Giving more thanks for pie

I can't spend a lot of time on this particular post because I am prepping for Hanukkah (first candle tomorrow night, for those of you keeping track) and Thanksgiving, Thursday at our house.
For the first time in years Thanksgiving will be at our home. Our children and our siblings will be under one roof (weather and airport permitting) and around the table debating whether jellied or whole cranberry sauce is better, for the first time in a very long time.
I am looking forward to hosting and having leftovers.
There will be three kinds of pie, marshmallows on the sweet potato casserole and leftovers.
The past few years we have gone to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving. 
Moving the holiday here is bitter sweet for me. 
My mom -- the main attraction for our annual Thanksgiving journey -- passed away in February. 
So this Thanksgiving, even with its pie and leftovers, will be different.
Our family has been blessed while living in Chicagoland, and before in Orlando, to celebrate many other holidays with our extended families. Transplants like ourselves and natives, who extended dining room tables to make room for more, have adopted us for many holidays, but Philadelphia was the Thanksgiving destination.

Whenever there is a pie on the table, it seems to be a conversation starter. About a year ago a friend of ours told us the story of Beth Howard, a woman he knew from his web production days, who has taken pie to a whole new level. She proclaimed pie had healing qualities. 
He had experienced it firsthand when he shared making one of her apple pies from scratch with his daughter as they worked the dough and worked out an emotional crisis.
I immediately "Googled" Howard and have since run my fingers through her book "Making Piece: A Memoir of Love, Loss and Pie."
My friend met Howard, author, blogger and pie baker, when she was a very successful web producer. She later quit that lucrative gig in early 2000 to pursue pie. Eventually, she wound up watching A-list celebrities as well as pedestrian pie lovers enjoy her wares in LA, while baking for a restaurant there.
Howard, who now lives in THE American Gothic House in Eldon, Iowa, is a celebrity. When not throwing Pie Parties and baking and selling pie at the Gothic House's seasonal Pitchfork Pie Stand (closed for the season), she has continued writing and been healing others thru pie.
A year ago, while the country was reeling from the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary, Howard packed up her pie plates and took a team of volunteer pie makers and servers from Iowa, Illinois, New Jersey, New York and Georgia to help the people of Newtown, Conn., deal with their grief with fruit pies.
Her act of kindness and healing was featured on CNN's Anderson Cooper 360. Howard -- who has another book coming out in April, also returned to Connecticut in March to teach pie baking and spoke on her life experiences at a public library.
Sadly, Howard experienced firsthand how "pie does help heal." 
She threw herself even deeper into the pie promotion biz in 2009, after her husband of six years died unexpectedly from a ruptured aorta.
My husband and I loaded up the grocery cart at Costco earlier today with pumpkin and pecan offerings. We heard a Costco employee claim the company expected to move 1 million pies today.
During our last two Thanksgivings in Philadelphia we introduced the rest of the clan to the Costco pies. It was an easy offering for a table that sometimes sported turkeys our cousins raised and de-feathered for dining at my aunt's house.
Truthfully I have not had better than the warehouse market's pumpkin pies -- why bake?
But I am going to make an apple pie for Thursday. I am going to make Beth Howard's basic apple pie recipe.
And I am going to think of my mom as I count our blessings and I am baking.
You can never have too much pie. 

Musing from a road trip laundry room

While waiting for someone else's mom to get their stuff out of the cold dryer in the laundry room of the Homewood Suites in Durham, NC, I started to make notes for this blog.
I had not done any laundry for nearly a week.
My husband and I had been road tripping thru the South.  We had been taking in the change of seasons, the topography and, of course, the food. 
Truthfully, I was skeptical even at this point in the trip that I would still fit into my airplane seat home.

I arrived at Parents' Weekend with full intention of doing all of our son's laundry and that of any family-less student still in town for the festivities.  We were there to spend quality time with our youngest, to meet his friends, celebrate his 20th birthday, and to enjoy some R&R before returning north to the elliptical machine at the fitness center. 

I did in fact start writing this chapter from a pedicure chair where I had motivated Danielle, my nail tech, to resume her journal writing by picking up blogging. I was there killing time while my husband was getting an oil change on what used to be the family SUV. The SUV has been living at school with our son.
We had time to do these normal routine appointments because pre-med boy was in class and playing flag football and we had nothing to do until dinner time because he would not let us do his laundry. 

We travelled 1100 miles to see him. The trip kicked off from my husband's and my hometown -- Philadelphia in Pennsylvania. We were still married after eight states, and the District of Columbia;10 McDonald pit stops, refueling each time with $1 unsweetened iced teas (except on the border of Virginia and Tennessee where they charged $1.75 for the same guilty pleasure), that would eventually lead to more pit stops. 

