Apple Pie and Newburyport’s Farmers’ Market

One of my great treats this warm season of 2009 has been a Sunday stroll down Federal Street to the Farmers’ Market at the Tannery in Newburyport, MA (see earlier entry). And my discovery of “the pie guy,” who is actually Cape Ann Pies

Both my grandfather and my grandmother on my Dad’s side migrated from Canada, and one of the favorite family traditions was pie, specifically apple pie, for breakfast. Good apple pie is hard to find, especially after the Baker Canadian version, and I found great apple pie, by the slice no less, from Cape Ann Pies right here in Newburyport, at our very own Farmers’ Market. Eureka.

If I had known that the slice of apple pie that I had in August was to be my very last slice of apple pie, I would have held a wake, I love apple pie that much. And as a result of the diet from hell, the gluten free diet thing (see previous post), apple pie–nevermore.

I stopped my Sunday ritual of heading down towards the mighty Merrimac River in search of apple pie. I could have gone down for all the zillions of “healthy” stuff, organic vegetable and fruits, etc at Newburyport’s Farmers’ Market–that would have been an obvious thing to do. But the thought of “no more pie” had me in Farmers’ Market avoidance.

But one beautiful Sunday in September I walked to downtown Newburyport, down historic State Street and along winding Water Street, full of its historic architecture, and, yes, there at the Tannery was the Farmers’ Market, teaming with its vendors and their customers.

Crossing the street, I made my way to “the pie guy.” I wanted him to know that I was no longer one of his regulars, not because I didn’t love his apple pie, but because of this “gluten thing,” and my apple pie mourning. And sure enough, he had a piece of apple pie set aside, all wrapped up, hoping that I would “come back.” It was a good thing that I had my sun glasses on, because otherwise he would have seen my eyes well up in tears.

When I told him about the gluten free, no more pie, bread or muffins, fun stuff, his response was, “No, it’s a lie!”

“No, this Celiac stuff actually makes sense,” says myself. And I tell him if he ever comes up with a gluten free pie to let me know ASAP. He tells me that he has tried, and we both say at the same time, “It tastes like garbage.”

Next year, or maybe by the time the Newburyport Farmers’ Market comes to its seasonal close, I will march down and scoop up all the naturally, obviously, remarkable gluten free veggies and fruit. But at the moment, since apple pie was one of my “guilty pleasures” and carrots etc. are not, I may need a little more time to grieve the passing of the “loving apple pie and eating it” years.