This is a transcript of a speech I gave at Winchester Toastmasters 9772 a few years ago…

In the spring of 2014 I became obsessed with an intellectual challenge: baking the perfect apple pie. 

It all started the year prior. I was watching the Apple Blossom parade in Winchester, and I saw in the parade a convertible that, according to the signage, held the winner of that year’s apple pie baking contest.

I was amused, and I was also very jealous. I resolved that next year I would win the apple pie baking contest, and I would ride in the parade. I had no experience baking an apple pie, but I figured that if I gave myself two months to prepare and did my research, with the appropriate growth mindset, I would be more prepared than any of the other fair-weather bakers I assumed would be my primary competition.   

A few days later, after baking my first pie, I realized what a challenge I faced. I had the rule sheet for the pie baking contest, which dictated that you must prepare everything from scratch in the span of an hour — nothing could be premade. It was early March on a snowy morning. The pie I had baked was fine, delicious even, but it was not a prize-winning pie. There was nothing exceptional about this pie. I set to work studying cookbooks and seeking out lifelong pastry veterans. The first aspect I had to improve was my crust.

The crust is what drives many home chefs from preparing pies. It’s messy and easy to screw up. You have to blend flour and fat, either butter or lard or crisco, then you add just enough cold water to bind these elements together. Use too much cold liquid, and you have a soppy mess that will be chewy and tough when it comes out of the oven. If you don’t use enough cold liquid, you end up with a dry blob that comes apart when you touch it. I quickly learned that the savvy chef no longer uses cold water, but instead goes with something much harder: liquor. It makes a difference because alcohol does not activate the gluten protein in the flour the same way water does. Therefore, after the pie is out of the oven and the alcohol has burned off, you have a flakier crust. The higher the alcohol content, the better. I used chilled Virginia Gentlemen bourbon, an appropriate choice because of its name and its cheapness.The other secret to a fine crust is to use a high quality butter, and use a lot of it. For each of my pies I used half a pound of Kerrygold, a fancy Irish brand found in the specialty dairy section of Costco. I spared no expense — greatness was worth the extra money.      

During the month of April, I focused more on what makes a perfect apple pie filling. The spice mix is simple: cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar. The problem was that at the contest I knew I would be given one hour of time in a convection oven at 375 degrees. With this in mind, I tried to prepare the right combination of apple slices for that environment. At first I was convinced that finely sliced apples were the way to go, since they would cook faster and have an interesting texture. What I learned through trial and error, though, was that what mattered most was not how you slice the apples, but how many you use. If you use seven apples, it’s going to take longer to cook than if you use four apples. 

Now, let’s take a minute to discuss what apples to use. I am fortunate to live in the capital of the apple world. The appital, if you will. While nothing beats the flavor a Fuji, the texture of a Granny Smith is sublime. These models may be a little more expensive, but they are worth every penny. After several weeks of experimentation, I determined that you needed to use four apples, sliced longways. An hour in the oven at 375 and they would be beautifully cooked. With so few apples, the pie would be as level, as level as the temperament of a third-generation orchard owner. It would also be delicious.   

So I had determined how to make an amazing crust. I had figured out the best mix for a satisfying filling. What I had to learn now was how to make a pie that was visually appealing. My first pie was about as visually appealing as a car wreck. I had a lot of work to do. The first thing I endeavored to learn was the classic lattice technique. While I’m not particularly coordinated or crafty, the over-under-pattern did not present a huge challenge. What was difficult, though, was the outer crust. I did not want to do a fork mashed crust, or a thumb indented crust. Those looked…too basic, to use a word popular with the kids. First I learned an easy way to make a crust that looked like a rope, but how appetizing is a rope? No — what I wanted was a braided crust, and I wanted braids that were so elaborate and gorgeous they wouldn’t look out of place in an Anglo Saxon treasure chest.

But I didn’t know how to braid. For this I turned to my wife, who very patiently showed me how to take three pieces of string and wrap them into a flowing unit. Easy enough to learn with three pieces of string, but to do this with three pieces of dough — composed of butter and flour and booze — was not a simple task. I spent weeks making my pies, practicing and practicing. By the time late April arrived, I could consistently bake a pie that had a golden lattice face and braided crust, and an inside that was gooey and delicious and full of rich apple flavor. Most would be happy to bake a pie this good once in their life. I was churning them out three times a week in preparation for this contest. Because I had a goal: I wanted to win. Any time I became frustrated by a set back, I closed my eyes and imagined standing at the top of the heap, riding in the apple pie convertible. 

A week later, I stood in the social hall of Marker Miller Orchard. I had made my pie exactly how I wanted, and I was waiting, along with twenty other adults and seven kids, to hear who was the winner. 

I saw no pies that were as elaborate as mine, no pies that had been as thoughtfully prepared. I waited as the judges tasted the other pies, and I tried to imagine how I would act in the parade. Would I wave my hand like a pageant girl? Would I wink smuggly at the crowd? A TV crew from Harrisonburg was present to interview the winner. At one in the afternoon, the owner of Marker Miller Orchard stood before us and solemnly read the name of first place. It was not me. I wasn’t even close. I finished in the middle. The judges had tasted my pie and decided it was mediocre. The award instead went a Winchester socialite. Her daughter — in an amazing coincidence — won the children’s round. They would ride in the convertible together during the parade. 

I knew as I drove away from the orchard that I could take this experience two ways. I could accept defeat graciously and vow to return next year. Or I could say what I felt in my heart: the Marker Miller Apple Pie Contest is rigged so that a blonde Winchester socialite and her little blonde daughter can ride in the parade, and my pie was the by far the best there, and I will never compete in the contest ever again. Which is exactly what I said to anyone who would listen to me, and that is the message I would like to leave you with tonight. Thank you.