pie that Walter remembered from his childhood.
His grandmother’s tourtière had apparently been legendary.
When I learned how much he missed it, I tracked down the family recipe through one of Graham’s cousins.
I visited a specialty butcher, practiced the pastry several weekends in a row, and carefully prepared the dish for a family gathering.
Walter tasted it.
Then he remarked, “My mother always used more clove.”
He left half his portion untouched.
Brenda examined the crust and said, “It’s a shame you didn’t make the pastry yourself.”
“I did,”
