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.