Every week we’ll post a recipe that we both made. This week’s recipe was Sugar Cream Pie, found over at My Indiana Home. Printable recipe can be found at the bottom of this post.

Robyn’s Take:

This week’s recipe was Nance’s choice – she noted that she’d never heard of it, that it was Rick’s suggestion. I thought for sure it must be some kind of Southern recipe, but when I asked Fred if he’d had it before, he said he’d never heard of it either.

Okay, then. Something new for both of us!

Ingredients: heavy cream, flour, brown sugar, white sugar, whole milk, vanilla, pie crust, butter, cinnamon.

Throw all your filling ingredients into a bowl and whisk them together. Easy, right?

Dot the bottom of your pie crust with butter. EASY, RIGHT?

Well, here’s a note on the whole pie crust thing. The recipe says “9-inch pie crust.” I HAD a deep-dish pie crust in the freezer, but since the recipe did not SPECIFY that a deep-dish pie crust was called for, I bought a goddamn regular pie crust SINCE THAT IS WHAT I THOUGHT I NEEDED.

Imagine my GREAT PLEASURE when I poured the filling into the regular-depth pie crust and found that, OH HI. NOT DEEP ENOUGH.

There was a lot of cursing at this point, motherfuckers. Also, a lot of stomping and yelling. I stomped down the hallway to the living room where Fred was, recipe clutched in my sweaty hand, and demanded that he show me where it said that I NEEDED a deep-dish pie crust. But he couldn’t SINCE IT SAID NO SUCH THING. I’m thinking that if a deep dish pie crust is called for, one might suggest that the recipe SPECIFY a deep dish pie crust? Perhaps? Perhaps the NON-SPECIFYING of this item is what one might call shoddy recipe writing.

THAT’S RIGHT, I SAID IT. I’m still pissed off about it, because that was a fucking waste of a pie crust. I got the deep-dish pie crust out of the freezer, thawed it out, dotted the motherfucking bottom with butter, and then dumped the filling in.  It barely fit the deep-dish pie crust. (I know what you’re thinking – “But Robyn, what about the butter you dotted the INCORRECT pie crust with?” Worry NOT – I fished it out.)

At least the pigs were happy, because they got the pie crust I’d attempted to use.

Deep dish pie crust, dotted with butter.

With the filling in it, and the cinnamon sugar sprinkled across the top (there was a LOT of cinnamon sugar, which I have nothing rude to say about, because cinnamon sugar makes EVERYTHING better.)

Then the pie needed to bake for about an hour, or until the pie was set and firm to the touch. At an hour, it was jiggly. Ten minutes later? Jiggly. Another five? Watch it jiggle. I finally took it out at an hour and twenty minutes because COME ON.

It was still not quite firm, but I wasn’t going to waste another fucking hour checking it every five minutes. At this point, I was hating on this fucking pie so much that I was ready to go toss it to the pigs without even tasting it. But I DIDN’T, because I’m a professional

(HA HA HA HAAAAAAAAA)

and I was hoping that it’d be the best pie EVER.

It cooled for about an hour before I cut into it.

Fred took one bite and actually spit it out in the pig bucket instead of swallowing it. But he’s a drama queen (oh, the times he’s said, all purse-lipped and prim, “It’s too sweeeeet!”), so I took a bite.

I hated it.

“Maybe it’ll be better after it cools all the way?” Fred suggested. We covered it and put it in the fridge.

The next afternoon, the pie thoroughly chilled, we tried it again.

Nope. I took one bite and tossed the rest of the pie in the pig bucket.

I’ll be interested to find out what Nance’s family thinks of that pie. I wonder if you have to have grown up eating it to truly appreciate it. All I know is that I’m not making THAT stuff again.

*******************************************************************************************************************
Nance’s take:

I’m from Western Pennsylvania. The part that eats haluski and pierogie (that’s Polish for DELICIOUS) on the regular. My husband is from Missouri. The part that is known for eating…uh, soybeans? I kid. Maybe.  Look, I don’t want to trash talk an entire state because my husband hates cabbage like it’s his job…but when He Who Has No Taste Buds offers up a recipe idea I tend to be wary.

Enter Sugar Cream Pie.  I had never heard of it and I had to admit that I was intrigued.  Especially when Rick told me that he remembered it from his Southern Baptist childhood days.  A dessert from a church potluck dinner that I never tasted before?  I’m in!

I waited until the last minute to make this recipe because I am still stuck in the throes of Our Nightmare Decision to Repair Our Own Home After That Bad Goddamn Storm. NEVER AGAIN, PEOPLE. NEVER AGAIN. You know, Robyn could have offered to give me a week off, but NO, don’t let that nice lady bullshit fool you! Demanding is what that one is.

Heh. I really waited because I needed to find a spot on the counter that was clean to take photos. Thank God this was a one-bowl recipe! Please pretend not to notice if you see paint and/or any other repair tools laying around.

Any time I have to add flour to a liquid it wrecks my nerves and I haven’t had a lumpy gravy in years. No idea what this is all about, but I blame advertising and society. Lumpy gravy isn’t even all that bad.  It’s still gravy!  And why am I defending lumpy gravy in the middle of a pie post any how?

I love a recipe when all you have to do is dump and stir. Except this is where I had a brain dead moment and got it into my head that I should not stir it too much. Please don’t ask me where this idea came from because I have no answers and I don’t want to tell anyone about the voices in my head just yet. Okay, the truth is, I have no excuse. I’m just stupid.

Regular 9-inch pie pan with my not stirred too much slop being poured in. Beautiful action shot and Polish pottery! But I had a shit-ton of the pie “filling” left over and decided right then and there that the voices in my head are dumber than dirt and I needed to take control NOW.

So I dumped it back into the bowl and decided that I should stir the shit out of it and see what happens.

And it was still too much for the damn pie crust. I double checked the recipe to make sure it only said one 9-inch pie crust since  I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t as stupid as Robyn looks.  Hee!

By now I was just getting annoyed with the entire damn thing so I solved the problem by pouring the extra filling into the other 9-inch crust that I had. Please note that I did not say that I divided the filling because that would actually make sense. Nope, not me. I just filled the one up as full as I could and then dumped the rest into the extra pie crust. I’m obviously the thunker of this group!

Um, I just don’t know. I tried it and it was okay. I guess. My mother came along and ate some. She said it was okay, but then said she thought ice cream or whipped cream would go good with it. I decided I would wait to hear what Rick said because he’s suppose to be the authority on this damn pie.

He had some and said it was really, really good. And the way he raved about it made me go try some again (when it was really cold) and I still just thought it was meh. I can’t even describe it. A creme Brulee without the eggs? I don’t know. It was just weird to me, I guess. But Rick liked it so I’m guessing it’s because he’s from Missouri and what do I know of culinary delights amongst cabbage haters?

Recipe probably won’t go in the cookbook. I’ll google it if I need it and it won’t be a great loss if I can’t find it again. Oh wells.