Third time's the charm

Jake’s been asking me to try his mom’s apple pie recipe since we moved in together. Not pressure exactly, but those wistful looks every time we pass the baking aisle at the grocery store were hard to miss. The handwritten card has been tucked in our recipe box for months, covered in his mom’s careful cursive and what look like decade-old flour fingerprints.

Third time’s the charm

Attempt one: burnt edges, soggy bottom. Attempt two: perfect crust, filling like soup. But today? Today I figured out the magic ratio of cornstarch to sugar, and the lattice work actually stayed put instead of sliding into abstract art.

Third time really was the charm

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and success, and I’m pretty sure I understand now why Jake gets that dreamy expression when he talks about Sunday dinners at home.

He’s not back from work yet, but I’m already planning the text photo. Some victories deserve immediate documentation, even if they took three tries and way too much cursing at inanimate pastry.