A Little Taste of History

A little taste of history is what I got this week — and in the most unexpected way. Just a few days after writing about Grandma Sallie, my great-uncle Alex showed up with a few jars of canned dried apples. Right then, I told Mama we needed to make some jack pies! I had been wanting to make them ever since I wrote about Grandma Sallie, and now I finally had the chance. The timing couldn’t have been better.

The first step was making the apple filling. Dried apples are what make a jack pie unique from other pies. Long gone are the days when country folks dried their apples on pieces of tin, sometimes out in the yard, like my great-grandma did, or even up on a tin roof. That’s an old-fashioned way of doing things you don’t see much of anymore.  Nowadays, people use a dehydrator to dry their apples. The apples we used were dried with a dehydrator and canned back in 2012. Believe it or not, they were still good after all these years. According to Google, dried canned apples can last up to 30 years!

Yesterday, Mama simmered two-quart jars of canned, dried apples in a pot of water until they softened and turned a deep brown color.  When they turn that color, that’s how you know that they’re done. Then, she added sugar and a little cinnamon to taste. She let the filling sit in the fridge overnight so we could make the pies fresh the next day. 

The dark brown apple filling.

The next step is making the dough. Mama mixed up the biscuit dough while I got to help with the part I’d been most excited about — assembling the jack pies. I spooned in the filling, folded the dough over, and crimped the edges with the tines of a fork. It sounds easy, but I noticed that I was not very fast at it. I had to work quickly because the Crisco was already sizzling in the pan, waiting for the next pie to hit the grease. I couldn’t help but think about how fast Grandma Sallie must’ve been after years of making these. I’ve got some practicing to do before I can get them cranked out like she could! 

Here are a couple of my pies- not bad for my first time :)

Once the pies were crimped, they were ready for the pan. Mama fried them in Crisco until they turned crispy and golden brown. I couldn’t resist taking a bite while it was still hot—it was so good. The fried dough with the sweet, spiced apple filling was simple, comforting, and exactly how I imagined Grandma Sallie’s tasted. When Mama said they were “close to Grandma's,” that was all I needed to hear. 

Overall, I can’t describe how special it felt to make these and bring this tradition back. Grandma Sallie made hundreds of jack pies in her lifetime, but today, I got to make them for the very first time. And somehow, in the process of folding and crimping that biscuit dough, I felt a little closer to her.

Final product! They were so tasty!

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. 

Granny's Christmas Icebox Fruitcake

 

A slice of the fruitcake :)

Of all the holiday desserts, icebox fruitcake holds a special place in my heart. No other dessert brings that feeling of Christmas like my Granny's icebox fruitcake.  She made many of them every year and gifted them to friends and family. My grandpa, Papa, adored the fruitcake so much that she would make an extra batch for him, and he'd savor every slice well throughout January. It was a tradition she began years ago. The start of the holiday season was marked by her saying, "We need to go to the store to get what I need for fruitcake.'" As a child, I felt so excited. I knew the kitchen would soon be filled with the sweet aroma of cherries, marshmallows, and graham crackers. Best of all, I knew I would get to help her make it! 

A few weeks before Christmas, Granny would gather the ingredients and get to work at the kitchen table. I can still picture her sitting in the ladderback chair with the old cookbook open by her side. First, she would crush a box of graham crackers until they became fine crumbs. Then she'd chop the pecans, cherries, and English walnuts. Occasionally, she'd pull out the old-fashioned nutcracker to crack the pecans, her hands moving with the skill only years of practice could bring. Once the nuts were ready, she'd toss them into a large bowl with golden raisins. 

Next, I would pour marshmallows into a bowl, sneaking a couple from the bag before heading to the microwave. Once melted, Granny would pour the leftover maraschino cherry juice over the marshmallows, transforming it into a lovely pink hue—the same color I've forever associated with fruitcake. Then, she would pour the marshmallow mixture over the dry ingredients. My favorite part came when Granny handed me the big wooden spoon, and I'd become the official "stirrer." The bowl would be filled to the brim, and stirring it could be challenging! But I loved the challenge. After everything was well combined, she would pack the bright pink mixture into small foil baking pans before placing them in the fridge to chill. 

It's been 7 years since Granny last made the fruitcake. Since then, Alzheimer's Disease began to take its toll, taking away her ability to do so many things she loved to do, such as talking, reading books, telling stories, and cooking. The kitchen became quieter, and the fruitcake just became a cherished memory. Last year, my mom and I were flipping through old cookbooks when we stumbled upon the recipe. The smudges on the page immediately caught our attention; it was a sign that Granny had touched the page while making the beloved fruitcake. This little detail confirmed that this was the recipe she had followed all those years before. With nostalgia and inspiration, Mama and I decided to make the fruitcake for Christmas 2024 for us and our family and revive the tradition.

As I crushed graham crackers, chopped pecans, and melted marshmallows, it all came rushing back—the smells, the textures, and the joy of stirring the vibrant pink mixture. It felt like I was again at the kitchen table, helping Granny create something magical. After Mama and I mixed it up, we packed it in a couple of metal pans and put it in the fridge. This fruitcake is a good dessert to freeze. It can be kept in the fridge for a month after you make it. 

Granny's icebox fruitcake isn't just a dessert; it's a piece of our family history. It's light, no-bake, and bursting with cherry flavor—nothing like the dense, dry fruitcakes you might think of. I am not a traditional fruitcake fan but love this old-fashioned one. What's more, it's a recipe that can be adapted—add coconut, pineapple, or your favorite fruits and nuts to make it your own.

Reviving this tradition reminded me of the importance of traditions. Family traditions uniquely connect us to the people we love, even when they can no longer be with us in the same way. These traditions, no matter how small, are part of what makes a family special. They are the threads that weave our past, present, and future together and create special memories.

What holiday tradition do you enjoy with your family? I'd love to hear about it in the comments below!