Loading ...This isn’t quite the same as my Chess Pie recipe, but because this one utilizes a blender, I thought I’d post it. Its been a while since we’ve done a blender recipe.
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 stick melted butter
3 1/2 tbsp. cocoa
1 tsp. vanilla
1 sm. can Pet evaporated milk
2 eggs
1 deep-dish pie shell
Put all ingredients into a blender. Blend very well. Pour into unbaked pie shell. Bake at 350 degrees for 45-55 minutes.
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This entry was posted on Friday, August 3rd, 2007 at 2:24 pm and is filed under edible. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
I don’t know how I managed to get out of the South without once having had chess pie. You and Mojo seem to think it is a Southern staple.
And you and he are two of the smartest people I know.
How the hell could anyone be raised in the south and not have chess pie? Its nigh on unbelievable. Its like saying you’ve never had fried green tomatoes or black-eyed peas.
However I will admit, at the risk of being accused of being a yankee, that I don’t like black-eyed peas (neither the band nor the vegetable). I’ll eat them (the vegetable, not the band), but I don’t much like them. Still, I’ve had them. I know what they are. Unlike R the P and chess pie.
Tut tut….
I like black eyed peas. Especially if they have jalapeños in them.
And I have had Fried Green Tomatoes.
They good!
We had chocolate pies and pecan pies. Every now and then we’d have a fruit pie. But never a chess pie.
I don’t like black eye peas either or is it neither?
I was thinking, “What’s black eyed peas band? Is that some kind of other part of the pea?”
Then I thought, “Oh THE BAND!”
I’m having a pisces stunned moment.
I also don’t like the band! ha ha!
And Fergie gets on my nerves… Big girls don’t cry, I want to smack her every time I hear that or My Humps… like she has boobs! sigh
Oh shit!
How come every time you come around my London, London Bridge wanna go down?
First the Pussy Cat Dolls and now Fergie!
Is there any fantastic music Shattered Prayer can’t support?
Now as the drinks start pouring
And my speech start slurring
Everybody start looking real good.
I’m starting to feel grateful that I’ve never heard that song.
It’s the kind of song my drunk prostitute would like.
Right now I’m listening to “The Boy with the Arab Strap”. I wonder if a drunk prostitute would like that song.
Right now I’m listening to nothing. Although I was afraid I would have London Bridge going through my mind all night. It seems to have decided not to set up residence.
A central location for you is a must
As you stagger about making free with your lewd and lascivious boasts
We know you are soft cause weve all seen you dancing
We know you are hard cause we all saw you drinking from noon
Until noon again
Youre the boy with the filthy laugh
Youre the boy with the arab strap
According to wikipedia, if you leave an Arab strap on after ejaculation, you could experience necrosis of the penis.
I felt that warning needed to put out there for all the SP readers with an Arab strap
Well leave it to R the P to titillate us with fun-facts about arab straps. Thanks for that.
What do you make of the cool set in london?
Youre constantly updating your hit parade of your ten biggest wanks
Shes a waitress and shes got style
Sunday bathtime could take a while
Good lord, necrosis of the penis. The idea even makes my penis hurt. And its plastic and has a battery.
I don’t think I’ll risk the necrosis. I mean, how do you explain that to subsequent partners.
Or the ER Doc when you are rushed to Emergency with a necrotic penis.
“I left the strap on for 21 minutes! I know I was supposed to take it off after 20, but I lost track of time!
I LOST TRACK OF TIME!”
Yeah… kind of hard to explain, that. Almost as hard as the gerbil or the lightbulb.
I don’t even see the pleasure in either of those!
Gerbils have claws.
And teeth
And lightbulbs have glass.
And filaments.
And a partial vacuum.
But if the gerbil were trying to deliver the lightbulb so that a surgeon could see while performing laparoscopic surgery, then that could make an exciting story.
Ok. I think I’ve lost it. Too little sleep.
I think on that note, I’m going to have to head off to bed.
Good night!
G’night. May the sweet gerbils of slumber deliver the light of good dreams to the cavern of your sleep.
new t-shirt, in yellow on black:
“I LOST TRACK OF TIME!”
(tiny cartoon gerbil with a huge grin and a huge dick on the back neckline: optional.)
I want that t-shirt, although I don’t know where I could wear it.
