Lord have mercy, I don't think I can eat a piece of Derby Pie again.
Well okay, not for at least the next few hours or so.
I was up to my elbows in pie goop yesterday, tackling (howboucha Joe Namath?) an unprecedented seven Derby Pies. I made two for my morning show crew to nosh on, one for the anchors to show off on-air, two for a party tomorrow and a couple for some people I owe favors to.
I am loyal to my mother's tried and true recipe, and I also make my crust from scratch (hint: freeze your butter after you cut it up, and then freeze the dough for a bit before you roll it out), as I refuse to be one of those frozen crust kind of people.
As Mother's Day approaches, I think about all the wonderful gifts my mama gave me. I don't resemble my mom much (the flat butt and the big boobs both come from my dad's side of the family) but I definitely have some domestic tendencies passed on from The Queen of Everything (whereas my sisters and I are all Princesses of Quite-a-lot).
There's no doubt about it, my passion for cooking is all Mom. Same with my keen eye for decorating and my love of wine. I also think my interest in the arts is something I get from my maternal side of the family.
I just hope I don't develop her crazy obsession for all things neat.
I hate it when she licks her pointer finger to pick up the crumbs one by one off the kitchen floor.
Your mom. Heh heh. Can't stop laughing after that story you told me. Hey, if it's good for the goose...
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