And then, there was pie
For Thanksgiving, I set out to make this pie.
It was, I figured, absolutely Southern, and Virginia being my adopted home, I can always use a little more Southern. Even the name hollered iced tea and wrap-around porches and the kind of thing that inspires a hush so absolute you can hear the crickets 15 miles away. Ok, no, it doesn’t really say that, but what it does say is Southern Comfort Caramel Apple Pie. It says honey, put your girdle on because I am bustin’ out.
Obviously, it being about a week AFTER Thanksgiving, I didn’t make it (though not for want of effort), but now I wish I had.
This pie is like the pie of dreams. If Betty White and Chuck Norris had a baby, it would be this pie. This pie will smack you around and still make you want to cuddle after. One look at this pie and your grandmother would faint. Seriously, it’s some good pie.
My husband, who notably is no great fan of apple pie, said “This is not pie, this is crack.” And there I will let it stand. Have some photos:
Yes, I know. Only two photos? I know, it’s not the most photogenic pie ever, but it’s my first, and it took me two hours to make and by GOD I was starving for a piece of this pie by then and you know? In that instance, photos come second. But you’ll have to trust me that one piece of this pie will make you beg the Holy Father’s forgiveness because that is some DAMN good pie.