Monday, August 24, 2009

About a pie

Last night I made a Key lime pie from scratch for the first time. Being the incredibly novice foodie that I am, I was unaware until recently that a Key lime is an actual fruit, a very different little guy than the common Persian limes you toss in a gin and tonic. I don't really know what I thought before; that Key lime pie was some sort of regional specialty developed in the Florida Keys? Probably popularized at Margaritaville* or some other beachfront horror? Wrong. Key limes are real, folks, and they are really tiny. For three cups of lime juice, an amount which requires about 4 regular limes, I juiced what felt like 400 Key limes. Actually, it was about 20. I even have a battle scar: a tiny cut on my index finger. Luckily I am too wimpy to use very, very sharp knives and I spared myself a trip to the emergency room. In addition, the whole thing had to freeze for 6 hours, which would not be an issue were it not for the fact that my freezer has decided to retire. I had to leave the pie at my parents' house, meaning that my dreams of the breakfast of champions, pie and milk, were tragically unfulfilled. However, it just arrived home (not my stomach--yet) in all its melty glory, ready to vindicate my index finger for its suffering.
If you are planning of making a Key lime pie while summer's still around, I suggest that your lime juice be comprised of half Key limes and half regular Persian limes. Garnish the pie with some Key lime slices and no one will know the difference. Your fingers will thank you.
And oh, DON'T FRET at the lack of photos to accompany this riveting post. I'm saving up for a memory card to go inside the squeak-inducing tiny camera that Andy gave me recently. Soon!
*=A few months ago I saw a bumper sticker that said "W.W.J.B.D.?". You guessed it, "What would Jimmy Buffet do?". I think the problems facing this country would be fewer if these bumper stickers, and a willing market for them, did not exist. This phenomenon is beyond me. "Margaritaville" shatters my nerves in the same way that Rupert Holmes' Pina Colada song takes 5 years off of my mother's life every time she hears it. The same goes for the pathetic late Beach Boys' song "Kokomo." For being such a fun place, the beach sure does inspire some of the world's shittiest music.

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