East Side Pies: Damn good pies

East Side Pies: Damn good pies

East Side Pies is an East Austin gem with locations on Airport and Rosewood (the one I frequent). I always walk outside feeling as though I may have just witnessed some form of heat-heroicism - all in the name of delicious pizza. Most recently I split a pesto jerk chicken 14" pie. The woodiness of nutmeg with the crispness of fresh basil spattered this savory pie with just a hint of sweetness. Grease poured off of each slice as we silently enjoyed our neighborhood and one of its many fruits. The porch was busy with other pizza-lovers' chatter and it was a really lovely late afternoon lunch. We have also tried delivery, but really enjoy stopping by in person. If you just want a slice - they always have enticing pizzas in the display such as a peach and sausage number. If you own a "Go Local" card you can get a free soda with the standard options plus a selection of Maine Root sodas.

10 Places for Positively Good Pie

No, not pizza: We’re talking pie, the dessert kind, fruit-fresh in summer but even better in winter, over good coffee and a long afternoon. Seattle defines dessert most prolifically through ice cream and doughnuts—but pie is the rarer pleasure, done well at these fine bakeries.


My God, man, the pie! There’s a piemobile and a Fremont shop no bigger than a minute, so lucky for you these minis are handheld and portable, and filled with goodness from cinnamon apple to savory chicken to a legendary Key lime. Crusts are fine but the fillings really are the headliner here every day you’ll find the same handful of sweet and savory classics—including the three mentioned above—but dozens of others rotate through. French toast cream, anyone?

Dahlia Bakery

Thank you, T Doug, for the pie that proves that some clichés get there by earning it. Tom’s Famous Triple Coconut Cream Pie really is a careful wonderment—from the coconut in its crust to the toasted coconut on top—and rich as the Presidential administration. And although rumor has it slices are always orderable in the Douglas restaurants, even when unbilled on the menu—you can get the Triple Coconut by the pie, slice, baby (6 inch), or $2.75 bite at Dahlia Bakery.

Cakes of Paradise

Down in Georgetown, on a quiet street off Sixth Ave, lies this cafe that, ever so briefly, transports you to a warmer and decidedly laid-back place. Hawaiian reggae music gently booms out of the speakers inside its recently expanded space, where a case full of cakes and pies of all sorts, both whole and by the slice, make you think dessert for lunch is gravely underrated. Nab something like a slice of their passion fruit cake or coconut cream pie, or go the full-on pastry route with custard-filled Long Johns, aka America’s eclairs, and a lineup of malasadas. Malasadas, a holeless, Portuguese-style yeasted doughnut, will come coated in sugar, dusted in cinnamon sugar, or filled with various custards. And one is rarely, if ever, enough.

Simply Soulful

This tucked-away gem in Madison Valley just serves up plain good soul food—the crowning glory of which is its individual pies, a crust lover’s dream for the resulting ratio of crust to filling. Pecan and sweet potato are the crowd favorites, and we like the latter, a lot, for its sweet, smooth filling (think Thanksgiving yam side-dish) and its crackle-flaky savory counterpoint of a crust. One craveable pie.

Pie Bar Capitol Hill

Pie plus booze, served up on the Olive Way walk from downtown to Capitol Hill—how was this going to do anything but succeed? It’s charmingly tiny (with a takeout window for minors and/or sidewalk snackers), aiming those charms at everyone from pedestrian commuters to after-last-call revelers (it’s open till 2am). You buy slices, like peanut butter chocolate or cherry crumble, which each have a suggested drink pairing.

Pie Bar Ballard

Okay, so weird: One of the two identical twin sisters who opened the above Pie Bar splintered off to open this one in Ballard—which is about three times bigger and able to sell whole pies. They have the same name, use the same recipes—but run them as separate businesses. (FYI: the baker sister stayed at Capitol Hill.) Candidly, I don't discern any meaningful differences neither makes the best pie in town but damn, they're good enough. (And when they serve ‘em with booze, nobody’s complaining.)

Slab Sandwiches and Pie

Around the corner from and sharing a kitchen with John Sundstrom’s magnificent Lark is its daytime takeout sibling, dedicated to the reinvention of sandwiches and pie. About a half dozen of the former are on hand any given day, including things like short rib meat pies and English muffin breakfast sandwiches and gluten-free flatbread. Pies are equally various and sure handed, with offerings like caramel apple pie between slabs of biscuity pie crust that exist at the corner of divine inspiration and butter.

