by Steven Doyle
While pondering pie yesterday afternoon, and that is something I do on occasion, I flipped through the Rolodex of my mind and stumbled upon the elusive Millionaire Pie. My first entry of this pie in my mind was when I was a wee lad and attending Dallas public schools. This was before I was yanked out when my parents were horrified by the busing situation and sent to a school which had a lackluster cafeteria. This was also back in the day when Dallas public schools had honest-to-goodness cooks whipping up freshly baked yeast rolls, and homemade beef enchiladas every Wednesday.
Fire back to a day when if you were not relegated to a sack full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, smashed for your dining pleasure, you would enjoy real food created by the hands of the lunch ladies who I considered at the age of seven my second and third mothers. This was before the time of bastardized Sysco boxes filled with frozen food-like trinkets dumped onto a sheet pan and turned out at 400 degrees. Continue reading