High hopes came with this slice of Lemon Meringue Pie. First, it was found in a roadside diner, so the kitsch factor was significant for a non-American (this moi). Second, that roadside happened to be in Pleasantville, NY, and not much more needs to be said about the awesomeness of eating pie in such a delightful-sounding place. Third, said diner advertised that their pies were homemade and with that came the promise of generations of pie-baking knowledge poured into every delicious morsel. That’s what I thought, anyway.
This pie was, OK. Let me say that first. Perfectly passable if you don’t mind your meringue slightly wet and your lemon filling erring more on sweet than tart. It looked amazing. And a nice touch was to have a thin layer of sponge between the meringue and the filling. But the crust, oh, the crust. Such a disappointment. Where’s the crisp, flakiness we hope and long for in such times? Maybe I got the pie at the wrong end of the week (a Saturday)? But when there’s pie left on the plate at the end of a meal, something’s definitely gone wrong.