"Cookery is not chemistry. It is an art. It requires instinct and taste rather than exact measurements."--Marcel Boulestin

Mom's Chess Pie Recipe

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This recipe for Mom's Chess Pie, by , is from Cater Cook'n, one of the cookbooks created at FamilyCookbookProject.com. We help families or individuals create heirloom cookbook treasures.

Contributor:  
Contributor:  
Alan Alsop
Added: Saturday, October 15, 2005

Category:
Category:

Ingredients:  
Ingredients:  
3 eggs 1/2 c. melted butter
1t. each vanilla & vinegar
1/2 c sugar
1T yellow corn meal
dash nutmeg

Directions:
Directions:
Beat eggs slightly, stir in remaining ingredients, & pour into pie crust. Bake 350* for 50 minutes or til set.

Personal Notes:
Personal Notes:
Family Memories from Susan Aud Sonders: I learned to eat and love fried eggs at the big white house with the huge porch and sweeping stair case. When I would move into the kitchen in the morning, Uncle Everett would give me a big cheerful “good morning” and ask if he could fix me bacon and eggs. Of course I said yes but I thought he meant scrambled eggs, for that was the only kind I liked. But when it arrived on the plate it was fried. I ate it, didn’t like it and smiled. From that day on, each year, at the same time, I would have fried eggs in the big kitchen in New Harmony, as that scenario repeated itself each summer. Each time I make them, I think of him.
As I ate, I would talk to the parakeet, trying to make him talk like Aunt Thelma could. “Toast and jelly” or “cup of coffee” it would say over and over again. I was astounded and asked her repeatedly how she did it. She would just laugh and say “all my birds have talked.” I had spent many summer hours at home playing my “teach your parakeet to talk” record over and over again and never heard a peep out of any of my parade of parakeets.
Nights in New Harmony were spent sleeping above the huge porch in the screened in room and I was lulled to sleep to the sounds of semi-trucks traveling below me to Illinois. It is soothing sound, to this day.
Uncle Everett made me feel pretty. He would prepare the boys of New Harmony in advance that I was coming and, upon my arrival, would tell me about all the boys that wanted to take me out. He was the social connector of the town, linking people to people. I would watch him at the gas station next door and marvel at how friendly and interested he was in others. It was his gift. Because of him, the boys of New Harmony would drive up and down main street to get a glimpse of the girl from Michigan. I thank him for building my confidence through my teen years.
Memories of reunions are here. The sounds of family around the beautiful piano as Aunt Thelma and Terry played. The harmony of the high sopranos and the low altos as they crowded around and sang shoulder to shoulder. Playing with many cousins in the basement as Alan practiced being a disc jockey and Larry chasing me with his eye lids turned inside out. Catching fire flies in the dark by the spooky burial grounds. The sounds of chicken popping in the fryer, potatoes mashing, heels clicking on the linoleum floor, and sisters, cousins and in-laws crowding into the kitchen, talking and laughing as they each prepared their specialty. A long table in the dining room filled with so much food, so much commotion and so much love.
When Aunt Thelma moved to the retirement home, she kept a special box in the closet. Lindsay, Jason and Melanie still have treasures received from that box. All year Aunt Thelma would accumulate trinkets and stash them away. After dinner, the kids looked forward to picking out what they wanted. Even though Lindsay’s porcelain cat is now broken, she keeps her ear rings in it. Another treasure is a doll, now with one eye, that sits high out of harms way in the closet. After treasure hunting, Aunt Thelma would take us to the park to “count deer.” The number was always above a hundred which was magical to us. Then we would go for ice cream cones in town. I always felt a sense of loss when we drove away each summer and headed North. I thought of how wonderful it would be to be near all our relatives all the time. . .

 

 

 

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