My pie will be strawberry. But, it will not have a heart because I’m not putting a crust on top. And I didn’t save out berries to make a shape.
This pie is 44 years in the making.
When I was a sweet, young thing in Florence, South Carolina, I was a frequenter of the Venus Pancake House. It was open 24 hours a day, only closed on “significant holidays” like Xmas, New Year’s and, maybe, Thanksgiving. It was owned by a couple of Greek men. I was never sure what their relationship was. I don’t think they were brothers because they looked nothing alike. Maybe brothers-in-law. Maybe just friends. Pretty sure they weren’t sweethearts.
They had a $2.50 lunch special that was a meat and 2 with bread and your drink. I often got fried fish, double cole slaw, corn bread and unsweetened tea. When the little theater crowd went in after rehearsal, I got pancakes, eggs over medium, bacon and enough coffee to float me home.
Every once in a while, Steve would make a strawberry pie. I LOVED that pie. And, of course, he wouldn’t give me the recipe. He preferred to sell me slices. When he got around to making it.
Decades later, a beekeeper brought a variation to a potluck. Her’s was blueberry and she shared the recipe. I have made it several times with blueberries and it is absolutely delicious. But, I keep forgetting to make pie when I have strawberries at hand.
Today, my loving husband brought home fresh, local, pesticide-free, ripe-from-the-garden strawberries.
And I am making a pie.







