Mum makes a pie crust that comes out nearly flakey... on the BOTTOM. Melt in yer mouth kinda stuff. Her father was a master baker, trained in the seminary before he ran away (three times). Me Mere ran a corner store for 50 years and they made small apple, raisin and cherry pies every day, sold for 15p each. Two natgas stoves humped all day and all night. Told this before... a delivery guy bought the last pie and had it on the dash of his truck. Another delivery guy took it and put 50p in it's place. First fist fight I ever saw.

When I think back and recall all the candy and pastries I was given every visit and Mum's cooking, it's no wonder I was a fat little pup.

Mum used to use the leftover dough in tart tins with jam... a cross of dough on top. Did I mention I was a fat little pup?