Pumpkin pie in a chiggae world

Most Americans parallel Thanksgiving with turkey. Of course, there are many deeper meanings to Thanksgiving--Pilgrims establishing the first surviving colony in the future US, family, friends and giving thanks for our blessings--but let's not get all sappy about it, eh? We as a culture are very frank and unemotional so let's face it: in our image-devouring, marketing-reliant society it's easier to symbolize Thanksgiving with a picture of a turkey than to convey an image of family, friends and giving thanks. Happily, we can incorporate other meanings into our turkey: putting it in a Pilgrim hat with buckled shoes, or surrounding it with family and friends (green beans, cranberry sauce and mashed potatoes), but the focus is on the turkey. We call Thanksgiving 'Turkey Day' because we identify turkey as a central theme to the holiday.

That's not the case with me.

I'm more of a pumpkin pie girl.

Why focus on a dry, dead bird when you can think of succulent, rich, creamy, moist pumpkin pie? The ambrosia of autumn--a whirlwind of flavourful spices lovingly embraced by a flaky, buttery crust.

If there's anything my mother can be proud of regarding her baking (and there are many), it's her pies. Pumpkin and apple are her best, and they grace the dinner table every Thanksgiving, and usually on Christmas as well. I still can't decide which I like better; I'm naturally disposed to pumpkin pie, but that French crust on an apple pie is a difficult contender.

There are reasons why her pumpkin pies always turn out so delectable: first, she's an experienced cook and baker and she knows what she's doing; second, she puts loads of love and care into her work (now I'm getting sappy, but it's my mom and I love her); and third, she uses only the best ingredients. None of that crap-coloured canned puree in our house, thank you very much.

After skipping my share of pumpkin pie last autumn, I was undergoing some serious cravings. Against the odds, and against my better judgment, I decided to bake my own pumpkin pie.

And I surprised myself.

Living in Korea, I have a newly-acquired toaster oven to serve as my baking headquarters. I never wanted to spend loads of money on kitchen appliances and equipment that I wouldn't take home, so my baking is done sans les beaters, with pots and a rice cooker bowl to serve as mixing bowls. Some last-minute acquisitions of tart pans and a potato masher only reminded me of how difficult it would be.

I couldn't really find recipes for toaster-oven pumpkin pie, so I just decided to wing it and hope for the best. My biggest problem, I knew, would be the crust. Butter is way too expensive for my miserly budget, and I have no idea where I can find a can of Crisco in Korea. Luckily, I found a recipe for a crust made with oil, which I never even knew was a possibility. I made my dough, split it into fourths, flattened them out with my hands, put them into the tart pans and even remembered to poke holes in the bottoms and sides. They're ugly; I didn't spend too much time pinching the tops with my fingertips, but they're ok. I learned not to use extra-virgin olive oil in the future, and that the recipe calls for entirely too much salt.



I checked and rechecked the pies as they were baking; my worst fear was a burnt crust and a runny filling. Happily, the crust was golden-brown by the time the toothpick came out clean, so I pulled it out. I couldn't wait; after about five minutes, I cut out a quarter and ate it.

Not as good as mom's, but better than frozen. I don't even know how long they baked, and I hope I'll never have to relive this experience again. Tart pan pumpkin pies are just too much work.

the crust

Next up? Pumpkin bread.