Shoo-Fly, Gimme Some Pie!

Today was one of our Producers' birthdays at work and he's been hinting for weeks that he hoped someone would make a fuss about it.  So, being always tuned in to fuss-wanters, I knew just what to do:  I was going to make his favorite pie.  The only hitch with this undertaking was that I'd never tasted or even really seen* this particular species of pie.  I had heard of it through the few Pennsylvanians I know, all of whom grew up eating it at holidays.  But it isn't the sort of pie you'd run across casually in bakeries, nor is it commonly baked in Pennsylvania suburban households -- this pie is none-other than the Amish specialty,

Shoofly Pie.

Picture from the blog Sande: http://jcsande.blogspot.com/2011/05/shoo-fly-pie.html

I did my online research and compared recipes, perplexed over comments debating the virtues of "wet bottom" versus "dry bottom" shoofly pie.   This was going to be a strange pie indeed.  But, I was determined to give the sticky dessert my best go.  So, unable to find the key ingredient, Molasses, at the grocery stores I stopped at in Manhattan the night before, I woke at 6 a.m. this morning (with the sun, as the Amish do).  I walked to get eggs, molasses, and pie crusts (as the Amish do), slaved over the hot oven and slick mess, and took a cold shower (as the Amish probably do, when they feel like it).  I had some major doubts about the whole process, which went a little like this:

-Pour hot water into a bowl of molasses, add baking soda.  Yields: frothy-out-of-control-brown-liquid.
-Beat an egg into that stuff just because you were told to.  This still seems hardly viable as a dessert.
-Pour the wet mess into your pie crusts.
-On top of the froth, dump the granulated mixture you've created by cutting lard into flour and brown sugar.  Make a nice little mound in each swamp of a pie.
-Bake.

This pic also stolen, my apologies to the person whose pie looked much better than mine at this stage.

I barely made it out the door in time thanks to these little guys being slow to cook, but they seemed to solidify a bit on the subway ride (protected from airborne pathogens by a handy cake carrier) and my odds of success were now up to 5%.  Which meant I was 95% sure the pies were going to be disgusting landslides.

I held off for as long as I could on potentially poisoning my coworkers, but when 4:00 rolled around, we decided it was time to try the concoction.  Only five of us were brave enough, and do you want to know something? The Shoofly Pie wasn't half bad.  I wouldn't say it was my idea of a fantastic dessert option, but I could imagine how one might see it that way if they were raised with minimal electricity and no exposure to French cousine.  It tasted somewhat like Christmas and breakfast mixed together, with a custardy texture and nice gravely topping.  I actually had a little more when I got home, to tell the truth, and I may freeze the second pie for later in case I can trick my friends into trying something strange and new.  So, the verdict is as follows:

Shoofly Pie:

• Strange, but edible. √

And that's sometimes enough.  Happy Birthday!  Next time I'm sticking to rhubarb.

*To tell the complete truth, I had caught a glimpse of Shoofly Pie at Bridget's house over Thanksgiving in Yardley, PA.  Her grandmother sends their family a pie every holiday, and the first thing her father did was announce the pie's presence to the dinner table guests.  The second thing he did was dramatically toss it in the trash.  Shoofly Pie is not for everyone.