I had an amazing grandmother. From the time I was 12, Grandma Tiny lived just down the road—where she remained until she died at 104. My sister and I stopped in every day after school. For someone who ate few sweets, she took her grandmotherly duties seriously: the cookie jar was always full (usually of snickerdoodles), and holidays received sugary attention.
Thanksgiving was her party. Every year, the family descended. We extended both pullouts on the dining room table, yet it was so crowded an adult was still relegated to a card table in her sitting room with my sister, cousin, and I. Turkey was the mainstay, but even before I became vegetarian, the rest of the spread dominated my plate. My favorite was “dressing”; the several types couldn’t all fit within the bird and be accurately called “stuffing.” I would douse them with my mom’s homemade cranberry sauce and go back for seconds. But like everyone present, I always left plenty of room for apple pie. Learn to make Nearly Perfect Pie Crust and Apple Crumble Pie