Last Sunday, the youth group held a bake sale at the church potluck. While talking to one of the moms, I found out that her daughter had wanted to make fried pies for the sale. The mom discouraged the thought, assuming no one in Minnesota would know what they were or appreciate them.

Um, hello?!?! There are a handful of transplanted Southerners in the congregation and I am quite sure we would have been elbowing each other to get to the front of the line for fried pies. Now, I can hear you Yankees thinking, “is a fried pie like those things from McDonalds or Hostess fruit pies?” Blasphemer!!! Fried pies are the flaky, warm and delicious treat that transports me right back to a kitchen in southeast Texas with my grandma and great aunt. Sweet and syrupy, like their Texas drawl. Like a big, warm hug from my grandma, saying, “I luv you, sugar”.

When we received peaches from the CSA on Monday, the first thing that came to mind were fried pies. During the week Brad and I peeled, cut and froze many of the peaches. Saturday morning I started cooking some peaches for the pie filling.

I made the crust, going all the way with the Texas tradition, using lard. I was so excited. I had been dreaming of this moment all week.

The crust was no good. I’m pretty sure I had both added too much water and overworked the dough. ARGH! Now, let’s be honest, the best fried pies are not necessarily the prettiest. These, however, were falling apart in the oil.

I am dreadfully disappointed. Fortunately, the resident optimist picked up some vanilla ice cream. Brad’s summation? It’s nothing a scoop of ice cream on the side can’t fix.

With plenty of peach filling left, I’m working up the nerve to try again. Perhaps a package of Pillsbury pie crust in reserve isn’t a bad idea.

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