My mom was a great pie maker. It seemed she made pies every Sunday, and, I don't ever remember her making just one pie. If we didn't have company for Sunday dinner, a friend, neighbour, or family member would often stop by for pie and coffee. There were rarely leftovers. If there were, that single piece would be in my father's lunch.
My mother's expertise with pies extended far beyond the sweet kind. She would often dress up leftovers with a flakey pastry top, which made it seem like a brand new meal.
Making pies connects me to my mom, and to a seemingly, simpler time.
Simple as pie.