This recipe comes from my grandmother’s wooden box of 3x5 recipe cards, written in her precise hand. Elizabeth Shoemaker Rothenberger, my grandmother, was in no way a rural western pioneer. She and her dentist, school-board-member husband lived in a leafy elegant old town outside of Philadelphia; her family had come to the United States with William Penn’s Quaker migration in the seventeenth-century and stayed put. But she was an accomplished cook who appreciated fine local ingredients and thrift; I remember a farm wagon bringing her produce when I visited as a child, and her pies, in particular, were extraordinary. I have no way of knowing the origin of this particular version of Annie’s celebrated staple—my grandmother died more than a decade ago at age 104, and the card holds no notes in that regard—but its presence in her collection testifies to the ubiquity of this frugal treat in American culture in the early twentieth century. Just twenty years younger than Greenwood, my grandmother would have liked her very much, I think— both were intellectually curious, funny, and kind, and this culinary staple testifies to a shared down-to-earth, sensible streak.