I belong to a super-secret pie list. Therefore, I’m going to write this in a hushed whisper…

Once a week, I receive a top-secret email announcing one or two pies of the week. There are a limited number of delicacies being baked, so if I want one, I have to respond quickly. They’re only available on a first-come, first-served basis. This is serious pie. If you’re lucky enough to beat the others to the pie-punch, you are sent a secret code, which is used at a local, clandestine pie pick-up point. The tart is handed over in a nondescript, plain white box. Only once tucked securely inside your car do you have a moment to open the box and peer inside at the mysterious wonder that is your hard-earned prize.

My favorite part of being on this super-secret pie list (other than the fact that I’m actually on the list) is reading the descriptions of the desserts. It’s like reading tiny poems:

Rich, flavorful and zingy, it’s even better when served with a big pouf of barely sweetened, softly whipped cream.

The juice of blood oranges, Meyer lemons, pink grapefruit and Pixie tangerines are cooked gently into a creamy curd, then snuggled into a dark chocolate crust.

These mesmerizing words would send even the most passé of pie tasters on the hunt for these treasures. I’ve been hypnotized myself by the enticing pie call. So, without special occasion or other good reason (other than sheer intrigue), I signed up for one of these ethereal treats. And lucky for me, I won the pie race!

After receiving my secret pie code and exchanging cash for prize, I became the proud owner of a “winter citrus curd in a dark chocolate tart shell.” I tucked the unrevealing pie box under my arm, obstructing it from view like a thief in a night as I ducked out to the parking lot and locked it securely in my trunk. I even caught myself glancing around for obtrusive eyes.

Once safely at home, I slowly lifted the lid to my prize, squatting down low to bring myself eye-level like someone opening the lid to a container filled with baby kittens they don’t want to escape. Inside sat my glorious pie, glowing golden and orange in a halo of chocolate crust.

The cocoa crust had all the rich flavors of a brownie matched by the elegant sophistication of a sturdy, chewy tart. The crust alone would make a divine dessert. Paired with the clean, tangy, velvety citrus curd, there wasn’t a bitter moment to be had. This was bright, smooth, rich, and oh-so satisfying. I ate it slowly, licking my spoon thoroughly after every creamy bite. For a fresh moment, there was a twist of tartness in the tiny speckles of candied citrus peel dotting the very center of the pie. This pie is rare, divine creativity.

With every bite, I understood more deeply why these treasures must be kept secret. If word got out, there just wouldn’t be enough to go around. There would be lines up and down the streets, stopping traffic. Nobody would go to work; they’d be waiting for pies. Like any illicit substance, these pies need to be controlled. Their wondrous flavors are meant to be reserved, savored. This is serious pie.

Labels: pie club, pie list, pie Sacramento, pie story, secret pie list