Jehauri
Grape Pie!
Ever notice how some fruits are seemingly taboo in pie? You can easily find apple, cherry, blueberry, peach, sometimes even pineapple or cranberry pie at your local store. But what about the other fruits? What about orange pie, or starfruit pie, or... GRAPE pie?
Long had I dreamed of making one of these forbidden pies, but I lacked the knowledge until I discovered an ancient cookbook from the 1930s hidden in a cupboard under the stairs. There, among such abominations as "Crabmeat and Avocado Cocktail" and "Jellied Chicken", I found what I had sought for so long. The first attempt at a crust was a failure, a horrible blob that clung tenaciously to everything except itself. The second, using a different recipe, was also a failure. Maybe the old-timey definition of a "cup" or "tablespoon" was different from today's. Maybe the cookbook itself was exuding some sinister, crust-ruining force. Maybe I really suck at baking. In any case, I bought a premade crust and started anew, and this time nothing would stop me.
So, behold, the product of a lost recipe, a pie so obscure, so taboo and arcane, that the last time somebody actually baked one, a wandering hobo stole it while it cooled on the windowsill. Born from the oven's glaring fire, dozens of the blackest grapes, and a whole hour's work, I give you: GRAPE PIE!
Grape Pie!
Ever notice how some fruits are seemingly taboo in pie? You can easily find apple, cherry, blueberry, peach, sometimes even pineapple or cranberry pie at your local store. But what about the other fruits? What about orange pie, or starfruit pie, or... GRAPE pie?
Long had I dreamed of making one of these forbidden pies, but I lacked the knowledge until I discovered an ancient cookbook from the 1930s hidden in a cupboard under the stairs. There, among such abominations as "Crabmeat and Avocado Cocktail" and "Jellied Chicken", I found what I had sought for so long. The first attempt at a crust was a failure, a horrible blob that clung tenaciously to everything except itself. The second, using a different recipe, was also a failure. Maybe the old-timey definition of a "cup" or "tablespoon" was different from today's. Maybe the cookbook itself was exuding some sinister, crust-ruining force. Maybe I really suck at baking. In any case, I bought a premade crust and started anew, and this time nothing would stop me.
So, behold, the product of a lost recipe, a pie so obscure, so taboo and arcane, that the last time somebody actually baked one, a wandering hobo stole it while it cooled on the windowsill. Born from the oven's glaring fire, dozens of the blackest grapes, and a whole hour's work, I give you: GRAPE PIE!