Thanksgiving is not complete without pie. In fact, I think it's the best part of the day. Move over turkey, move over mashed potatoes: nothing rounds out the meal like pie.
Our friends, the Hunts, host a marvelous pie feast every year: Pie Breakfast on Thanksgiving morning. They provide the whipped cream, coffee, and hospitality, and everyone brings a pie. Savory, sweet, pumpkin, apple, sweet potato, quiche. It's just heaven. Pies are served, coffee drunk, the room is filled with talk and laughter, a little piano music drifts through the air from the spinet in the corner. The atmosphere is relaxed and cozy. Legend holds that it's a New England tradition, this pie breakfast.
Pie for breakfast, you say? Are only New Englanders in on this?
"Pie has never been more loved than in nineteenth-century America, where it was not simply dessert but also a normal part of breakfast. The food writer Evan Jones quotes a contemporary observer as noting that in northern New England, 'all the hill and country towns were full of women who would be mortified if visitors caught them without pie in the house,' and that the absence of pie at breakfast 'was more noticeable than the scarcity of the Bible.'" (From The Great American Pie Expedition, an essay in Sue Hubbell's book From Here to There and Back Again)
A tradition that needs to be revisited. We're doing our best here in the northwest corner of Connecticut to keep it alive.