Northerners have this thing called coffee. (Yes, I know we drink it here in the South too, but Starbucks and the like were nonetheless alien to the South until the early 90’s.) Down here we have sugar.
It makes sense too. Northerners have to get up in pitch black and dig their cars out of snowbanks in order to slide to their job at the yeti farm where they earn enough money to go curling in the evenings and pay for their costly sunning and tanning beds (used occasionally for growing personal amounts of medicinal marijuana, wink, wink, and to dispel their seasonal depression.) Who does this sort of thing without coffee?
But in the South we get up to songbirds and Willie Nelson (preferring our marijuana second-hand) and desire something a little more substantial before we set about our rigorous work of riding and roping broncos. What says substantial Southern breakfast better than fried pie?
After living for several years in the Northern Rockies I had become accustomed, upon arriving in a new location, to querying as to the whereabouts of the favored neighborhood caffeine retailer (even though I still don’t drink the awful stuff). On moving back into the Texas countryside I discovered that such questions are countered with a scowl and the raising of the eyebrow. Internally I hear the unspoken accusation, “You ain’t from around here, ain’t ya’?”
Then it finally struck me when this last week, in the little town closest to my far flung location, we celebrated the grand opening of a new fried pie shop. The regal event included free pie and coffee along with live music and second-hand smoke, all piping hot.
Now I have my local coffee shop, I mean pie shop, in keeping true to Southern priorities, where I can go to mingle, think, work and procrastinate (no wifi yet). While I wait for my delicious fried dough pocket impregnated with cherry pie filling I can reminisce about skipping to Chase’s Grocery after school to get a DP and a Mrs. Baird’s fried pie. Oh, sweet innocence refound.
I know what all you jittery-legged, caffeine-amped Northerners are saying, and while Texas might be one of the fattest states in the Union, they still know the meaning of being fat and happy. Long live the fried pie.
*footnote: those of you concerned about the decline of the custard fried pie Mindy Lu has you covered.
0 thoughts on “Fried Pie Country: Staying Fat and Happy”
Up till recently most every small Texas town had a coffee shop, usually called a cafe, and groups of locals could be found sitting around there imbibing the stuff any time of day.
I know, you’re right. But the small town cafe is still a different beast than the coffee shop. And there would be a decent chance of getting a fried pie with some coffee on the side. (I still prefer sweet tea.)
Always the innovator that I am, I believe I will start making fried cakes. Even fried birthday cake. Fried wedding cake. I will make millions…of fat friends if nothing else.
Put me down for a fried thanksgiving cake.