Every year for Thanksgiving we have what is technically called a shitload of pies. We eat our fill, and have pies left over for the next day.
From our friend Finn, I learned the definition of a Yankee.
To a Southerner, it’s someone who lives above the Mason-Dixon line. To people above the Mason-Dixon, it’s someone who lives in New England. To a New Englander, it’s someone who lives in Vermont. To a Vermonter, it’s someone who has pie for breakfast.
So here’s our collection of pies. There’s Eva Bush’s lemon meringue. There is pecan pie, my favorite. ( Echoes of “ When Harry Met Sally”) There’s Is chocolate pudding pie. And apple pie—two different kinds. And pumpkin eggnog. Blue berry. Cherry. Once in a while, mincemeat.
Today I thought it might be fun to come up with some new ideas. A quick Google gave me this:
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