I know I’ve told you about Hubig’s Pies before, though the site’s search function denies it.
Just the facts: a “turnover pie” or “hand pie.” Think your basic McDonalds thing. Now unthink that shit.
This is a zen-perfect circle of the simplest of doughs, folded and crimped over chocolate or lemon or coconut or any number of fruit compotes, fried blindingly hot and covered with a creamy sugar goo that dries to a shattering crust a solid sixteenth of an inch thick.
That is what a Hubig’s pie is in this visible universe. In the time/space continuum that is the collective understanding of New Orleans, Louisiana, Hubig’s Pie is the mark of ten thousand mornings, countless arguments over flavors and perfect number of microwaving seconds, mysteries like the pie that showed up with no flavor in the secondary red ink at the top of the bag and, upon purchase, proved to have no filling! The WWL TV reporter who stumbled into the factory by accident, wowed by the vintage equipment, being chased out with shouts of, “No TV! No TV!”
The fire.
The stupid family feud over our monetizeable loyalty to a pie that, as the years marched on, seemed lost forever.
Until (please please please let it be true and not another tease) today, when it was announced that Hubig’s Pies, operating from their new digs in Jefferson Parish, will be once again frying, frosting and driving their pies from the Sabine to Mobile Bay and, for the first time in seven godforsaken years, New Orleanians can enjoy a decent damned pie for breakfast.
Personal disclaimers:
Blackberry when they had ‘em. Ditto sweet potato. Apple standby. You can keep the lemon.
I bought the label-less pie. Still have the bag, if you don’t believe me.
The van you see in the photos at the link, being saved by the valiant firefighters, now belongs to my friend R and can be seen in this video of a song which is pretty damned appropriate if this news proves true: