How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie
Read How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie Online
Authors: Gina Henning
A warm pie. A tasty guy. Happy Thanksgiving indeed.
Lauren Hauser is home for the holidays, and she’s been given a challenge: preparing her grandmother’s pecan pie. The problem? Lauren’s not famed for her baking skills. In fact, while her sister would win Star Baker every week, and her mom at least knows a sieve from a spatula, Lauren’s bakes have always been more
dangerous
than delicious!
Still, no Thanksgiving would be complete without dessert…which is why Lauren finds herself searching for pecans on Thanksgiving Eve. Stumbling into a gorgeous stranger laden down with bags of pecans seems like a holiday miracle…but despite Jack’s kissable lips he’s frostier than a snow cone…and out of sight before she can say ‘Macy’s Parade’!
As the clock counts down to Thanksgiving dinner, Lauren is running out of time. And without her grandmother’s perfect pecan pie it won’t be a very Happy Thanksgiving! What Lauren needs is a knight in shining armour. And it might just be that the magic of Thanksgiving will find her one after all…
How to Bake
the Perfect Pecan Pie
Gina Henning
G
INA
H
ENNING
currently resides where bluebonnets line the highways in the spring, but she prefers the rock flower anemone from under the sea. Above the ocean’s surface Gina likes to dance with her three boys and travel to exotic places like the grocery store with her husband. Her pooch Schatzi is a mix between German Shepherd and possibly pig. One of Gina’s favorite pastimes is running. She recently completed her one-and-done marathon. At the end of the day her glass of wine is always half-full.
You can find Gina online at
http://www.ginahenning.com
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/henningland
Facebook
http://www.facebook.com/ginahenningauthor
Thank you to Franz, for enduring endless discussions about ideas and what ifs.
To my boys, Ethan, Beck, and Jude – your happiness is my joy.
To my mom – thank you for always standing by my side and cheering me on, for the countless conversations and knowing that I always had to hang up first, even though I didn’t want to.
To my friends and familia – thank you for taking me seriously and being supportive through my journey to publication.
To my pooch Schatzi, thanks for being at my feet during those late nights and really getting me.
To the love of my life, who I’ve been
Going Pecans
for since May 29, 1995.
Contents
Dear Lauren,
As you know, I am no longer capable of certain things. Despite this, the Hauser Family Pecan Pie must be made. Thanksgiving will not be able to exist without it. Perhaps that is a bit harsh, or dramatic, if you will. However, it is very important that certain traditions continue long after I am gone. The Hauser Family Pecan Pie is one of them. The instructions for this masterpiece have been handed down for many years. Actually, scratch that—this is the first time the recipe will leave my possession since I created it. Nonetheless, this magical formula is one of our family jewels, so you must guard it with your life. This is not dramatic as the recipe does hold value.
Now, Lauren, I have many granddaughters and even living daughters, but I have chosen to bequeath my secret to you. Because, as we both know, you are my favorite. But for heaven’s sake, please do not share this with your sister Megan or any of your female cousins. Actually, don’t tell anyone. This information you can confide to your husband only. Speaking of which, you aren’t getting any younger, dear. Well, now I won’t go on about that situation in this very important letter.
Finally, Lauren, below is the recipe. Please, dear, hold it close to your heart and remember to follow it to a “T”, or rather to a “P” as in “Pecan Pie”.
The Hauser Family Pecan Pie Recipe
Ingredients:
1 cup light brown sugar
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
10 ounces chopped pecans from Tibor’s Pecan Farm
1 tablespoon molasses
1/2 teaspoon of salt
Directions:
1 Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
2 In a large bowl, beat eggs until foamy, and stir in melted butter. Stir in the brown sugar, white sugar, and the flour; mix well. Last add the milk, vanilla, molasses, salt, and pecans.
3 Pour into an unbaked 9-inch pie shell. Bake in preheated oven for 10 minutes at 400 degrees, then reduce temperature to 350 degrees and bake for 30 to 40 minutes, or until done.
Flaky Pastry Pie Crust Recipe
Ingredients:
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup butter, chilled and diced
1/4 cup ice water
Directions:
1 Combine the flour and salt in a large bowl.
2 Cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
3 Stir in the ice water, a tablespoon at a time, until the crust mixture forms a ball.
4 Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for 4 hours or overnight.
5 Sprinkle flour onto rolling surface. Roll dough out.
6 Place crust in pie plate, pressing evenly into the bottom and sides.
Pecans must come from Tibor’s Pecan Farm. The pecans have always come from this place, so that is the way it must stay. Some day you should ask how to grow a pecan tree in your own yard using one of their seedlings. That is, of course, another situation.
Lauren, do not deviate from the recipe at all or the pie will be ruined as well as Thanksgiving. No, this is not your grandmother being dramatic. This is an actual truth.
