My Love Affair. With Pie.

I Love Pie.

Blueberry, Cherry, Coconut Cream, Key Lime, Strawberry, Apple, Pecan, Banana Cream, Lemon Meringue, Mincemeat, Pumpkin, Italian Cream Cheese, and, yes...even Chicken Pot. 

If in fact, the world ended tonight and there was nothing else but me and pie left in the world, sitting on the roof of my house, waiting for a chopper that never arrived, I would be perfectly okay with that...as long as I had access to pie.  I know that sounds selfish. What about your kids? What about your Husband? Your Mom? Your Dad? Coconut, your dog? (named after pie) You can’t kiss a pie goodnight, Sueanne. Uh, yes, yes you can. At least I’d have pie. And over the years my family has come to accept and understand this.

My hot steamy love affair with pie started when I was a little girl. My grandma on my mom’s side was a wonderful southern lady. When ever we’all visited she’d have at least 5-6 different kinds of desserts waiting for us--sometimes more--and and least three of those would be pie. She did coconut cream, cherry, banana cream, and lemon meringue the best. You name it, she could bake anything, and she was amazing.  

My mother took after her and in fact got an undergrad AND graduate degree in Home Ec. Not only can she sew like Giorgio Armani, she is like the Martha Stewart of Muncie, Indiana when it comes to the kitchen. She has every kitchen gadget you can imagine. She makes my father birthday pie. Not birthday cake. That’s how good her pie is.

As I was the only daughter, pie, cake, and cookie baking fell into my lap at an early age. I knew what a pastry cutter was when the other girls were still fighting over which Barbie Ken would shag that night at the Dreamhouse. So I had a lot of practice when I went out in the world. There are many things you can do in life if you can knock out a variety of tasty pies.

Then it happened. 

I married outside of my faith. That’s right. I married a cake eater. And gave birth to three more cake eaters. I know. How did this happen? Is this because I wouldn’t let that really annoying girl sit at my lunch table in 7th grade? Because I already said I’m sorry. I’M SORRY!!!  I soon realized that too many pies would go to my thighs. So I stopped baking pies.

This was all okay because If I looked really hard, I could find good pies at a bakery. But they mostly sucked. Then one day I stopped at a farmstand in upstate NY and... lo and behold, what did I see? --- A cherry blueberry pie homemade by Me-Oh-My Pies. The sun came out from behind a cloud. I could hear the sound of angels singing. I didn’t care about the $13 price on the pie. I grabbed it and never looked back.

This sucker was almost as good as Grandma’s. Knock wood, throwing salt over shoulder. For three years I’ve always bought those pies whenever I drive upstate. 

Unfortunately, the last time I stopped at the farmstand, there were exactly ZERO pies. I’m told the baker now has Lyme Disease. It’s common up there. I pray for her speedy recovery. Every day. Twice a day.

Until then, could somebody hook me up with some kick-ass pie?