Applejacks

 

The first week of January marked a milestone in my culinary achievements and I checked off number 15 on my bucket list. 

Have you ever heard of applejacks, aka apple turnovers, or just plain ‘ole fried pies?  If not, you are missing one of life’s finest delicacies and high on my list of favorites.  I’m not referring to the tasteless impostors that many fast-food chains offer up and advertise as turnovers.  Oh no.  These delicious flaky pies are made with loads of rich ingredients, lots of time and elbow grease, and some TLC. 

Making scratch applejacks is hard work and that’s exactly why the art and recipe is disappearing.  I have an old recipe card of my grandmother's with a few notes and The Joy of Cooking has their rendition, but none of them can hold a candle to Louise Thompson’s fried pies and I was determined to learn her secret.  “Will you teach me how to make applejacks Louise,” I asked?   She was delighted.

She arrived at 8:30 on a Tuesday morning, toting sugar, oil and a frying pan.  We commenced to stewing the apples…dried apples only, mixed with sugar and cinnamon and simmering on a slow burner.  Louise had lectured me on the merits of the dried verses fresh apples and I had bought out the supply at the grocery (5 bags to be exact).  Understand that nothing is exact when cooking with a master chef.  I persisted on precise measuring and coaxed her into calling out amounts as she measured, dumped and stirred.  I took notes.  While the apples cooked down and delicious aromas filled the kitchen, we made mounds of pie crust dough.  Louise showed me how to pinch off pieces of dough by squeezing it through your fist making the perfect amount for each jack.  This is an exacting art I became quite adept at.  The dough balls are then refrigerated.  All the while the apples are stewing. 

By mid-morning Louise said the apples were ready.  She couldn’t be exact with this information…she just knew.  Now I’m in trouble. When on my own this is where it can all start to break down and fall apart.  

She began to mash the cooked apples with a fork.  This looked like a long and tedious process lay ahead, so I sprang into action brandishing my newly gifted electric smasher.  Louise laughed with delight.  “What is that thing,” she asked.   I responded, “It’s called a Smart Stick and I’ve never used it before.  Never knew what it was for.  Mash on!”  It worked like a charm.

I rolled out a few of the dough balls into small circles and spooned apples on top, folding over and crimping the edges.  Louise eased each one into the shallow frying pan with just a slip of hot oil coating the bottom.  She fried two at a time until each was perfectly tawny brown and cleaned the pan of loose debris before sliding the next jacks in.  

We made 32 applejacks that morning.  We called in our neighbors Allen and Diana to savor the hot flaky jacks.  Louise’s son Kenny happened to drop by for a taste.  Rusty and Jimmy came in the back door to get two jacks to go, and George meandered down from his office to enjoy the fruits of our morning. 

It was a roaring success.  Can I make applejacks?  Maybe.  Will they taste like Louise’s?  Probably not. 

But what a time we had.  We laughed and talked and talked some more.  We enjoyed being together making applejacks and making memories.  It just doesn't get any better.