Grandma Sallie's Jack Pies

Fried pies taste like an old-fashioned slice of home. They have been a Southern staple for generations and can be found all across the South, from North Carolina to Texas. Unlike a slice of pie that requires a plate and fork to eat, these little hand pies are easy to hold and delicious. They are every bit as comforting as a standard-size pie and feel like a warm hug from your Mom or Grandma.

Fried pies are half-moon shaped pies crimped along the edges with the tines of a fork, filled with dried fruit, and pan-fried. The dough can be pie dough or biscuit dough, and the filling can be apple, peach, or sweet potato. While the exact origin of fried pies is unknown, most people agree that they originated in the Appalachian Mountains (The Charlotte Observer). Historians believe they were inspired by the English Cornish pasty, a hand pie filled with meat and vegetables on one side and a sweet filling on the other. Over time, as the English and Scots-Irish settlers made their home in the South, the hand pies took on a completely sweet form with dried fruit fillings (Saveur.com).

In North Carolina, there is a type of fried pie that is especially popular: fried apple pies. I've noticed that fried apple pies are often called "applejacks" or "apple jacks" here in the tar-heel state. When I searched for the term online, nearly every blog using "applejacks" was written by someone from North Carolina. Even flipping through old church cookbooks, I found them listed as applejacks. But in my family, we have our own name for them. My great-grandma, Grandma Sallie, didn't call them fried apple pies or applejacks; she simply called them jack pies. My Mama, uncles, grandpa, and even my great-grandpa Abihue called them that, too—and that's what I call them. It seems that Grandma shortened "apple jack" into "jack pie," and the name stuck!

Grandma Sallie in the 50s

 Grandma Sallie made jack pies often and kept them on her kitchen table. Mama says they were a special treat and a favorite among the family. So today, I wanted to share the story of how she made the jack pies, just as Mama shared it with me. The process started long before the dough was rolled out. First, the apples had to be picked, peeled, sliced, and dried. In the late summer, Mama remembers walking outside with Grandma Sallie to gather apples, picking them fresh from the trees. Grandma grew Stayman and Winesap apples in her backyard, along with Golden Delicious. My uncle told me that the Stayman and Winesap apples have a little tang, and they were the best for jack pies.

Mama remembers watching Grandma Sallie dry her own apples in the sun, letting the hot Southern sun do its magic. There was no fancy dehydrator—just patience and a belief in doing things the old-fashioned way. Grandpa Abihue played his part too. Not only did he help peel and slice the apples, he made a makeshift drying table. He went to the shed, found a piece of tin, and set it across two ladder-back chairs in the front yard. Then, Grandma spread out a clean white linen tablecloth over the tin, carefully arranging the apple slices on top. "That was my favorite part," Mama said. "I enjoyed helping her spread out the apples."

Throughout the day, Grandma would check on them, flipping the slices when needed. If the weather was warm and sunny, they took a few days to dry. "We picked up the edges of the tablecloth and bundled them together, kind of like when you scoop something up in your shirt to carry it, and took it inside the house," Mama recalled.

When it was time to turn those dried apples into jack pies, Grandma Sallie reconstituted them on the stovetop. She placed them in a pot, covered them with water, and let them simmer until they softened. To enhance their natural sweetness, Grandma stirred in just the right amount of sugar and a touch of cinnamon. Once the apples had softened and cooked down, she placed the filling into her special 'apple bowl'—a white bowl decorated with a pattern of red apples and green leaves. Today, that same bowl sits in our kitchen. It is a cherished reminder of the days when Grandma Sallie would make those unforgettable jack pies. 

The Apple Bowl

After the filling was finished, Grandma made her dough. "She made the dough just like she did for her biscuits—with flour, lard, and buttermilk." Mama said. Grandma pinched off small balls of dough, rolled them into circles, then spooned a generous heap of the apple filling onto each one. With a steady hand, she folded the dough over into a half-moon shape and pressed the edges together with the tines of a fork, sealing in that filling. A few small holes were poked in the top to let the steam escape, and then they were ready to go to the skillet.

Once a good dab of lard had melted in the old iron skillet, Grandma laid each pie into the pan, frying them until they puffed up and were golden brown. "Me and Grandpa could hardly wait for them to cool down so we could eat one. They smelled so good, it just made you hungry, " Mama told me with a smile. 

So, what made Grandma Sallie’s jack pies so special? It wasn’t just the sun-dried apples or the biscuit dough—it was the love she poured into every dish she made from scratch. Cooking was her way of showing kindness, a quiet but powerful gesture that made everyone who sat at her table or stopped by for a visit feel welcome. Whether you were family, a friend, or a neighbor, she made sure you never left hungry. I may not have had the chance to watch Grandma Sallie make her jack pies, but through my mom’s stories, I feel like I have. 

Food has a way of connecting us all. Recipes hold more than just ingredients—they hold memories, traditions, and the essence of those who made them. If you still have loved ones who remember those moments, ask them to share their stories. Write them down, learn the recipes, and keep those traditions alive. One day, you'll be grateful you did—because when someone is gone, those stories and traditions go with them.