Jack’s BBQ

Okay, Jack Timmons does a lot of things well—central Texas barbecue, most notably—but the best-kept secret at his SoDo ‘cue house is the pecan pie, served in $7 slices with or without salted caramel ice cream. Its ratio of sugars to corn syrup makes for a more liquid filling than standard, which gets studded with a mess of good pecans. Helpful tip: Start with this, have the brisket for dessert.

A La Mode Pies

Deep loveliness defines this winner, from its aesthetic flair with the ribbon-tied to-go boxes to the consistent quality of the butter crusts, which we’ll go out on a limb to call the best piecrusts in town. The Phinney location is mostly for to-go orders West Seattle has seats and ice cream and bona-fide food—including savory pies like a fine leek-gruyere tart, with a rustic crostata crust. Both have the mile-high Mexican chocolate mousse pie, which we’re pretty sure contains the secrets of the universe.

Beach Bakery

In a self-consciously new Rainier Beach strip mall dwells an eclectic, buttery array of baked goods, from cheddar basil muffins to sticky toffee pudding, canelés to tahini pistachio bars. In summer, berries fill lattice-crusted pies. In the fall, find spiced pumpkin. Service is patient as you ogle the myriad choices, and there are plenty of tables.

by Hieronymous Fri Mar 05, 2021 9:19 pm

Was good when they were in Orrell.

I got a steak pie from their Ashton shop about a month ago. Crap! Thick pastry, no filling. And it was £2.25.

My mate, Big Timp, who lives down Scot Lane, goes on an errand to Pimmies Bakery for their pies.
He says they're "laaaaike they used to be.raaaaight"! I've not tried them yet.

Surprised at that. Never had a steak pie though. Original meat pies are belting. As are meat & potato pasties. I like Galloways.

Erm, what is this 'Pimmies bakery?

Pie Camp: The Skills You Need To Make Any Pie You Want

The Baker: Kate McDermott

Number of Recipes: 114

The Filling: This follow-up to the hugely popular Art Of The Pie is unapologetically exhaustive. It’s a book version of McDermott’s popular Pie Camp classes and features plenty of step-by-step photo instruction. In McDermott’s world, pies are Fruity, Creamy, or Kitchen Cupboard, and she’s organized the book accordingly. She also offers brightly delivered instructions, much like an actual camp counselor, and has included a section on when to tidy up in the piemaking process (which is actually pretty great).

Perfect For: The beginner, ready for a summer of pie crafting

The Painter of Pies Knows the Real Thing, Too

SUBJECTING Wayne Thiebaud to a $48 breakfast was a mistake.

It seemed like a good idea when he agreed to meet on a Saturday morning last month, shortly after he checked into the Stanhope hotel on the Upper East Side. Why wouldn't such a renowned painter want a lavish breakfast? And wouldn't one who is nearly 81 want to stay close to his room on a trip from his home in Sacramento? Why not sit him down over eggs at Melrose, the pressed-linen and polished-silver cafe at the hotel?

The scope of the miscalculation was clear as soon as a sunny, wiry, well-coiffed guy bounded off the elevator, stuck out his hand and said, ''I'm Wayne.'' It was more apparent when he looked at me with dismay and asked, ''We're eating here?'' But it was crystalline midway through the meal, when he finally admitted that if he had chosen the site, we would have been tucking into cereal with snappier service over at Three Guys, a diner a couple of blocks away on Madison Avenue.

Wayne Thiebaud does know food.

Anyone who loves to eat will see that clearly at his huge retrospective opening tomorrow at the Whitney Museum of American Art, a mix of images of gum-ball machines and bodies in bathtubs, realistic representations of deli cases and deceptively naturalistic street scenes in San Francisco, cakes on pedestals and women in bikinis.

The artist has painted many things, but it was by turning his attention to some culinary icons that he wound up as America's foremost interpreter of food on canvas.

Mr. Thiebaud, best known for a clean, stark, almost Pop Art style, clearly loves diner pies, hot dogs and ice cream cones. But he also understands what makes a simple layer cake more than sugar and shortening, what makes it evoke the most powerful memories and longing, and what makes a bowl of soup not just the picture of nourishment but a vision in spinach green or tomato red that almost takes you back to the warm aromas at your grandmother's table. Even if you never met your grandmother.

