The immensely popular crowdsourced recipe site has an aura of shambolic good will, something between a church cookbook and a fan-run Wiki. A few months ago, and in possession of a bag of apples, I found myself craving an apple pie, of the archetypal cooling-on-the-window-ledge variety. I pictured a double-crust flaky pastry around apple and cinnamon—not too complicated to make on a weeknight, but robust enough that I’d be able to slice a clean, thick wedge.
Despite knowing how to make apple pie, I wanted the peace of mind that can come only from following a trusted recipe. I have more cookbooks than my bookshelves can support, including at least a dozen that could’ve proffered something reliable and extensively fussed over. I ignored them and Googled “apple pie recipe.
” The search engine quickly returned some options. First was “Homemade apple pie,” from Good Food, a British site. (The algorithm tends to meet us where we are, which in my case is London.
) Next, from the more boutique recipe sites, a run of superlatives—“Best Apple Pie Recipe We’ve Ever Made,” “My Perfect Apple Pie,” “Apple Pie Recipe with the Best Filling,” “My Favorite Apple Pie”—laden with byzantine, keyword-riddled preambles. I stopped at the eighth result: “Apple Pie by Grandma Ople,” from Allrecipes.com.
It showed up next to a thumbnail photo that I probably could’ve taken on my phone. The preview text cut straight to the ingredients list, whereas other recipes ha.