AS THE SMELL OF WARM BAKING SPICES filled every corner of the house, my grandmother glided around the kitchen with paper towels underfoot, cleaning spilled piles of flour. “Well, I was raised in the Depression,” she said, dismissing my giggles. This was her explanation for all her silly but genius innovations. The aroma grew stronger, and I squirmed with anticipation as she pulled a crisped brown paper bag out of the oven: This was my favorite part of the process, other than the eating. We carefully tore the paper to reveal a perfectly browned crust with sweet, syrupy juices bubbling out. “It’s perfect!” she said, beaming as we inhaled the rich fragrance of her brown bag apple pie.
During the Great Depression in her small hometown of Thomaston, Georgia, my…