''People ask me why I don't do a nice pretty Viennese cake or spaghetti,'' Mr. Thiebaud said. ''I don't know anything about it. Iɽ have to be Jackson Pollock to do spaghetti.''

What he has always painted, he said, ''is what I lived with and what I knew'': the honest food he grew up eating in the West decades before pasta and tortes entered the lexicon of American cooking. He worked in restaurants, including washing dishes, and sold hot dogs on the pier in Long Beach, Calif. The food was basic and unadorned, just like the paintings he creates by focusing on shapes and shadows and exploring nostalgia.

Mr. Thiebaud's work retains a direct, Middle American look even though he has become quite the culinary sophisticate. His breakfast order was straightforward -- eggs over easy, bacon that he ate with a fork -- but he had a chef's sensitivity to the ephemeral nature of food as art. When our plates were set down, he instantly admonished, 'ɽon't let it get cold now.''

As we ate, we talked about his adventures in producing his own sherry (''it's like making jam: you keep adding sugar and hope it doesn't blow up''), about what makes See's Candy of California so special (''it's one thing New York doesn't have -- I send it to my dealer here'') and about his work illustrating Lindsey Shere's dessert book for Chez Panisse (''I got to eat all the demonstrations'').

He is friends with Alice Waters and with Robert Mondavi he is an honorary trustee helping to raise money for Copia, the American Center for Wine, Food and the Arts, a nonprofit museum and education center in the Napa Valley.

Some years ago, Mr. Thiebaud said, he was approached about doing lithographs and drawings for an art book for Arion Press in San Francisco, and he turned down several topics until the publisher accepted his idea of illustrating Brillat-Savarin's ''Physiology of Taste.'' M. F. K. Fisher translated this most revered of culinary works for the project, but Mr. Thiebaud goes right to the heart of the book when he describes it as 'ɺ kick -- an old lawyer holding forth.''

He will happily eat Italian or French or, lately, Thai food. He likes La Goulue and Bistro du Nord, and the gelati at Sant Ambroeus near the hotel. He also has a dedicated diner's cynicism. In the inevitable discussion of New York restaurants, he asked about the status of Butterfield 81, and when I told him the last two chefs had moved on, he just said dismissively, ''Oh, they're media people.''

Throughout breakfast he invoked the timeless link between food and art, the idea of cooking as an art form, however transitory. '⟞gas loved food,'' he pointed out, 'ɺnd Lautrec was a terrific cook.''

Five Weeknight Dishes

Emily Weinstein has menu suggestions for the week. There are thousands of ideas for what to cook waiting for you on New York Times Cooking.

    • This coconut fish and tomato bake from Yewande Komolafe yields a gorgeous, silky ginger-coconut sauce.
    • A tasty recipe for sheet-pan chicken and potatoes by Lidey Heuck is really nice without being fussy.
    • This vegetarian baked Alfredo pasta with broccoli rabe is inspired by pasta Alfredo, but with green vegetables added.
    • Kay Chun adds asparagus and snap peas to spring vegetable japchae in this vegan take on the classic dish.
    • You could substitute chicken or another type of fish in this summery grilled salmon salad from Melissa Clark.

    Degas kept notebooks, he added, in which he wrote lyricisms along the lines of how a certain gherkin in the South of France conjured ''the whole taste of the garden in vinegar.'' Maybe it is just a natural progression, from starving artist to determined gourmand. One reason he likes Three Guys is that gallery owners and other artists frequent the place.

    Mr. Thiebaud's path to the spare style in his paintings was not radically different from the road to utter simplicity so many great chefs have followed since Alice Waters changed American cooking for the better. In 1956 he came to New York and started hanging out with abstract artists like Willem de Kooning and Franz Kline, trying to keep up with their drinking at the Cedar Bar in Greenwich Village.

    ''We talked about history, we talked about genuineness, we talked about painting what you know,'' Mr. Thiebaud said. ''I had been painting gum-ball machines, but they had been tricked up with gestures of art. I went home and tried making them very plain.

    ''Then I started painting straightforward shapes: ovals, triangles, rectangles. In restaurants, I started seeing things laid out like a still life. I painted those damn pies and thought, 'That will be the end of me -- no one will take that seriously.' Then they couldn't leave it alone.''

