I set out to make myself a peach-blueberry custard pie today.
This is the kind of pie you would be served if you were driving through the back roads of Louisiana in 1979. Just the sort you would get if you were on your way to spend a week with your Aunt Lois and your tire got punctured on a single lane country road.
So you would have to walk up to the well worn house with the shaded porch and ask the man sitting there if you could use his phone. And the screen door would fly open when you mentioned you were a Moss girl and the woman would say "you come in here right now Carol Jean and let me cut you a wedge of pie".
And she would look squarely at Earl on the porch and tell him "don't just stand there, get on down and fix this girls' tire".
And she'd serve you a "swaller" of coffee along with your pie and tell you about how she and your Aunt Lois used to work together in the school cafeteria.
In other words, this ain't no fancy pie. But it will fuel the imagination if you take a nap after eating a piece. It's the kind of pie that takes you back to your roots. If your Dad was born in Louisiana that is.
Peach-Blueberry Custard Pie
9" single pie crust - unbaked
4 large ripe peaches, 3/4 cup fresh blueberries, 3 eggs, 1/2 cup sugar, 3 T. flour, 2 T. butter, 2 T. crisco.
Peel and slice peaches and place in pie crust with blueberries. Cream sugar, flour, shortening, and butter. Add eggs and beat custard mixture well; pour over fruit in crust. Bake at 425 degrees for 10 minutes then lower temperature to 325 degrees and bake for an additional 50 minutes.
looks soooo good! i would love a piece right now! maybe with some ice cream instead of the coffee!
Posted by: julie macneil | 08/21/2012 at 10:31 PM
You evoked such a visual recollection here that I can SEE all the players! Wonderful post, Carol. Come visit me in California and I will try my hardest to make good memories for you to think about 30 years down the road...
Posted by: Joyce | 08/21/2012 at 10:37 PM
Just what you'd see and hear if you stopped by my grands "place"...everybodys home was called a place down south. My grands were from TN & KY...my grandma made the best peach cobbler I ever tasted! She'd most likely say, come on in and sit a spell...always in her apron with safety pins pinned to the loop that went over her head...especially on" warsh" day.
Posted by: Joan Clarke | 08/21/2012 at 10:56 PM
I'd like a 'swaller' of coffee and a slab o'that pretty pie, please. To go.
Posted by: xo | 08/21/2012 at 11:58 PM
Mmm mmm, that looks like all kinds of good! I have both peaches and blueberries in the fridge. Maybe...
Posted by: Betsy | 08/22/2012 at 12:19 AM
Carol, you serve up a good pie and a great story. Some good old farm fresh King Island cream, like no other tasted in the world. King Island in Tasmania, Australia. that is..if you ever get your self out there even just for the cream, you'll never ever ever ever forget it.
Posted by: Marianne | 08/22/2012 at 02:34 AM
Carol, I can always count on you to bring a smile to my heart. You are so great at writing and story telling. I always look forward to reading your blog. Thanks for the smile.
Posted by: Pam Michael | 08/22/2012 at 08:16 AM
And the "orchard" theme continues! I need that recipe!
I think we could have some screen play going here, what with Louisiana and Sister floating in boats...hmmmm. The same mood as Moonrise Kingdom. Wes Anderson would surely want to direct!
Posted by: Leslie J. Moran | 08/22/2012 at 08:37 AM
My back roads story would take place in a small crossroads in Delaware. Thanks for the memory. The pie looks so yummy. Recipe, please!
Posted by: Jan | 08/22/2012 at 10:37 AM
Well, my Dad was born in London and probably never tasted peach pie but he appreciated classic American literature and would have read about and imagined such a feast. (I think there's peach pie in Farmer Boy).
Especially nice if he could have shared it with a Moss girl!
Posted by: Chrissy | 08/22/2012 at 11:04 AM
I really like your food photos.
I could eat every bite of that pie!
Posted by: Ally Nielsen | 08/22/2012 at 04:29 PM