I can recall the first pie that changed my life. At Thanksgiving it was the first item I was in charge of, the one item that was entirely mine, and the thing that I forced all to eat before the other desserts.
My mother cut the recipe out of Better Homes and Gardens magazine, and said that it looked like something we should try. Looking back it was a perfect recipe for a young girl to make- all it called for was two packages of chocolate pudding, cool whip, cold milk, and a graham cracker pie crust. It took the better part of an hour for me to complete the pudding filled pie. Looking back I can see early signs of perfectionism in my work with this first pie. I made sure the dark chocolate formed perfect lines between the layers of pudding, combining with the cool whip to form perfectly crafted lighter chocolate layers. When cut into, I made sure it looked like the magazine when served. It is from this moment on that I would decide to make our pudding pie a tradition at every major holiday dinner. Later on in life this pie would be served alongside additional experimental dessert disasters as the “good pie” and my fall back dessert to bring along to any event. My most recent disaster, pumpkin banana meringue pie, set a new low for pie failures. After the third time of making the pumpkin banana puree from scratch, I decided that it wasn’t anything that I could correct- these items simply should never go together in a pie. Sorry Food Network, I have to veto your recipe.
But my history has turned me into a secret connoisseur of pie. I feel that I have had enough mishaps with it that I have the right, knowledge, and expertise to form an opinion on all dessert pies. I need not say, the moment I saw Rock Springs Café on television, I had to seriously resist the temptation to immediately get into the car and drive there.
A week later, I broke down; dragging my mother to this untested location with promises of delicious pie, I was crossing my fingers- if she didn’t enjoy the pie I hoped she would at least enjoy the drive out of town.
Located outside of the Phoenix area on the way to Flagstaff, Rock Springs Café is just a small portion of a whirlwind of history that dates back before 1918. Today the café is known for its outdoor BBQ’s, historical roots, and its pies.
We traveled mid-afternoon to the roadside café. It was a hot, sunny Saturday and the full parking ensured me that we were in the right place. My expectations were high- not only for the pies, but also for the food. I was promised home cooking, hospitality, and the best pecan pie in Arizona- I can tell you that I was partially disappointed.
We decided to order lunch and share; upon first arriving the service was slow, our server was unhappy and busy, and the rustic country atmosphere made me uncomfortable. But I had come so far that I was not about to complain. To my delight easily selected an old favorite from the menu.
I’m a sucker for macaroni and cheese- café macaroni makes me melt even more. Done right this would have been the best decision of my week, but sadly, it fell short. The plain Velveeta based sauce was under seasoned, the pasta a hint overcooked and not al dente. It seemed to lack spice, richness, and life- I also would add immense amounts of cheese to this dish¬¬, making it creamy and decadent. After adding a generous amount of salt and pepper, my mother and I finished only half of the serving.
As we moved on to the fish and chips I was prepared for the consequence of eating fish in the desert, let alone at a roadside café in a very small town. It was moderately better than the macaroni, but previously frozen. It was cod, and it was served with soggy fries and tartar sauce that was overpowered by relish, consequently enhancing the need for lemon. After half a piece my spirits were falling; I hoped that the pie was something worth writing about.
And finally, it was time for pie.
We ordered traditional peach (my mother’s selection) and original pecan. Although they have over a dozen to choose from, I was originally lured in for pecan pie and therefore there was no decision to make.
Beneath a lightly egg-washed exterior crust, freshly cut peaches swam in a pleasant, perfectly sweetened filling. My mother and I agreed that it was near perfect because of its ability to satisfy your sweet tooth just enough; without the need to sleep off the stomach ache you might acquire from the sugar overload of ordinary pie.
As you may have been able to notice, I have saved my pecan pie experience until the very end. Let me explain why: beyond the pecan pie’s buttery crust, a sticky layer of sugary pie glaze that reminds me of the color of apple cider- very sweet, but much thicker than any cider. The filling oozes from beneath the perfectly crushed pecans that form a chewy dense cover that the filling is forced to be prisoner beneath- and when cut into it, it escapes onto the plate so quickly that you can’t help but to scrape up every gooey drop. It is the type of food that makes you think…all is well in the world.
I was told that when served a la mode, it pairs perfectly with a hot cup of coffee and is a great end to any day; which is why I bought one to take home.
I believe this pie is makes people happy. I believe it can cure heartache, temporarily distract pain, and I am sure it can cure any grief you may have at the moment…at least until you finish it.
Since my first experience to the Rock Springs Café, I have visited twice more only to find that I am unable to order anything but pecan pie. Because of this I have been forced to order two slices of pie so that I am able to try others. Of course I bring a friend to share, but I cannot say that my fork does not hover closely over my beloved pie, closely monitoring how much of it I allow off of my plate.
