My girlfriend, Sharon, proclaimed via Messenger to the rest of us salivaters as we awaited the result of her latest culinary creation that she was pretty sure the Fireball pumpkin pie she was baking would prevent her from ever going back to Libby’s.
And she had the nerve to be sipping a cordial of Amaretto just to rub it in.
What, I had to know, is this strange thing she called a Fireball pumpkin pie?
(Googling, googling) Ahhh, jazzed up with whiskey. Specifically Fireball Whiskey. But how much? (Googling, googling) wait a minute, the online recipes were all over the place. One Fireball recipe instructed to use 3 tablespoons of the cinnamon-flavored spirit (had to be Baptists) while another stated 3 ounces of Fireball were necessary. Just so you remember, when you do a shot of something, like, tequila, that’s an ounce. So that is 3 shots of Fireball in that particular pie (clearly Episcopalians). I scrolled further down the page and my eyes went out on stalks when I found a recipe that called for “6 to 7 ounces” of the stuff.
Winner, winner, rehab dinner!
Now, I am not a baker. If you’re a regular reader of my column, you will know how I labored to try to recreate my late mother’s traditional English Christmas fruitcake until I finally nailed it after three frustrating attempts. With that sole success under my belt, baby, I was ready for this pie. Except I was out of the whiskey because I had drained all I had into the boozecake — I mean, fruitcake.
And so a trip to the liquor store was my next stop and it was lovely seeing everyone from church that I rarely bump into during the week. There was the Fireball, and fittingly, I toted my prize out of the store resplendent in a brown paper bag, nestled under my jacket. A pre-made crust, some canned pumpkin goo, heavy cream, Fireball, half a cup of butter, heavy cream, Fireball, three large eggs, flour, Fireball, granulated sugar, vanilla extract, Fireball...
I baked that sucker for 55 minutes at 425 degrees until it was golden around the edges and a touch jiggly in the middle (but then, who isn’t?) and removed the glorious pie in order to cool for an hour before serving.
Then, as a fitting finishing touch, garnished the top with Fireball.
May I just say, people, it was a triumph. Incredible. Table banging good.
It was also the first time I’ve ever ingested an entire pie with a straw.