Mexican Apple Pie
Here’s a story of my dad’s cooking gone bad.
The morning started out the same for the last couple of days.
Dad, knowing where he was and who he was – not a big deal to some – if you know that – but dad has been forgetting a lot lately due to getting older.
The church had given us some apples early this week – just because, well, that’s what they do – just – you know what I mean.
Anyway, seeing the apples on the counter as I was making my lunch gave me an idea.
“Dad, would you peel and slice the apples so I can make a pie after work?”
“ Sure,” dad said.
“Just set them out on the counter.”
“They’re on the counter already,” “I said.”
“ No, they’re in the refrigerator.”
“No, they’re on the counter.”
“Are you sure?” “Dad asked.”
“Pretty sure, dad,” not telling him that I was looking right at them in front of me.
“Well, just make sure they’re out so I can peel them.”
“Yah, pa. I will.”
Like I said earlier, dad tends to forget.
On coming home I went to the refrigerator to get some water.
Looking down I noticed a pan covered with aluminum foil – not that that was a surprise.
It seems we always have bowls and platters but no covers. The day I open the package of plastic wear the covers must be getting thrown out along with all the wrappings.
None can be found.
Maybe I should ask Dad – nah.
“Thanks, dad, for slicing up the apples,” as I closed the refrigerator door.
Going into the living room where Dad was watching T.V., he said,
“Did you see what I did?”
“Yah. Thanks,” “I said.”
“No,” “He says.”
“ I made the pie.”
“Oh God,” “I thought.”
“Well,” “I said.”
“I was going to get the stuff to make it tonight at the store.”
“We had the stuff in the refrigerator,” “He says.”
“Don’t you ever look?”
“Yah, but we had no cinnamon,” “I thought to myself.”
“You know you’ve got to look around sometimes to see what we have to work with.”
“Yah, pa, you’re right.”
Feeling like I just stepped into a bad Abbott and Costello skit. Who’s on first deal.
After supper, dad sitting back in his chair, my partner handing him a piece of pie along with one for himself – please don’t ask why I didn’t get one – that’s a story for a different time – those who know my partner – just know.
Anyway, out from the kitchen I hear,
“What the heck is this?”
“Is what?,” “I asked.”
“What I’m eating>”
“I don’t know. I don’t have ESP.”
“Is this supposed to be apple pie?”
“Yes, for Pete’s sake. I made that today,” “Dad says.”
“Yes – why does no one believe that I can still cook around here.”
“Well, I thought we had no cinnamon,” “I told him.”
“Oh, for goodness sake. Am I the only one who looks around the house to make stuff to eat”.
“No,” my partner said.
“I usually look around the kitchen if I’m going to cook something.”
“Not the whole house.”
Once again I’m back in that Abbott and Costello skit.
“What’s in this?,” “He asks.”
“Apples!,” “Dad yells over the T.V..”
“Yah, I know that. But what are these little brown pieces?” and “Why’s it so hot?”
“It’s hot from cooking,” “Dad says.”
“It is? Well, what time did you make it?”
Dad, once again yelling over the T.V. “This morning. Then I put it in the refrigerator.”
“So it’s been in the fridge at least five hours and it’s still hot?”
“I don’t know why,” “He shoots back.”
Looking over at my father as I picked up his plate,
“Dad, just what did you put in the pie?”
“The stuff from the fridge,” “He said.”
“What stuff?,” (i.e. – on the word stuff – let me clarify – that could be anything that ends up in the refrigerator – eggs, soda, socks).
Going over to the counter where the pie now sits, taking a small mouthful, I realized it is hot and looking very red.
“Is there hot sauce in this thing?” my partner says from the table.
“My God, there is hot sauce in this.”
“Dad, what did you make the apple pie with?” yelling from the kitchen.
“Oh, I’m getting really tried of you two thinking I can’t cook,” “He yells back.”
“No one said that, dad. I’m just asking.”
Going over to the table hearing my dad yelling,
“Fine. I’ll never cook again.”
To my partner saying,
“Fine. You’re banned from cooking.”
And me, waiting for that 50’s show music to start playing do do do do.
Thinking, this is my life.
Oh God, this is my life.
Going over to my partner to get his plate.
“Here let me throw that away.”
“Throw what away?”
“I ate it.”
“But I thought you didn’t like it?”
“But you ate it?”
“I was hungry>”
Like I said, dad sometimes forgets and apparently so does my partner.
Oh, and before I forget…here’s the new recipe in our house.
Poppoes’ Mexican Apple Pie
1 Bag crab apples
Peeled and sliced
Wash with dish soap until bubbles are gone
Place in pie bowl – cover not needed
Add sugar to taste
1 large tablespoon salt
1 dash over shoulder
A handful of bacon bits
2 dashes of hot sauce
2 more for coloring
Bake in oven @ 700 degrees
For 5 minutes
Or until hot sauce bubbles
P.S. Come to think of it – serve in hard Taco shell with a two finger scoop of whipped cream – ice cream on the side – for your very own piece of Mexican Apple Pie…