I recall holiday gatherings from my youth when relatives would spend hours cooking up their specialties, and how I and my cousins could reap the supreme benefit of a family full of cooks. Those benefits crested with the dessert sideboard, which was usually stacked three deep from front to back, five or six in a row, magnificent pies of all varieties. Even in my adult years, I’d cut the smallest viable slice I could of as many as I could put on my plate, thinking maybe I could salvage any remnant of a diet if I just had a sampling, knowing full well if I didn’t absorb a taste of every one some aunt or cousin might be offended.
So, as you might have concluded, I have a long running weakness for homemade pie. Unfortunately, I don’t also have an unending supply of time or patience, so I have found myself going with a popular alternative familiar with a select number of folks. And I might just get in trouble for letting the cat out of the bag. Because for homemade pies, you have to go to a barbecue joint. Find out which, on the jump.