Chess Pie

My practicality and impulsiveness are in a fight. It's rough.

Practicality has had the upper hand by a slim margin since the winter '07/'08 series, when the triple combination of a panic over no health insurance, a fellow line cook with chronically untrimmed, unclean fingernails, and rats in the cocktail lounge took impulsiveness down in an upset. Before that, the Big I enjoyed a nearly unchallenged three and a half year reign. The last year or so it's done some rebuilding, recruited a few promising rookies, made some trades, and it's giving Ol' P a run for its money.

I don't know enough about sports for a good metaphor.

Every few years or so, I begin to chafe in my daily routine. It's like I am a plant that requires a larger pot. Maybe not a larger one, necessarily, but a different shaped one. Maybe I unconsciously adopted David Rakoff's book title as a directive - Don't get too comfortable. Who knows. I'm not flighty. Not really. I don't know. I research things. I stew about them. I run simulations and make contingency plans. And every 14 months or so I either get a new job, get a promotion, learn a new trade, or in extreme cases, take 6 weeks off to drive across the country. I like to have my fingers in a lot of pies, so to speak. I only have 10 fingers, though, and there are many more pies than that to muck about in. Lately, I've been feeling the itch in the form of dreams about traveling in Europe. There's the usual lounging on a piazza with a glass of wine, but my dreams come complete with detailed planning about the minimum number of items I can carry in one shoulder bag and still be prepared for any eventuality. This time, it'll have to be travel that satisfies the urge. My capriciousness in this situation, though, is tempered somewhat by my significant other, who is significantly more rooted than I. He's a tree, I'm crabgrass.

This is not to say I don't enjoy comfort. I am an accomplished couch potato. I enjoy actual potatoes in mashed form and the occasional scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. I have recently discovered the illicit joy of that guiltiest of pleasures, a Sloppy Joe sandwich (you think I admit that to the people I work with? and yes, I make them with Heinz ketchup).

Chess pie kind of embodies this internal conundrum. Sure, it's a rich, buttery sugar pie, the epitome of easy to eat indulgence. But what's with the corn meal? Vinegar! What gives? If those weren't impulsive improvisations, I don't know what is. You can tell the difference. Instead of a one dimensional sweetness, there's a little grit at the bottom and some zing at the top to complement the happy butter tart in the middle.

Chess Pie

Pastry for single crust pie
4 whole eggs
2 egg yolks
1 2/3 C sugar
3 T yellow corn meal
2 T cider vinegar
6 oz sweet butter
1 T vanilla extract

Preheat oven to 350. Roll pastry into a 13" circle and place into a 9" pie plate. Tuck overhanging edges under and press the pastry into your desired edge. Freeze for 30 minutes.
Prick the crust with a paring knife or fork to prevent air bubbles. Line the crust with aluminum foil and fill with pie weights. Bake until the sides begin to set, about 15 minutes, then remove the foil and weights and bake a further 10 minutes, until the entire shell is a pale golden color. Remove pie plate from oven and set on a rack to cool.
Place the whole eggs and yolks in a bowl. Break all of the yolks and stir lightly. Add the sugar, corn meal, vinegar, and vanilla and mix just to combine.
Place the butter in a heavy bottomed sauce pan. Melt over medium high heat, swirling occasionally. Leave the butter on the heat until it has foamed and the milk solids have fallen to the bottom and begun to brown. It will have a slightly nutty aroma. Arrest the browning process by submerging the bottom of the sauce pan in cool water. Allow the butter to cool a bit before adding it in a slow stream to the egg mixture while stirring constantly.
Pour the filling into the pie shell. Bake the pie at 350 until the top has browned and the filling is mostly set, about 45 minutes. Allow to cool for at least one hour before serving.