The Worst Lemon Meringue Pie Ever Baked Since the Dawn of Pie History!
The one where you cancel your subscription because the supposed food writer admits to an astonishingly inept, abysmal failure.
When my oldest childhood friend invited us over to her house for dinner and it would be only the second time we’ve seen each other since 2020, I decided to make a pie that reflects it is spring and daffodils are waving in the garden. A lemon meringue pie, its bright yellow fluffiness a fine harbinger of spring, was the most appropriate dessert to offer her.
Unfortunately, and without any hint of hyperbole intended, my pie turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. I knew it, too, as soon as I patted the dough into a disc and wrapped it in plastic to chill while I made the lemon curd. I’m a skillful crust maker, right? I wrote a book listing many kinds of crusts, and each and every recipe proofed out. Surely, then, it’d be a great crust. This is when wishful delusion took over, and I blithely waltzed forward:
What can possibly go wrong with pie dough
Too warm flour
Too much butter and/or fat
Too little butter and/or fat
Pats of butter and fat are too big to quickly incorporate into the flour
Too much time working the dough
Too much water
Too little water
Not chilled long enough
Sticks to counter, which makes it hard to transfer into pie plate
Rolled too thin and droops over plate edges
What went wrong with mine:
Flour was too warm (the glass container on an open shelf had been blasted all morning by the first intense sunlight of the year)
Used too much butter (forgot I was making a single crust)
Spent too much time working the dough ( have lost my touch mixing by hand because I’ve gotten use to making dough in a food processor)
Added much too much water (got distracted by the dog having a lot of fun chasing the cat through the house and around the kitchen)
Yet, there were reasons for my waltz. The crust baked into a golden glory. The lemon curd and meringue were splendid. Such a perfect example of a show-stopping pie it was!
And so I preened when my friends oohed and aahed over the pie, and we settled into long overdue talking, eating, and drinking. Then it was time for dessert, and my friend handed me a knife. It could not even pierce the sides let along the bottom. A butcher knife succeeded, but flattened the meringue and mushed the curd.
“The lemon is so good,” my friend said.
Her husband forked through it. My husband claimed he wasn’t hungry anymore.
Only medieval pie bakers and American settlers would have thought this was one swell crust. Their expectations for crusts was a hardened something acting like a clay cooking pot. Later, such indestructible crusts served as a protective box stable enough to wrap slices in a handkerchief and carry about to eat later.
In America their crusts can not be broken if a wagon wheel goes over it.—Reverend Israel Acrelius, in a letter to his family in Sweden,1758
Mine would do just fine in a pocket.
My generous friend broke the crust into pieces and let them soak for a while in the curd, where it softened to the consistency of a stale cookie. This is a great example of why, after all these years, she remains a most cherished friend. Her generosity and forgiveness know no bounds. She is also very practical and insisted I take the mess home.
The next day I freed the curd and meringue from the crust and spooned them into a bowl. The thought was to make little pies in cupcake molds that would be perfect for breakfast. But I still couldn’t find my food processor. Maybe I gave it away? I don’t know, but it didn’t matter because it’s going to take some time before I gain my pie dough confidence back. Instead, I unearthed from the depth of the freeze phyllo cups I had bought for the Christmas party that never happened and filled each with a good size dollop. My husband has been caught several times stuffing them in his mouth.
The uncelebrated truth about all pies is that they are as generous and charitable as my friend. Believe this to be true: There is no such thing as a bad pie. One way or another it will always reward you with its readiness to metamorphose. Fillings become puddings or stews. Crusts that didn’t acceptably bake up may be tapped with the back of a spoon and transformed into a passable spoon bread pie. Fruits and creams are fabulous poured over ice cream.
Moral of this story: Forgive yourself and keep on baking pies.
Two newsletter where the writers really know their pie stuff!
Kate McDemott’s Newsletter (the queen of pies)
Anne Bryn: Between the Layers (the cook I long to be when I grow up)
One newsletter where the most terrible, disgusting dishes are celebrated!
Food is Stupid by Dennis Lee (the fearless cook I’d like to spend some time in the kitchen with)
Thank you as always for your kind words. They are so forgiving, aren't they? I brought a plate of the little tartlets over to a friend for breakfast. She and her kids devoured them so there is that! And yes, I'll get out there soon and YES lets makle a pie together. I promise not to destroy your kitchen
I used a wine bottle! And the filling sounds increadible! I feel like we're getting a little pie support community going here!