Browsing Tag:

pie

on
November 29, 2015

Chess Pie, Which Isn’t the Same Thing As Simply Playing Chess On a Pie, So Don’t Try That

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Hello, friends! I trust all of you spent your long Thanksgiving weekend eating excessive amounts of food (as is one’s patriotic duty on the last Thursday of November). I made five dishes — three of which were potato-based — and spent it at home alone marathon watching The Great British Baking Show. And yes, I planned it that way, and yes, it was relaxing and glorious and no one was around to say anything about the fact that I chose to drink my wine out of a tumbler with a bendy straw.

But now, it’s time to get cracking because the holiday season insanity has begun! If you’ve got many a potluck to attend, consider making pie as your contribution. You can make it ahead of time, transporting them isn’t as precarious as transporting a crock pot full of scalding hot brisket, and there are as many varieties of delicious pies to choose from as the day is long.

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Confession: I am not very good at making pies. Or rather, I am not very good at making pie crusts. But I am a firm believer of homemade pie crusts no matter how rubbish they may end up looking (and trust me, I’ve made some pretty rubbish-looking ones) because they will always, always taste better than the premade, store-bought kind. Trust me. You can do this.

This is a chess pie. I don’t know why it’s called that and am far too lazy to Google it myself, so you’ll have to do that investigation on your own. But I do know that it’s something I’ve had a few times when I lived in Texas, where non-fruit pies are commonplace year-round. The filling is a sweet golden custard, with just a little bit of crunch on the top. All of this is cradled inside a thin buttery crust. Yum.

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on
February 10, 2015

Heartbreak Pie (aka Black-Bottom Cherry Pie)

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Last week, my boyfriend and I broke up. The sudden change left me hollowed and lost.

I know what I’m feeling is nothing new. That’s why what Shakespeare wrote about coping is as relevant now as it was 400 years ago: “Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o’erwrought heart and bids it break.”

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Take torch songs, for instance. There is solace in the over-the-top and drippy lyrics because it’s like Bonnie Raitt just gets you when all the logic and well-intentioned advice in the rational world doesn’t. She just gets how it feels to love someone so completely, and to try so hard, but to have it not be enough for that someone to stay. She just gets the incessant thoughts that plague you: What if I did something different? What if I were prettier, thinner, funnier, smarter, anything-er? Does he even miss me, or did he already forget? She just gets the inconsolable grief that follows. She just gets what it’s like to feel as if you’ve been thrown away.

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