For Something Lighter...

This is Georgie, my mom and Paul's adoring pooch. She'll lick your feet with love. She likes pie, too...

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Wild Weather, Wild Berry Pie

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Hurricane Ike isn't looking good. As of this morning parts of Harris (i.e. Houston's) county are under mandatory evacuation, and we look set for a pretty bad hit. Morgan, the kitties, and I will hunker down with her parents in their sturdier townhouse. Three nervous cats, two nervous dogs, and us...and maybe no power for days. But who knows. The storm could shift. Nobody quite knows what to expect. The good news? I don't have to teach the writing workshop on Saturday morning, I'm guessing. The bad news? I have to turn the ENTIRE draft of my novel into my master's workshop next week, and I may not have the ability to plug in my laptop after Friday night. I should be more worried about windows breaking, probably, but hey. It's the perfectionist in me. I'll print the whole draft today and at least then I can work by hand and flashlight. Needless to say, I'm not firing up the oven. I thought I'd post photos of the wildest of pies, though, to match the w...
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Red, White and Purple: Pure Blueberry

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I've been wanting comfort, and Blueberry strikes me as that plus patriotic, so I'd already decided on it for the Fourth when my friend Glenn requested it, too. It fits him: blueberry is a stand-up citizen, tasty, not pretentious, but juicy under the surface. It's sour enough to be interesting and full of antioxidants you need though you're not sure why. This pie made its debut at a Fourth of July party where we celebrated the USA with beer and exploding watermelons. Despite the fact that Glenn's not quite an American citizen. No big deal. Blueberry pie might be patriotic, but it doesn't have to be all-American. It could be, say, all-Canadian. Blueberry scared me, though. Northwesterners are more into the hardy blackberry, and I'm thrown off by the super juiciness of the unadulterated blueberry (read: soupy when sliced). You can dose it with starch, only to get gelatinous mush. I hate sticky, syrupy deli pie! Hence this blog: never again a bad candied-up pie...
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Home, Sweet Pie

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There's a reason I've been slow to post lately - I'm west of Seattle (yes, there is something west of Seattle), land of intermittent internet connections. The north Kitsap Peninsula contains trees, salmon, old loggers, new yuppies, rocky beaches, tons of berry bushes, my huge family, and hundreds of pie bakers. I come back here and I'm put in my place. Of course you make the crust from scratch. And my family will tell me if there's too much cinnamon or the filling is undercooked in the middle. They like my pies, don't get me wrong, but it's a far cry from the city kids I usually eat with. Turns out I'm a bit of city kid myself when I get back; the lazy days and long drive to the grocery store (well, to anything) throw me off at first. Then I adjust. I don't go online, I wander the seaweed-y beach, I tromp around for hours searching out berries ... I couldn't live like this all the time, but it's pretty good stuff for a couple weeks. Morgan an...
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