    What gave his early work power was partly repetition: not one slice of pie but 12, not one sundae but seven, not one wedding cake but three in a row. It's no surprise that he was also a Disney cartoonist and at one point worked in advertising. He calls the effect of his food paintings almost bas-relief and mosaiclike. It also tilts the ordinary toward the surreal.

    Another reason Mr. Thiebaud's work is so evocative is that it involves both light and shadow: none of his salad bowls or angel food cakes or candy apples are ever painted with noonday sunshine beaming straight down. You get the hovering gray of early morning, or late afternoon -- the hours of yearning. He paints from memory, even though his desserts are often more detailed than those in the best food magazines, with lemon fillings or ornate pink roses or raspberries in a perfect circle inside a piping of pink frosting. Cakes could never taste as good as they look on his canvases.

    Mr. Thiebaud credits his rearing as much as his artist friends with making him the painter he is today, one whose work resonates with stability, even unabashed happiness. ''I was a very spoiled child,'' he said. ''I got to do whatever I wanted. I was always introduced as 'my wonderful son.' It was a very nourishing childhood. We had hard times, but it was a psychologist's dream.'' He speaks just as highly of his stepson, Mathew Bult, who handles much of his business these days in Sacramento.

    The self-described lucky guy was born in 1920 in Mesa, Ariz., and raised in Southern California with a sister four years younger. If his work reflects his origins in the barely settled West, he said, ''it's because there is a certain emptiness in my paintings.''

    In the 1940's and 50's, Mr. Thiebaud lived at the Automat. He has since graduated to Etats-Unis on the Upper East Side, where he and his son Paul had dinner the night before we met, a lamb shoulder that he was still savoring. But when asked later to describe the most memorable meal of his life, he sketched the people (the de Menil family of Houston) and the place (outside Paris) but could not recall a single morsel of food they shared.

    He does know, however, that his wife, Betty Jean, can spend three days making a meal. And he waxed rhapsodic about her pasta with light lemon sauce, her tarte Tatin, her orange cake, her lemon meringue pie.

    He stays at the Stanhope for the location. In the morning, he can walk across Fifth Avenue to the Metropolitan Museum, get his admission button and then go back three or four times a day, on each visit choosing one small gallery where an Indian miniature might be on display and where he can sit and study it to his mind's content. He looks for ideas not just to influence his own work but also to bring back to his students at the University of California at Davis, the school with the noted wine program, where he teaches as a volunteer so that ''they can't fire me.''

    His world and work have evolved so far beyond layer cakes that it's no wonder he is quoted in the catalog accompanying the Whitney exhibit as being weary of the label ''the pie painter.'' But he reddened slightly when the egg plates were finally cleared and I asked if that was how he really felt.

    ''It's just the concentration on it that's tiresome,'' he said. ''Of course I'm lucky enough to be talked about as a painter, and those things are important, but they're not everything.''

    Even as he has come to focus on the deltas in the Sacramento Valley and the streets of San Francisco, though, Mr. Thiebaud continues to paint food in ways that prove the surest route to the psyche is through the stomach. His most celebrated works date from the early 1960's, but the show includes a Mickey Mouse cake from 1988 as well as an unsettling bakery case from 1996. And, he said, he will always paint a piece of food ''if it's interesting or compelling or challenging, or something I don't know how to do.''

    ''I saw some butter the other day,'' he went on, his eyes lighting up as he started to mentally sketch. ''It looked like Bruegel's 'Tower of Babel,' sort of leaning off to the side. That was interesting.''

    How We Chose the Best Pie Delivery Services

    Pie is a heritage food, and narrowing our list was difficult. We researched more than 30 different companies offering pie delivery. Time and time again, we found new favorites that we really wanted to include on this list, enough to make a whole second list of favorites.

    Ultimately, we wanted to represent many different local cuisines and flavors, so we selected these pies based on their local renown, variety, inventiveness, and high quality. Ease of delivery was important, too.

    The Secret to Perfect Pie, According to a Master Piemaker

    In her new book, Pie For Everyone, second-generation piemaker Petra “Petee” Paredez shares lessons from a lifetime of baking. Here, find three of her best tips for delicious holiday pies.

    Petra Paredez has many fond memories of growing up in Virginia surrounded by pies—like taking Thanksgiving week off of school to help assemble pies for the family business𠅋ut one childhood moment never escapes her.

