Column: The Apple Dumpling Gang

Our daughter brought us some apples to do with as we wished. I wished for them to magically turn into apple dumplings. That didn’t happen. The last time I attempted to make apple dumplings, they were a total failure. Apparently, I used the wrong type of apple. My dumplings turned out to be more like applesauce encased in dough — certainly not worthy of sharing with the company that was expected that evening. We may have had Oreos; I don’t remember. It wasn’t a good experience.

I became gun-shy after that and wished my mother was still here. She wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, but she had a talent with apple dumplings. I should have paid more attention.

I’ve mentioned before how my dad loved the back roads, especially in the fall. On one trip with Mother, they happened upon a little mom-and-pop restaurant with a sign out front advertising “Apple Dumplings!” Since it was near lunchtime and Mother was beside herself at the very thought, they pulled in. Dad ordered something sensible like a meatloaf platter, but Mother couldn’t wait a moment longer. She announced she’d have the apple dumpling, please.

It apparently was a pretty good one because when the waitress came by later, saw their empty plates and asked if they cared for dessert, Mother, with a big grin on her face, said, “I think I’ll have the apple dumpling, please!” Months later, when out for another ride, the folks found themselves in familiar territory and pulled into that same little dining spot. They no sooner came through the door than they were met with, “It’s the apple dumpling lady!” And a legend was born.

Since it’s the season, maybe I’ll try making an apple pie. Maybe. I haven’t had much luck with pie crusts. I have good intentions, but I lack culinary skills. Pillsbury to the rescue. We were invited for pie a couple of years ago with friends who really know their way around the kitchen. She made the best apple pie with the most delicious crust I’ve ever had. I still remember it to this day. It was not a Pillsbury pre-made crust, I’ll tell you that.

But I have to interject one thing here. I did make a lemon meringue pie — from scratch, mind you — for my son-in-law’s birthday a few years ago. Squeezed my own lemons, whipped up the meringue. It was a thing of beauty if I say so myself. He seemed somewhat astounded, if not impressed, as he said, “You made this?” (Emphasis on “you.”) Yep. Me. And I haven’t done it since. Let’s just live with the memory.

I have since discovered Mama Jo pies. Her lemon meringue is, as Ol’ Bill says, “eatible.” That, by the way, is high praise coming from him. I say delicious.

Speaking of Ol’ Bill, way back when we were just getting to know each other, I don’t remember how this happened, but he came upon a good deal on bananas — so long ago they were something like 10 cents a pound, maybe less — and brought what seemed like a ton of them to my house. What the heck did he think was going to happen? “Pie,” he said. “Ha,” said I. As luck would have it, my mother had a dear, generous, talented friend who said bring the bananas, she’d make pie. If memory serves me, I believe she turned out something like six banana cream pies that afternoon while this young couple chose to stay out of her way.

I opted to make an apple crisp today, and the kitchen smells pretty good. I need to make an ice cream run. This dish is calling out for a scoop of vanilla.