We made planned stops in Richmond, VA, where we Yankees sought the perspective of the natives on "the war of aggression" at the Confederate War Museum and Jefferson Davis' White House. We kicked off the eating festivities setting the bar high at Richmond's top BBQ joint. Buz & Ned's Real Barbecue, where Bobby Flay lost a "Throwdown" in a brisket challenge. I make a mean brisket. I too would have lost the challenge. Brisket and beef ribs melted like "buttah" in our mouths. 
Later we took advantage of Richmond's  restaurant week for dinner at Tarrants that included a coconut chess pie, which I added to my Pie Hall of Fame, while scraping the plate. The restaurant is in a former main street small town pharmacy. This made it even more appealing to my pharmacist husband/traveling companion.  

The next day we were on the road to Monticello, VA to Thomas Jefferson's estate, where we enjoyed a brilliant tour from a guide who oozed Jeffersonian factoids and loved his job. 

We enjoyed being at Monticello and also loved the southern buffet at the Michie Tavern next door, where the fried chicken and mashed potatoes left no room for dessert. 

Exhausted from battling the GPS and the travel and touring we broke all rules that night and ate at our hotel in Charlottesville, VA. The chef, who is trying to build a notable place to eat in another foodie city, rose to the occasion and served us well. Generally we only eat the free breakfasts at the Hilton properties we stay at. This particular Hilton Garden Inn might be a dinner gem. 

Speaking of GPS battles. We could not really blame our satellite sister as she directed us around and up and down the Appalachian and Blue Ridge mountains on our six-day journey. As we saw signs for Tennessee, on the way to North Carolina from Virginia, I was feeling completely geographically challenged. My husband, who for kicks and giggles and lots of baseball has taken our son on road trips to every Major League ballpark (and some that no longer exist), was pretty confident that we were going the correct route as we passed thru a gorgeous part of the country I doubt I will return to in this lifetime.  The leaves were beginning to change and the distance between Cracker Barrel Restaurants became more spaced out as we headed for Asheville, NC and the Biltmore Estate, nearly six hours from the day's starting point. 

It was worth the trip to gawk at the opulence of this Gilded Age home. It is impossible to wrap your head around how much money this branch of the Vanderbilt family (not Anderson Cooper's line) had, and spent, not to mention the skill and tenacity of the people who built it. 

That drive for perfection was matched that night at a local spot called Tupelo Honey Cafe which has quite the rep for its biscuits, flaky softball-size orbs that require no condiments. This did not stop me from dressing half with Tupelo honey and the other half with a homemade blueberry compote. Because I ordered their vegetable combo plate for dinner (only in the South is Mac n Cheese considered a vegetable), I treated myself to a slice of their chocolate pecan pie. It was the best pecan pie I have ever eaten in a restaurant. Worth the drive, even if you aren't in the area. 

As we waddled out of the cafe I was so glad we had not rented a Prius for the journey. Driving in the safety and comfort of a 2014 Jeep Grand Cherokee, I could barely fathom fitting in a Prius after the pie. Also, I could not fathom what the Civil War soldiers endured traipsing from battlefield to battlefield on this terrain. At both Monticello and Biltmore, guides talked about distance in "how the crow flies" measurements.  

Today we get annoyed if a plane takes off an hour late or if there is no direct flight. It took Jefferson three days by horse to get to DC and often when visitors invited to Monticello arrived, he would host them for three months. Of course he had his own private wing at the place.  

We paced ourselves on the journey to Durham. Even stopped at an outlet mall (like we don't have those at home). Despite the pie, hush puppies and biscuits, I squeezed my way into a new pair of jeans that were a size smaller than the ones I wore into the Chicos. No salespeople were injured during that visit. 

Then we headed into Durham to enjoy Parents' Weekend and more eating. Kicked off the food fest with Dame's chicken and waffles. It was downhill for any dieting from there. The jeans will probably not fit me now for a month or two.
Other than standing for a complete basketball game amongst the Cameron Crazies in the student section, most of the activity we threw ourselves into revolved around food. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you about how we even ate BBQ twice in one day.
We had already been to a few Parents' Weekends between our two children. By now the university's planned activities were not a big part of the visit plan. The most important thing was to spend time with our son, now a sophomore. 

Observation: Friday all the parents arrive full of energy and enthusiasm. Sunday we all are carrying bags from the University Store, empty wallets and weary faces.
Diagnosis: Food comas.

After three days in Durham we were whisked to the airport this morning in the former family car by our son. Cashed in my winning North Carolina Powerball lottery ticket to buy him breakfast as his dad filled up the SUV at the airport gas station. 

We thanked him for a fantastic weekend (he pulled an all-nighter to get us tickets for that exhibition basketball game, scrounged up tickets for a very good acapella concert and hand-picked where we would dine) and mostly for spending time with us.
He thanked us for coming. Priceless. 

