crust

3 egg yolks

1- 14 oz can of sweetened condensed milk

1/2 cup of lemon juice

3 egg whites

6 tablespoons of sugar

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Mix yolks, condensed milk and lemon juice until smooth.  

Pour into pie crust.

In a clean bowl, mix egg whites and sugar.

Blend egg white mixture with a hand mixer 
until you think you might actually die standing there....
which is about the time stiff peaks will start to form.

When you can work with the meringue as if it's an 80's hair sculpture, 

place it on top of the lemon mixture.  

I like to make little peaks so they will brown but you can 

basically shape it almost any way you like.

Put in the oven for 15 minutes.

Cool on the counter and then refrigerate for 4 hours.