Sometimes life — and your experience of it — is really a matter of perspective. It never ceases to amaze me how you can plod along contentedly in a routine, happily sticking to the same schedule, and slowly convince yourself (without even realizing you’re doing so) that things will carry on in just the same way indefinitely. It’s not an unreasonable mental habit: you’re putting in the same inputs, and so you expect the same outputs.
But you are, of course, merely a small and tiny piece of the world around you. In some ways you’re in control of so much (your attitude; a big chunk of your health; your small daily choices of what you eat for breakfast and whether you read at night or look at your phone and how often you smile at other people; your larger decisions of where to live and what job to do). But you’re also in control of very, very little — in the grander scheme of things.
So much else is happening that may, or may not, affect us at any given moment. And thus, sometimes it’s nice to just give in. To not only accept, but to soften to, the idea that the rest of the day (or week or month) might be unknowable until it unfolds.
Yesterday I was taking my regular evening walk around the reservoir in Central Park (editor’s note: to say I am not wholly unfamiliar with the experience of being a creature of habit is an understatement). I walk in the waning afternoon light, usually arriving at the water just as the sun is setting. The sky turns a dusky cobalt, then fades into inky navy streaks, then total darkness cloaks the path as the lanterns lining the reservoir flicker on, illuminating the packed gravel and dirt trail.
Ordinarily, I’m guided by the same view — neon and concrete splayed out before me.
You see, once I round the furthest point at the northeast corner, the path stays parallel to the 96th Street transverse. The view opens up dramatically and all of midtown and lower Manhattan is spread out below me. Every evening, I see the same view. I walk in snow and sleet and sunshine — the water looks different depending on the weather, the light, the time of day. But the skyline stays the same, albeit sometimes obscured slightly by a thin veil of drizzle or swirls of snowflakes.
I can pick out the three tiers of colored lights atop the Empire State Building. The illuminated H&M sign topping a skyscraper in Times Square. The twin spires of the San Remo. The sleek white ribbons that make up the Guggenheim Museum.
But yesterday a storm front was moving over the city just as I walked. When I turned the corner to head towards home, my eyes flickered to the skyline, expecting to see the same familiar rough outline. But there was nothing there. I couldn’t capture it on film, but dense clouds had swept in so quickly in the past ten minutes that they painted over the buildings, leaving only the line of trees along the reservoir visible, giving the appearance of having erased the city completely.
It was eerily silent, and were I someone dropped in from afar, I would assume there was no city behind the trees.
Unsettling, yes, but a physical reminder of how things aren’t always there when you look for them, or reach for them. Perspective shifts. Routine are altered. But we’re still here, putting one foot in front of the other, which is all you can do on some days. And you can always try to find joy in it — cold wind on your face, the misty spray from an approaching rainstorm, the blinking lights of a police car casting pink shadows across the water.
How, exactly, does this lead us to pie? Well, there’s the obvious: if a shift in perspective throws you, you’d do well to remember that pie exists and happens to be a rather fixed point of pleasure. So there’s always that.
But more abstractly, consider that a little variety in what you’re used to isn’t a bad thing. You may, for example, consider apple pie a simple matter of flaky crust + spiced fruit filling. You’ve likely sampled many riffs on this template: deep dish, extra-cinnamony, lemon-spiked, lattice-topped, and so on.
But have you ever had apple custard pie? It’s almost exactly like a classic apple pie but with a small amount of custardy liquid poured over the filling, which sets around the fruit as it bakes, creating a filling that is both firmer and less liquidy than a standard apple pie, and also bears a distinct resemblance to the taste and texture of a perfect clafoutis or the very innermost bite of a Dutch baby. It’s nearly pancake-like in flavor, but sweeter and silkier and softer, as all good custards are.
This style of pie (also called French custard apple pie) is often topped with sliced nuts or left bare, but I like to top it with streusel because…wait. That’s not a real question I need to answer, is it? I didn’t think so.
Apple Custard Pie
Makes one 9” pie
For the crust
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
6 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
2 tablespoons cold vegetable shortening
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 to 4 tablespoons ice water
For the filling
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
5 medium apples (choose firm ones like Pink Lady), peeled, cored, and thinly sliced
½ cup + 2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon dark rum (optional)
½ teaspoon salt, divided
2 eggs + 2 egg yolks
1 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
For the streusel topping
4 tablespoons butter
½ cup flour
¼ cup brown sugar
½ teaspoon cinnamon
Pinch of salt
To make the crust: In a food processor, pulse together the flour, butter, shortening, and salt until mixture is in coarse crumbs. Add 2 tablespoons of the ice water and pulse a few times. If the dough is very dry, add the remaining water. Don’t overpulse! Transfer the dough to the counter, press it into a disk, and wrap in wax paper or plastic wrap and chill for 1 hour. Remove the pie dough from the refrigerator and roll it out to a 10” circle, then transfer to a 9” pie plate and trim/crimp the edges. Prick the crust with a fork, fill it with pie weights (or dried beans or even sugar), and bake in a preheated 400°F oven for about 20 minutes, until lightly golden brown. Remove from the oven, reduce the heat to 350°F and let cool slightly while you make the filling.
To make the filling: Melt the butter in a large skillet. Add the sliced apples and 2 tablespoons of sugar and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the apples soften a bit. (You don’t want them to soften too much, which is why selecting firmer varieties for this recipe is useful.) Add the rum and ¼ teaspoon salt and stir.
Pour the warm apple mixture over your cooled pie crust.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the eggs, egg yolks, cream, remaining 1/2 cup sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and remaining salt. Carefully pour the custard mixture over the apples in the crust.
Make the topping by whisking together the flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt in a small bowl. Cut in the butter with a fork (or use your fingertips) until crumbly. Sprinkle the streusel evenly over the pie. Place the pie plate on a baking sheet and bake for about 45 to 50 minutes, until the custard is just barely set. It shouldn’t be firm but it should no longer look loose and jiggly. Start checking close to 40 minutes, but know that it could take up to 50.
Remove from the oven and let cool before slicing.