    “Rhubarb sounded weird and looked weird to me, so I𠆝 never bothered to try it,” she said. One day, while waiting for a fresh batch of strawberry-rhubarb pies to cool down, she grabbed a chunk of the warm, glistening ruby compote that bubbled onto the parchment paper. It transformed her. 

    “It was the best thing I𠆝 ever eaten,” Paredez remembered. “It was great to have that experience of trying something for the first time even though I&aposd been surrounded by it my whole life, and have this whole new flavor experience that I enjoyed so much.”

    While Paredez has tried (and made) countless pies since then as a second-generation piemaker, she still holds on to this bit of wonder𠅊nd wants others to have their eureka moments, too. After moving to New York City and working as a special education teacher for a few years, she decided to open up Petee’s Pie Company (Petee was her nickname growing up) in the Lower East Side in 2014.

    "When I moved to New York and didn’t see that many pie shops, I sort of fantasized about that,” she said. “If I were to make good pies up here, it would be such a hit.”

    And they were. A second location and a few years later, Paredez was approached to write a book.

    Along with highlighting local farmers and family anecdotes, Pie for Everyone delves into the history of pie, tracing its sweet origins to slavery, with essays shedding light on the origins of 𠇊merican” treats like pumpkin pie (the version we’re familiar with was birthed in France) and obscure pies like the Nesselrode, a beloved NYC diner staple that mysteriously disappeared by the 1960s. Classic recipes are juxtaposed with unexpected treats like cajeta macadamia pie, where buttery macadamia nuts are enveloped in a nutty, slightly earthy Mexican goat’s milk caramel.

    For Paredez, Pie for Everyone is an ode to the power of feeding one’s community with fresh, simple ingredients. “I wanted to convey how meaningful and wonderful it is to be able to buy something from the farm market and turn them into something really delicious to share with friends and family,” she said. “That is a generous and meaningful act to me.” 

    Below, Paredez shares three of her best tips on getting Thanksgiving-worthy pies for years to come. 

    Keep everything cold (and that means your flour, too)

    For the best pie crust, keeping all your ingredients ice cold is key, and that includes dry ingredients!

    𠇏lour is not something that we think of having a temperature because it’s a dry ingredient, but if your kitchen is warm, your flour’s warm too,” Paredez said. “Putting it in the freezer and having it come out at freezer temperature really does the trick.” Paredez even chills her seasoning𠅊 mix of sugar and salt dissolved in water�ore adding it to her dough.

    Keeping everything cold also prevents the development of gluten, which can lead to a tough, chewy crust. “You want a crust that&aposs super high in butter and super low in water, and that&aposs going to be the best tasting kind,” Paredez said. “That butter flavor will really, really sing— the texture will be really flaky, like butter held together by flour. 

    Use seasonal produce when available (but frozen is fine)

    Paredez is a huge proponent of using seasonal fruit and letting their natural flavors sing without cloying sweetness or adding excessive amounts of spice.

    𠇍on’t worry about complicating fruit pies. When you start with really good fruit and keep the recipe really simple, the flavors come through so beautifully,” Paredez said. It’s okay to use frozen fruit, too—just use local frozen fruits when possible. “If you&aposre buying strawberries that have been shipped in from far away, those are not the right kind of strawberries to use. They were chosen for their ability to withstand long travel, not for their beautiful rich color and flavor.”

    Protect your crust

    For home ovens (especially those that are a little cantankerous), using a crust protector or aluminum foil to cover your pie helps with even baking. “If you&aposre making an especially large pie, or if your oven is just a little tricky to use using a crust protector will help a lot,” Paredez said. “It&aposs a little nerve-wracking if you&aposre watching your pie cook and that outer crust is getting really dark and you think it’s done, but odds are that the inside might not be done yet.”

    Fall's Best Pie Recipes: The Perils of Pie

    The nearest I ever came to poisoning a guest was at a dinner party at which the dessert was pie. Specifically, apple pie𠅊 recipe of my husband&aposs that included chopped walnuts.

    Among our guests was a couple. The husband took one bite and shouted to his wife to put down the mouthful balanced at the end of her fork. She was deathly allergic to nuts. One taste would have meant an instant trip to the emergency room.

