1940s Archive

Food Flashes

Originally Published September 1944

High pie is the number one celebrity among the hundreds of pies that belong to New York's piedom aristocracy. It is pie easy to cat as a forkful of sea foam, and made with cunning wizardry. How it's made nobody knows, so shut-mouthed are its makers. You can guess all you please; but no one to date, after a quarter of a century, has duplicated high pie, at least commercially.

High pie is of many flavors—Inn of the dozen or so always available, the Nesselrode is the top seller. Perhaps you have sampled it that is, if you frequent such restaurants as King of the Sea, or Toots Shor's, or Ronnie's, or Gallagher's.

But how's the stuff made? The makers tell you nothing; so here we go guessing. Cut into that Nesselrode— umm, that's terrific, just evaporates in the mouth! Its made like Bavarian cream pudding, whipped to ethereal lightness. It is rum-flavored, and the-top is covered with thin but large curls of shaved chocolate. The crust is typical of this kind of pie, that is, it must be of a sort fairly resistant to moisture. And since the pies must be kept refrigerated, naturally the crust suffers by chilling. But it's merely a thin little under-shell, a plate-to-mouth transport for a heavenly cloud. The lemon chiffon is of the same high, puffed texture, topped with something that may be egg white or a thin smear of whipped cream, then a sprinkling of coconut crisped to a dark brown. A delicious blending it is, the smooth soft cream, the sharp lemon—a dessert one cannot see without delight, one cannot taste without some exclamation of pleasure.

The graham cracker pie family all wear a crumb crust, a little spice in the crumbs, a sprinkling of sugar, and a trifle of fat to hold them together. When cut, those crumb-coated creams appear like some kind of foamy pudding fashioned in wedge shape. With what delicate persistence that filling holds together while a piece is cut and lifted from pie pan to plate! The chocolate graham cracker pie is more like a soufflé than a Bavarian, being both spongy and creamy. In the graham cracker lineup, in addition to the chocolate, are listed vanilla, strawberry, and mocha.

High pies have been nude for twenty-five years in the same kitchen on the first floor of an old brownstone home at 24 West 90th Street, New York City. The building belongs to the Spiers and so does the pie. Horrense Spier started the high pie trade, as women usually start a baking business, by baking for friends who beg to buy a specialty of her kitchen. The news of her lemon meringue traveled the town like a round-robin. The business built itself. That gave Mamma ideas. She turned the first floor of the Spier home into a restaurant and made lemon pie the important dessert; she made lemon pies for the carryout trade.

That lemon meringue of Mother Spier's stretches tip-toe in its pan at least one and a half inches above the low rim. It has a crispy, brownish top, made, we think, by sprinkling brown sugar over it before it is baked. Fluffy and tender is the interior, but not so delicate as that of the lemon chiffon, for it comes from an earlier-day pie vintage, remember.

Mother is gone. Daughter Ruth and daughter-in-law Mildred carry on in the brownstone kitchen. Ruth learned the pie baking from Mother; Mildred learned it from Ruth.

High pies measure about three inches high in the middle, less at the sides, with a domed effect. They are made in three widths: eight, ten, twelve inches; the prices: $1.50, $2.00, $2.50. The largest size serves fourteen portions; the smallest cuts portions for six.

Pies are made only to order; give at least twenty-four hours' notice to the bakers. Be your own delivery boy— that's the way it is since the war. These pics must be kept refrigerated, and should be served tingling with cold.

Tree-ripened limes are the talk of gourmets. A lime, it seems, coming to full ripeness on the parent branch, shows its gratitude by yielding more juice for the limeade. Fruit growers figure that a lime tree-ripened will give nectar to equal half its total weight. The good news now is that tree-ripened fruit is available from a California grove, shipped direct to your door. The five-pound carton, express prepaid, costs 51.25, or ten pounds for $2.25. In the smaller pack, the buyer receives thirty-six to thirty-eight of the average-sized Persian limes at around 40 cents a dozen. With the ten-pound carton, the cost averages perhaps a nickel less per dozen as the fruit counts out—an extremely low price made possible by the elimination of intermediate handling costs. Mexican limes may be ordered, if preferred to the Persians, these, being smaller, run twelve to twenty to the pound, as against the Persians' average of six to twelve. The limes are shipped within twenty-four hours of picking, and reach Fast Coast customers in less than a week, despite present shipping conditions. Limes are good keepers, and when Stored in the refrigerator, should last for three weeks.

Subscribe to Gourmet