Always, always finish what you start.

It's over a month now since Lisa and I went apple picking. I was going to bake those apples into a pie when they were just a few hours off the tree. Now they're halfway rotten, shriveled and soft. Not at all suitable for pies. Not really suitable for anything. I had to throw most of them away - a lamentable waste, of which I am still deeply ashamed.

I'm back in Rhinebeck for the first time in weeks, and it's definitely apple pie weather. The air is clear and crisp, and the chill breeze carries a faint hint of wood-fires from the chimneys of the historic houses lining the streets around town. But waiting a month in between the steps of any recipe is going to take its toll on your ingredients. The lard I found at the beginning of my odyssey expired either two days ago or two weeks ago, and whichever it is I'm not taking a chance on rancid pork fat. The three pounds of flour Lisa lost to invading arachnids has not yet been replaced. And of course, our fresh-picked apples are on the way to a landfill on Staten Island. So I'm starting from scratch, which is the right way to do things, but this time I'm not sure I'll be able to find the best ingredients.

Off to the Stop-n-Shop, for flour, fat, and apples. The plastic-looking, waxed and polished granny smiths in the produce aisle are a far cry from the rugged native apples Lisa and I plucked from a local orchard a month ago, but they're crisp, tart, and generally unobjectionable (if not exactly exciting). A brand new sack of King Arthur Flour will go into a ziploc bag as soon as we get it home. And lard - where's the lard? Last time I was here I found it in the meat case, but it's nowhere to be found. I ask the butcher if he has any, and he walks me to the pork section, which I already know is woefully bereft of rendered fats. He assures me that he'll get some in stock in time for Thanksgiving, but that doesn't do me much good today. I'm forced to settle for that engineered oleomargarinian jack-of-all-trades: Crisco. Since I'm going chemical anyway, I go all the way and opt for the variety with the artificial butter flavor.

Back at Lisa's apartment, I mix two cups (1/2 lb.) of cold Crisco and a stick of cold butter with three and a half cups of flour and a healty dash of salt, like I've done before back at my place. Mix in a little ice water (more than I remember needing when I was working with the lard, but oh well), and my pie dough is ready to rest in the fridge. Meanwhile, I take Lisa's stamped serrated knives to the granny smiths. I peel and core, Lisa slices. She's very good at making thin slices with these knives; I'm used to my Henckels paring knife and almost stab myself several times. But soon enough we have a pie's worth of apple slices sitting in acidulated water (water with a squirt of lemon juice, to keep the apples from oxidizing and turning brown). When the pie dough has rested for about an hour, I take the apples out of water and dry them with a paper towel. To these four-to-five large apples' worth of slices, I add a healthy sprinking of granulated sugar (probably about 3/4 cup), about 3 tablespoons of cornstarch (to thicken the juices of the apples as they bake), and a few spices: a half teaspoon of cinnamon, a quarter teaspoon of allspice, and a dash of nutmeg. The apples are coated with an almost gummy paste as the sugar draws out their juices, which then congeal with the cornstarch. It's time to roll out my pie crust.

Working quickly to keep the fat from melting, I roll half the pie dough to about 1/8 inch thickness and lay it into the bottom of my (already buttered) pie pan. I prick the bottom and sides of the crust thoroughly with a fork, to give steam an escape route and prevent air bubbles from forming in the dough (food science at work). The apples go in in stages, each layer of fruit dotted with a few knobs of butter. There's just enough apple to peek up over the lid of the pie pan, which will give the pie a bit of an overstuffed look when it's done. I roll out the rest of the dough and lay it on top of the apples, pressing the two crusts together around the rim. Feeling adventurous, I try to flute the edges with my fingers, an effort that is only moderately successful when I'm forced to abandon it or risk melting the dough with the heat of my hands. I cut a few vents in the top crust (slashes radially out from the center, plus a little diamond-shaped hole right in the middle). This is also to let steam escape, but this steam isn't from the dough, it's from the apples; and it won't create air bubbles in the dough, but it could cause the pie to explode in the oven if it doesn't have a way out.

The pie is ready to bake. I put it in the fridge to wait until dinner is ready, both to make sure it's still warm when we're ready to eat it and to prevent it from melting in the interim. When dinner is done, I set the oven to 375 degrees, put the pie on a baking sheet (to catch any spillover) and place it in the oven. After 20 minutes or so, when the crust begins to brown, I turn the heat down to 325 degrees.

Lisa has informed me that it's very important for the top crust to be sugary. Ordinarily I would accomplish this by brushing it with an egg wash halfway through baking and sprinkling it with sugar. Unfortunately the eggs in Lisa's fridge, like the lard I bought a month ago, are past their prime. I sprinkle the top of the pie with sugar anyway, hoping that the heat of the oven will be enough to caramelize it. It isn't, and when the pie is done there's still a sprinkling of loose sugar sitting on the top crust. It's sweet, at least, and Lisa doesn't complain (she's a real sweetheart like that).

The pie rests for 15 minutes, by which point Lisa and I have polished off both dinner and a bottle of wine. It's time for dessert. I cut into the crust, which is - to my great satisfaction - both flaky and tender. The apples - hard granny smiths - remain stacked in place, held together by just a hint of their gooey thickened juices. Lisa thinks there's not enough gooeyness; next time I make her a pie I'll mix in some apples with a higher water content. Most importantly, this pie - unlike any I've ever made before - holds together when sliced. The crust is flaky, but still moist enough to yield without shattering under a knife, while the apples are softened enough to be tender but still firm enough to give the pie structure. On the whole, I consider this a triumph. With this practice run behind me, I think I'll be more than prepared to bake one or two Thanksgiving pies.