Answer and Explanation:
I dare say there is no perfect pie except for the one my grandmother makes. I know there is plenty of reason to be biased here, but I have never met anyone who didn’t describe the experience of eating a piece of her pie without a peaceful smile accompanied by a gentle sigh.
It is the simplest of apple pies, yet the most special. The apples are not bought, but grown in her very garden. She serves us a piece each with a bit of whipped cream – not much, because the pie deserves to be properly tasted and appreciated. I sometimes add just a bit more cinnamon to give it an extra kick. We wait until everyone has a piece – myself, mom, dad, my older sister, grandma and grandpa. Sometimes, my aunt and cousins happen to be there as well. We eat at the dining table, in spring, with the glass doors and windows wide open, the breeze making curtains dance, the flavor making our mouths curve up in an instantaneous smile.
NOTE: Feel free to adapt this answer to your own reality.