    My husband and I brought her a fresh plate on which to eat the ice cream we&aposd served along with the pie. The evening was saved. But later, when I reflected on our near-disaster, I realized it would never have happened if the dessert had been, let&aposs say, stewed apples and ice cream topped with chopped walnuts. She would have seen the nuts and been forewarned.

    To me this brings up something about the true nature of pie, perhaps the best and worst thing about anything baked in a double crust or topped with a mound of whipped cream. Something is interior and something is exterior, something revealed and concealed. In that way, eating a piece of pie is a bit like getting to know a person: You get past the outer layer and something is, or isn&apost, delicious.𠅏rancine Prose

    Recipe: Old fashion vinegar pie

    I’m inspired by strong mountain women, and Carrie Blake was definitely one of them. I never met her before she died, and I know little about her life. Still, there’s much I can glean about her resolve just by waking up every day on the same farm where she lived by herself for 30 years in the early 1900s. After spending a few years tending to this property myself, I know how arduous the work can be, but I still have no clue what it takes to tackle it all by my lonesome.

    She may have lived by herself, but in the kitchen at least Carrie Blake was hardly alone. A relic of her time here—a small black booklet of dozens of recipes, both handwritten and clipped from local newspapers—describes more than casseroles, pickles, and desserts. It represents a robust cooking community. Such collections were once commonplace, reflecting a critical bond among cooks from disparate rural kitchens who would likely never meet face to face. Whether it was attending church recipe swaps or mailing family favorites to newspaper editors, sharing recipes was part of a broad knowledge-sharing tradition. The first time I looked through Blake’s collection of brittle, yellowed clippings from the Clarksburg Exponent newspaper (now The Exponent Telegram), I came across a recipe for “Old Fashion Vinegar Pie,” written by Mrs. Flossie Hannah, of Sedalia, West Virginia, about 30 miles away.

    Bright and tangy but not overly sweet, vinegar pie is a dish I’ve long cherished for its ability to showcase the enterprising spirit of Appalachian home cooks. It helps that it’s also incredibly delicious, which is surprising to those who can think of a million other uses for vinegar before they put it in a pie. From a combination of rural seclusion and the financial constraints of the Great Depression emerged a class of desserts known as “desperation pies,” made with inexpensive, available ingredients. The parameters of Appalachian cuisine may be open to interpretation, but working creatively with what’s on hand is a trademark of the region’s underappreciated culinary canon.

    At a time when lemons were hard to come by in rural West Virginia, cooks would tap the acidic qualities of vinegar to create a nearly perfect citrus substitute. When I think about the negative connotations of the term desperation , I find myself wondering if such dishes shouldn’t be known as “innovation pies” instead. Thrift, persistence, and inventiveness are the threads woven throughout the stories of Appalachian cooks as they have perfected the ratio of vinegar, sugar, and nutmeg to match the tartness and sweetness of lemon-curd pastries.

    Flossie Hannah didn’t create this version of vinegar pie—the Exponent notes that it had “long been a favorite with her family.” But, like the other cooks represented in Blake’s little black booklet of recipes, Hannah probably felt a responsibility to pass it on. After discovering her recipe, I feel a similar obligation to share it.

    This recipe was originally submitted by Flossie Hannah and published sometime between the 1930s and the 1950s in the Clarksburg Exponent series Family Favorites: Contributed Recipes from Central West Virginia Homemakers. Though I stick to the original amounts and ratios, I’ve made a few adjustments most notable, I’ve doubled the recipe for a thicker pie with lots of filling. Hannah’s original recipe also calls for the addition of meringue topping, made with the leftover egg whites, after the fully baked pie crust is filled with the chilled cooked custard. I like to skip the meringue, instead baking the pie once more at around 350 degrees Fahrenheit for about 15 minutes, until the custard top becomes firm and develops a slight golden-brown color. I then chill the pie once more before serving it with ice cream or homemade whipped cream. For the perfect crust I recommend this recipe from my good friend Emily Hilliard, the West Virginia state folklorist and a renowned pie aficionado.


    (Serving: 6 slices)

    For the custard filling:

    1 cup sugar
    ½ teaspoon nutmeg
    3 tablespoons flour
    ⅛ teaspoon salt
    2 tablespoons butter
    1 cup water
    3 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
    3 egg yolks, beaten
    9-inch pie shell

    For the meringue topping (optional):

    3 egg whites
    ¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
    6 tablespoons sugar
    Pinch of salt


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