We Had Some Pie
On a nippy, windy March day last week we had lunch in Pie Town. It's a real place, a town in New Mexico. What was for lunch? Pie.
Just pie. Three pieces, two forks. We shared.
We went to the Pie-o-neer shop. There are two other pie stores nearby along the highway, but you have to realize that's it -- all that's here is a post office and three pie shops strung along an empty stretch of highway, just a dusty side of the road on route 60 (Pieway 60) about three hours from Albuquerque.
There is nothing else there for miles and miles and miles. No houses, no ranches that we could see, no other buildings. Just three pie shops.
It's several hours of driving in utter emptiness through short grass upland treeless basins surrounded by mountains.
The drive was beautiful -- we've come to appreciate the stark beauty of empty New Mexico capped by an endless blue sky -- but you better believe we wanted good pie when we got there. It was a long, long drive.
We barely saw another car once we left Albuquerque and turned west. We crossed the Continental Divide and kept going.
There was simply no traffic whatsoever for hours. And then we arrived at Pie Town, walked in, and there were people! Where did they come from? Did they drop out of the sky?
The place was old and funky and weird. They had just opened after the winter season --opening day was 3-14 -- 𝛑 Pi day.
The owners were really friendly -- Kathy Knapp, the baker and owner, sat at the table by the warm iron pot belly boiler, her hair in an old fashioned chef's snood, peeling apples and yakking with everyone. No one escaped her welcome or conversation. There was a guest book to sign.
Locals wandered in, although I don't know where they came from, as there is simply nothing around this roadside stop for miles. Jim said the place reminded him of a goofy hippie haven stuck in time. I guess he knows.
The pie on the shelf in the middle came home in a box with us. It's a blueberry pie called Starry Starry Night. Van Gogh's vivid masterpiece has nothing on this culinary creation. I asked Kathy what spices or seasonings she uses in her blueberry pie and she was caught up short. 'Um, none" she said after a little pause. "Blueberries and a bit of cornstarch. No sugar".
The three slices we had for lunch were fabulous -- apple crumble, apple with red chiles, both with delicious flaky crusts, and a chocolate cream meringue pie for dessert. I had on light colored pants. I had a piece of chocolate pie. You know what happened, don't you.
How do they even stock their ingredients out here far from beyond the middle of nowhere? Blueberries? Cherries? Ghiardelli chocolate? While it's a real place on a real road with electricity and running water, it's very far from any distribution center.
But it was so worth it, chocolate stains, long, long drive through empty New Mexico, and all.
Just pie. Three pieces, two forks. We shared.
 |
| Apple crumble pie, chocolate cream meringue, and apple with red chiles -- the chile was ever so slight, just enough zing to make the apples shine. |
We went to the Pie-o-neer shop. There are two other pie stores nearby along the highway, but you have to realize that's it -- all that's here is a post office and three pie shops strung along an empty stretch of highway, just a dusty side of the road on route 60 (Pieway 60) about three hours from Albuquerque.
There is nothing else there for miles and miles and miles. No houses, no ranches that we could see, no other buildings. Just three pie shops.
It's several hours of driving in utter emptiness through short grass upland treeless basins surrounded by mountains.
The drive was beautiful -- we've come to appreciate the stark beauty of empty New Mexico capped by an endless blue sky -- but you better believe we wanted good pie when we got there. It was a long, long drive.
There was simply no traffic whatsoever for hours. And then we arrived at Pie Town, walked in, and there were people! Where did they come from? Did they drop out of the sky?
The place was old and funky and weird. They had just opened after the winter season --opening day was 3-14 -- 𝛑 Pi day.
The owners were really friendly -- Kathy Knapp, the baker and owner, sat at the table by the warm iron pot belly boiler, her hair in an old fashioned chef's snood, peeling apples and yakking with everyone. No one escaped her welcome or conversation. There was a guest book to sign.
Locals wandered in, although I don't know where they came from, as there is simply nothing around this roadside stop for miles. Jim said the place reminded him of a goofy hippie haven stuck in time. I guess he knows.
The pie on the shelf in the middle came home in a box with us. It's a blueberry pie called Starry Starry Night. Van Gogh's vivid masterpiece has nothing on this culinary creation. I asked Kathy what spices or seasonings she uses in her blueberry pie and she was caught up short. 'Um, none" she said after a little pause. "Blueberries and a bit of cornstarch. No sugar".
The three slices we had for lunch were fabulous -- apple crumble, apple with red chiles, both with delicious flaky crusts, and a chocolate cream meringue pie for dessert. I had on light colored pants. I had a piece of chocolate pie. You know what happened, don't you.
How do they even stock their ingredients out here far from beyond the middle of nowhere? Blueberries? Cherries? Ghiardelli chocolate? While it's a real place on a real road with electricity and running water, it's very far from any distribution center.
But it was so worth it, chocolate stains, long, long drive through empty New Mexico, and all.
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