Good pie belongs on its own pedestal

Recently a link went around that really set me on edge.
It proclaimed that pie is the next cupcake on the culinary dessert trend circuit.
This proclamation offended me.
I take pie quite seriously. Good pie belongs on its own pedestal. I've put it there for years.
Pie is one of my favorite desserts and probably one of my Hall of Fame comfort foods.
During my phormative years in Philadelphia, Tastykake fruit pies were occasionally permitted with a glass of milk as our family's version of the most important meal of the day. Tastykake lemon and blueberry pies were always my favorites. Our breakfast of champions before heading off on a walk to elementary school.
My mom was not a baker of pies. She claimed they were too hard to make. Transferring the crusts from counter to pie plate can be overwhelming for a lot of people.
I shall date myself by pulling up a memory of the Horn & Hardart Automat and coconut custard pie. No one makes coconut custard pie like that memory. It was also my dad's favorite.
I didn't bake my first pie, or appreciate the talent it takes to make a good one, until I moved into my first apartment in Clearwater, Fla. Young, single and sometimes lonely, I would try to master former Philadelphia City Councilwoman/pie entrepreneur Joan Specter's  apple walnut recipe and throw a pie-pity-party for some of my newspaper friends who worked nights and weekends.
I was homesick in Florida for the strawberry tarts I'd shared with friends in Philly at The Commissary. Pie can be and is emotionally soothing (I will get back to this on or around January 23, National Pie Day; not to be confused with March 14, Pi Day).
As you can see, I don't discriminate when it comes to pie. I like fruit pies, cream pies and nut pies. Shoo-Fly pie would not be in my top 10. I do enjoy chicken pot pie and shepherd's pie as dinner entrées. For the purpose of this blog I am concentrating on dessert pies.
Some of the best pies I've eaten were in Florida. Not too far from Clearwater's Jack Russell Stadium in the early 80s you could pick up amazing sweet potato pies on the ride back to the office to write baseball stories. Purchased and brown bagged right out of the oven of a talented woman's BBQ shack/home.
It wasn't until I was living in Orlando, that I realized there were pie people as obsessed as I.
A columnist at The Orlando Sentinel, who called himself Commander Coconut, was always on the lookout for another good slice of life and he would refer to the minions who enjoyed pie as much as he did as "Pie Butts."A badge of honor.
Diners down south were/are great sources for pie. Local dives and posh diners, such as the Peabody Hotel's B-Line in Orlando failed to disappoint. Years ago the B-Line's deep dish apple pie was the best I had ever eaten. I would actually order one or two for Thanksgiving dinner and return the pie tins with rave reviews days later. But pastry chefs move on...
Ever since Oprah announced to the world her love of Costco's pumpkin pie I have joined that bandwagon. Truthfully, I have never had a homemade version as good. And you can't beat the value.
One of the best things about pumpkin pie is it is a vegetable so I don't worry about the calorie issue.
For many years I have entered into many debates over the best Key Lime pie out there. I will share a little expertise with you about Key Lime pie -- if it is green you must stay away from it. If you want a good commercial version Hooters and Trader Joe's can fill a void. A slice at Joe's Stone Crab restaurants in Miami and Chicago still makes my heart skip a beat. My friend Marla -- who lives in Chicagoland -- makes my favorite homemade version.

Chi-town is striving to become a very good pie town -- not counting its formidable deep dish Pizza pies -- with more than a dozen places with good reps. If you have an extra nine hours try to duplicate Gale Gand's recipe for banana cream pie--DO IT. It is just one reason Gand, an Evanston native and one of the world's most celebrated pastry chefs, had a cooking show called "Sweet Dreams."
I have marched crews of friends and family to Emeril Lagasse's restaurants in Vegas and Orlando to indulge in his version of banana cream pie when it is on the menu.
A long-standing family tradition, after walking to raise money for Juvenile Diabetes in the Chicagoland area, is breakfast and pie at Bakers Square -- I kid you not. Their French Silk pie needs no justification.
If you eat pie while doing charity or philanthropy there are no calories in it. If you professionally eat pie you have a dream job. This "pie butt" enjoyed semi-pro status when she stepped up to judge pies at the Lake County (IL) Fair for a number of seasons.
A lot of homemade pies were enjoyed and rewarded ribbons during my tenure and a handful of pie frauds (really, don't try and serve that prepared crust to a real pie judge) were exposed.
Do you know that we used to have to post "pie police"to make sure jealous entrants would not switch awarded ribbons when no one was looking? Who would have thought pie baking could be so competitive.
After several years of judging pies I learned that not every pie baker has high standards and there are a whole lot of people out there who just don't know good pie. There are cheaters who have to be challenged when they enter pre-baked pies. And as you the pie judge are chewing, you never think about where and how these entries are baked. If you did, you could never do this demanding job. Oprah and her friend Gayle King took a stab at judging food at the Texas state fair one season.
Kudos to those who bake and even more kudos to those still judging.
A perfect job for me -- besides blogging -- would be to travel for pie. Finding good pie in the USA is not that difficult. One of the best places I've ever been to internationally and highly recommend is The Queen of Tarts in Dublin, Ireland.
Last year my daughter and I traveled there for breakfast. According to the American Pie Council 35 percent of all Americans have had pie for breakfast.
You guessed it -- lemon meringue pie with tea. I've grown up, I am not a big fan of milk unless I am dunking Oreos in it.