The Pie Project

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...

A hurricane is in the Gulf, it's hotter than hell, and it's been over ten days since I last posted. How can it be?? The semester started, short answer. I'm teaching creative writing and a section of composition, fiction editing, teaching a kids' writing workshop on Saturday mornings, taking three classes... the round-up for a grad student, I guess. Anyway, my baking hat had been set aside, until this morning when I made a Black Bottom Ricotta Pie. It's in the oven right now. Sounds weird, but I think it'll be good-weird. Cheescakey. (It's is another Haedrich invention). Meanwhile I treat you to pictures of something decidedly NOT in Haedrich's cookbook: red huckleberry pie. First of all, I feel I must redeem the Northwest given Sarah Stalin, er, Palin's association with my region. I bet you a million bucks she has never made a red huckleberry pie. This is a Northwest delicacy. It's distinctly tart - woodsy, fresh, and intense. It's special be...

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...

Making pie makes me happy. That's probably obvious. But really, it gives me that all-is-well, everything-in-its-time, you're-okay feeling. I suppose it's about the zen-like focus a pie takes and the basic pleasure of creation. Or, the fact that I associate pie with the best of my childhood: big family, big forest, small town. Speaking of which, I'm off to WA on Monday for more summer fruit pie glory. Blackberry (two kinds), strawberry-rhubarb, cherry, and maybe, if I'm persistent with my pickin' fingers, huckleberry. They snap in your mouth like tangy little firecrackers and damn, they make great pie. As a kid, I wasn't often rolling out flaky crust - I was more about adventuring into "sticker bushes" to collect berries than pie construction. But still, getting flour all over my hands, the smell of fresh cut fruit, brings me back. It's such a simple, summery indulgence. Lately, I've made a peach raspberry and an apple crumble pie. Both lusc...

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...

This is my blog about pie, otherwise known as the pie blog, otherwise known as my #1 reason to eat too much buttery crust and not do my work. But I think it's good for me, anyway. Writing a pie, baking a novel: Simple ingredients, complex effect. Occasional disasters sometimes taste good. It’s time to expand my pie horizons, revisit old flames, procrastinate with flour, experiment. Fruits. Custards. Chess. Meringue. Peanut butter. The Joy of Cooking and I (and recipe makers of all kinds) are going head to head every week. Or hand in hand, I hope. You think pie is for old ladies? Neo-fifties housewives? Refined, Paris-visiting, cookbook-writing foodies? Sure, and more power to them. But it's time for a pie revolution. Pie is equal opportunity. It’s feminist, socialist, progressive, hip, down-to-earth, sustainable, and always lovable. It will not be labeled. But it will be…okay, I have to say it: eaten. So, welcome! I can't promise the shiniest food bloggiest blog of all the ...