The tiara might be a little much.

So, it's come to my attention that the winner of the best of the best in the bake-off will get to ride in a convertable in the Fourth of July parade.

Naturally, I've been planning what I'll wear ever since.

I'd love to wear a super cool, retro June Cleaver-style dress and set of pearls, but sadly, I have neither.

A friend told me she has a tiara I could wear, which certainly has appeal.

I can just hear whispers in the crowd along the parade route:

"They give a tiara to the winner of the pie contest?"

"No, she brought her own."

Together, we will eat pie

11 days to go.

When I started this pie journey almost a year ago, I was cocky and sure. I mean really, how hard could pie making be? 


I'd baked cakes and cookies before with tasty results, so I figured whipping up a pie (or four) would be a snap.


Boy, was I wrong. Standing at my counter peeling apples the other day, I had a realization: 


Pie -- truly great pie -- cannot be faked.

You can fake a good cake by buying a mix and tossing in a few extra ingredients. You can fake homemade cookies by buying tubs of raw dough and plunking blobs down on a cookie sheet.

But you can't fake a homemade pie.

Sure, they sell refrigerated pie crusts and cans of filling, but it's really hard to pass them off as homemade. The fillings are too pasty, the fruit too bland. And refrigerated pie crusts are rarely flaky enough to fool anyone.

Really great pies are authentic. And the deliciously flaky results are just too good to keep to yourself. Pie simply must be shared.

And this leads to something that's been bugging me for the past 354 days.


At the 2011 Fourth of July bake-off, after the winners were announced, everyone just packed up their pies and went home. Without a word, they just left. 

It was anticlimactic and cold. I'd expected someone -- anyone -- to invite the small crowd to come up and have some pie. I thought for sure we'd hang around afterward, chatting, congratulating the winners, trying the entries and enjoying each other's company. 


But nobody did. In fact, people hardly spoke to each other. It just felt wrong.

So regardless of if I win or lose, on this Fourth, I will share my pies. I'll bring forks, plates and napkins and, after the judging is complete, I will invite everyone to have some pie.

I just have to.


Don't worry. This self-proclaimed Pie Shark hasn't gone soft. I fully intend to dethrone those Nancies one by one, and I won't bat an eye if I make the lady who's won this thing for the past 15 years cry.


But after the carnage, when the virtual slaughter is over, together, we will eat pie. 

Star struck in blueberry heaven

I've made exactly two blueberry pies in my life. One was an icebox recipe last fall and the other, a more traditional blueberry pie last weekend for my husband for Father's Day.

I'm pleased to report that with just two blueberries under my belt, I've found the winning candidate for the berry category. I hit a home run with the Father's Day pie.

Honestly, I'm not a big blueberry fan. I like the occasional blueberry muffin, but typically pass on a slice of blueberry pie.

Blueberries are just OK for me.

Nothing special. Nothing worth wasting a couple hundred extra calories.

And then I saw the light.

I paired a fairly straightforward blueberry recipe with my favorite sweet pastry crust and amped up a few key ingredients -- one of which was lemon zest.

I took one bite and saw stars.

Come to mama.

This is my new favorite pie in the universe. Served chilled, it's so light, so sweet, so refreshing.

In a word: Heaven.

If this baby doesn't earn at least a medal in the bake-off, I'll eat my hat.

Better still, I'll stand on my chair, cry foul and demand to taste a pie better than this blueberry beauty. And if the so-called winner doesn't wow me, I'll wind up and throw this blueberry baby right at the judges table.

Oh yes, I will.

Classic apple

When I first embarked on the apple pie category, I considered various ways to make my apple stand out among the others.

I toyed with adding raspberries for a blushing effect.
Root beer for a molasses vibe.
And even bourbon for an edgier 'smack yo mamma' mojo.

In the end, at the insistence of my brother, who knows someone who has judged pie bake-offs, I decided simplicity is best.

And so, in a few short weeks, I will submit my take on the classic apple pie:

Viola.

I'll submit this deep-dish, ultra flaky, ubber cinnamony-with-a-hint-of-nutmegy classic apple pie.

This is what awesome tastes like.

Freaking out: 19 days until the bake-off

Remember all that trash talking I did 11 months ago? Yeah, well, I'm singing a different tune these days.

There's less than a month before the contest and, despite the fury of baking I've done, I feel woefully unprepared.

My vision of going from zero to hero has given way to a slightly less victorious outcome. Instead of earning winners' medals, I imagine lots of pats on the back and consolatory hugs.

Still, I will not back out. My mouth may have gotten me into this, but with any luck, my pies will get me out -- hopefully with a medal or two.