How to Bake the Perfect Pecan Pie Read Online Free Page B

appreciates the recipes but she “will be making it the old-fashioned way”.
    My mom giggles. “Oh Megan dear, you do such a lovely job with the rest of the dishes, I’ll keep to making the turkey though, now what’s on your menu?”
    I take a sip of my coffee; getting a glimpse of this polite back and forth between my mom and Megan is always quite entertaining.
    “Alright then, this year, I’ll be making the green beans with toasted hazelnuts, lemon zest, and shallots—”
    “What?” My mom slams her pencil down on the table. “Oh Megan, you know Grandmother loves the green bean casserole, with the crispy onions on top and the mushroom soup.” My mom stares directly at Megan as if she has disgraced the family.
    Megan blinks her eyes repeatedly as if she can blink enough times to come up with a jackpot of an answer, except we aren’t in Vegas and no triple sevens will be coming from this situation.
    “Mom, I know Grandmother lik—”
    “Likes? No, Megan, she loves the green bean casserole, other than the pecan pie it’s her favorite part of Thanksgiving.” My mom gazes down at the floor and then back to Megan. “Even over the turkey.”
    “But mom, I just want to try something new this year with the green beans.”
    “Megan, I love what an amazing cook you are. But some things…some traditions, they need to be upheld. Sometimes you have to consider what makes a holiday special for other people and not just yourself.” My mom picks up her coffee mug and takes a sip.
    “Fine. I’ll be back. I need to check on something.” Megan storms up the stairs. It’s almost as if we are back in time with Megan trying to change things up too much and my mom finally putting her foot down. My mom is really considerate of Megan’s feelings, but she does have her limits.
    “So, um…can I go over the ingredients?” I raise my eyebrows.
    “Sure, honey, but you better hurry, that pie isn’t going to make itself.”
    I roll my eyes before I focus on the list. “Light brown sugar, white sugar, butter, eggs, all-purpose flour, milk, vanilla extract, pecans, and molasses.”
    “I have the butter, milk, vanilla, and eggs, but you’ll need to go to the store to get the flour, sugars, molasses, and pecans,” my mom says. Her focus is still on the puzzle.
    Reading the recipe again to myself, I notice the emphasized portion.
    Remember Lauren, the pecans have to be from Tibor’s Pecan Farm in Caldwell. This is the secret part of the pie. The pecans from Tibor’s Pecan Farm are the best in Texas. You know how I feel about subpar things. I wouldn’t have given you the recipe if I thought you would get the wrong pecans.
    Oh, Grandmother
. I’ll get the right pecans. Hmm, Caldwell. That’s like an hour drive if I remember. It’s been at least ten years since the last time I’ve been to the farm. I remember going as a child with my family to the annual Tibor Pecan Festival. People from all over Texas showed up in droves to participate in the pecan pie contest. The year my grandmother won was a big deal for my family. My dad’s investment firm got a huge increase in business following the festival. He would tell his clients about how his mother had made the winning pie and they would beg him for the recipe but of course he didn’t have it to share.
Shiat.
How am I supposed to be able to bake an award-winning pie? I bite my lip and sigh.
    I pull out my phone and type “Caldwell” into the map program. Two hours and five minutes. It’s almost eleven o’clock. I do need to get a move on.
    Aurora saunters into the kitchen. “Namaste, Lauren.” She does some sort of yoga/bowing movement. Her auburn braided bun wobbles a bit when she stands still. Has she ever even attended a yoga class? Her ankle bracelets jingle as she walks over to the stove. She puts several blueberry muffins on her plate and a large helping of my mom’s scrambled eggs. At least somebody likes them. They have always been a little too dry for my