Last night I had the pleasure of enjoying a beer with G, occasional commenter and dashing helpmeet to the lovely Lisa. As we went our separate ways, he presented me with, among other things, a Blueberry Pie.
Most of my Esteemed Readers have had Blueberry Pie at one time or another...as have I. But you can take it to the bank that there is no Blueberry Pie that compares with a New Brunswick Blueberry Pie. In my own experience, I have had only one or two that have even come close.
Let’s start with the berries. New Brunswick wild blueberries are little bitty, pee-waddly affairs, nothing remotely like the huge, puffy, flavorless wads that pass for “blueberries” where I live. No, these are small, intensely dark and sweet - concentrated Essence of Bloob.
Moving on to the filling, this pie had the kind that is best eaten whilst standing over the sink: juicy and fluid, not like the congealed mess you find inside most commercial pies. If there was any thickening agent used in this pie, I cannot tell you what it was, for there was scant evidence of it.
The crust? Light. Flaky. Golden brown at the edges, a rustic affair. Delicious.
Not even Greenwood’s on Green Street – home of the Holy Shit Chocolate By Gawd Cream Pie – could touch this baby.
O, keep your Lemon Meringues, your Key Limes. Even unto your Coconut Custards, you have been weighed in the balance and have been found wanting. This - this - is a Pie. The veritabobble King of Pies.
I am truly impressed. New Brunswick, home of the Blueberry Pie of the Gods, I salute you!