Remember Lauren, the pecans have to be from Tibor’s Pecan Farm in Caldwell. This is the secret part of the pie. The pecans from Tibor’s Pecan Farm are the best in Texas. You know how I feel about subpar things. I wouldn’t have given you the recipe if I thought you would get the wrong pecans.
Lauren, I am counting on you, as is the rest of the family. I know you will succeed. You always have.
With warm thoughts and a cheer, Happy Thanksgiving Dear!
~Grandmother
I gaze at the letter. Of course I’ll add it to the collections of notes I’ve received over the years. The crisp, white paper has a thin, gold border, and at the top is my grandmother’s monogram: SLH—Sandra Lauren Hauser (I’m her namesake). I trace my fingers over the SLH. I ought to order my own stationery. Then again, who would I need to write a letter to?
With the letter in my clammy hand, my heart begins to palpitate. Little beads of sweat form along my hairline. The family pecan pie?
Oh, Grandmother
. I set the moist paper on the bed and sigh. I grab my comforter. It’s soft and fluffy. I want to pull the covers up over my head.
I’m not much of a cook, let alone a baker. Doesn’t she remember the catastrophes I used to create as a child? Bread that didn’t rise, muffins that were hard as rocks, and—everyone’s favorite—my flat, greasy chocolate chip cookies. Why would she give this to me? Surely, Megan would have been the smarter choice. Following directions and making the family proud is more of her thing.
Megan is my happily married sister, who is a fantastic chef and fits this role perfectly, whereas I’m the single and purportedly unreliable sister. Megan has a signed cookbook from almost every one of the Food Network celebrity chefs. She could probably open her own restaurant and be one of the ten percent of restaurateurs that doesn’t fail. Basically, Megan strives for success and whatever Megan wants, she gets.
My mom gave me the letter last night when we got home from the airport. I was exhausted from the long day of traveling. As usual, my flight had been delayed. After we unloaded my suitcase, I kissed my mother and went straight to bed without even a glimpse of the letter. My grandmother has given me many notes over the years. I knew last night that whatever was in this one could wait until I had a good night’s rest. Then again, it might have been better to read at night.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and press the home button. Small, white text flashes 8:02 a.m. Ugh. Wine time—if only that “a” was the letter “p”.
Shiat,
I wish I’d set my alarm. I hate oversleeping, especially with the time difference. I’m sure my mom thinks I’m being lazy, not conquering the day and all of the other cliché thoughts about early risers. My brother Luke is most likely doing his annual 10k Turkey Trot run and here I am still in bed. Luke is a major athlete. He has completed the Iron Man more times than I can remember and finished one too many marathons. I tried running the 10k Turkey Trot with him one year but ended up lost in the swarm of jogging strollers. Tons of fit moms and dads were cruising around me like I was an old lady and I was probably younger than most of them by several years and not pushing fifty pounds of kid and caboodle. By the time I had made it to what I had assumed was the finish line, it was only actually the 5k marker. I pretended to be with the 5k group and placed quite well. I was rather proud of myself. I’ve never placed in a race ever. Luke did not let me enjoy my prideful moment and reminded me of the fact that the 5k race starts ten minutes after the 10k race so I had actually gotten a ten minute head start on the real 5k racers. I wanted to keep this a secret and bask in my fast time but he would not allow it. He practically dragged me up to the scoring station and made me turn in my race bib. That was our last race together.
I flatten the sand dune formations in between my eyebrows. Even without a mirror I know a pout is pushing out my lips. There will be no grumpiness today. No, today will be filled with all things positive. Just like this letter. Obviously my grandmother was being positive when she wrote it. Because what other motive could she have had other than faith I’d succeed in making the perfect pie?
I force myself out of bed. The springs creak as the weight of my body lifts off the mattress. My feet sink into the plush, pink rug.
This bed is so loud
.
I stand up and stretch. My back and neck protest as I try to reach my toes.
Might need to ask my mom to pop my back before a vertebrate situation ensues
. Being home for Thanksgiving is always filled with tasty food, but the backaches, I’m not sure if they really even each other out.
Ha!
Even out, my back needs to be evened out, it’s as lumpy as this mattress. I swear it’s been filled with tube socks and rusted old slinkies. If I didn’t know better I would think Brian my sister’s husband had convinced my parents to let him make me some crazy mattress contraption. In fact I didn’t make it home this summer for a visit, maybe he created some sort of Brianesque surprise for me in the form of his idea of an upgraded mattress.
Arg.
I’m almost too afraid to ask. But I suppose I don’t have to, Brian is not real shy about things and is always fishing for compliments on his most recent projects. I’ll wait it out.
It’s the day before Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving Eve
, and now I’ve been given the duty of preparing the family pecan pie. My grandmother’s judgment does beg the question why she chose to give the non-baker—the girl who avoids directions in the kitchen—the task of making the pecan pie. Is this a test? Or maybe it’s a true testament of her senility
. Be positive,
Lauren.