I’d wear it to church.
Well, Bas is our official dietician. Steff must be our official t-shirt design artist.
I think next year for the blogathon I’ll raise money to buy us all these nifty t-shirts. We could call the charity “Clothe the Stone Penis”. I wonder if I’d get any sponsors.
Yeah, R the P, no chess pie, like EVER? That’s weird. So, WTF is the chocolate pie to which you referred? That sounds like instant pudding mix dumped in a pie shell, which is not the same as chocolate chess pie which is actually good. Of course, that’s a variant on the original…
Belle & Sebastian, Che? For some reason, I didn’t think you’d be keen on them. I like them, but I can only listen for so long. Too much of them and I feel a persistent urge to hurl myself from the nearest tall building. It is clever stuff, though, I must admit.
Love the idea of a surgeon needing a gerbil to carry a light bulb into someone’s cavity to light the way! Goddammit, Jim, I know we have tools for this kind of thing, but these people don’t have insurance! We have to keep costs down! The gerbil is fully qualified!!
I have to side with the medicos on this one: Steer clear of the Arab strap. It’s not worth a night of th living dead penis! I mean, would the penis slur brains, brains, BRAINS while the rest of you is dragged along while it seeks its dinner? That can’t be convenient.
What? I couldn’t possibly like Belle and Sebastian because they’re lyrically clever and a melodically somewhat cheerful? Yeah, I like them. They’re good for certain moods.
Today I’ve returned to one of my great staples of music, the one album I would want with me if I were stranded on a desert island. (though I’d much rather be stranded on a dessert island). Coil’s Time Machines. I suppose thats more the kind of music you associate with me.
Hmmmm…. Night of the Living Dead Penis. Let me drop all my current writing projects to concentrate solely on that. I’m sure it’d be a best seller.
And frighteningly enough, when I made that last post, Time Machines started playing by itself, spontaneously, on my computer.
I was playing it during a ritual earlier, though.
Spooky.
Nah, I just meant they they seem sort of sweet and gentle. Don’t get me wrong, I like them too. I have three of their albums, but I have to listen in bits and pieces. Not entirely sure why… but you’re right. In a certain mood, they’re just the thing.
Can’t say that I’ve heard Coil. They don’t seem to be readily available on internet sites, which means they must be pretty obscure. From the descriptions I’ve read, however, it does sound a bit more up your alley.
Sadly, NOTLDP probably would be a best seller… among a certain choice group of readers. Probably not a group we’d want to know ….
Uh, BTW, that first paragraph was about Belle & Sebastian…
Re: NOTLDP
Just because we wouldn’t want to know them, doesn’t mean we can’t sell our book to them.
Excellent point!
Since I know nothing of music, I’ll comment on the “gerbil is fully qualified.”
That made me laugh. I pictured the gerbil in on the discussion, waiting for the okay to go in, light in hand at the ready!
“I can do it, me laddies! Just give me the go!”
“you gotta shoot ‘em in the heed!”
That’s how I pictured it R the P, with the gerbil wearing lots of medical gear including one of those reflective 1920s doctor headband discs… I could go…
For some reason I’m really disturbed by that image. It also sapped all the gravitas from my ritually morning.
Then you obviously need Dr. Gerbil to run up your ass with a lightbulb to see if he can find that lost gravitas!
He kin do it!
Oh dear… Sorry Che. Richard and I routinely have these conversations about how we instantly imagine some bizarre scene based on some small turn of phrase. It’s a sickness.
OMG, R. *LOL*
“what’s in my vagina?”
“your lost gravitas?”
I can see the gravitas ain’t comin’ back anytime soon.
when it does, it’ll be riding six white horses.
that is, what i mean to say is, i have that sickness, too. the visualizationy one, not the lost gravitas one.
i keep it in a box on the bookshelf.
(the gravitas, not the sickness.)
I think we all have the visualizationy sickness.
I keep my gravitas so far up my ass even a gerbil with a lightbulb can’t find it.
And those words of wisdom can help us all learn and cry and hug and grow.
When life is troubling, just think to yourself, “How far up my ass is my gravitas? Could a gerbil reach it if it had to?”
GAH! now i’m going to think that at work tomorrow and LOSE IT in front of an office full of senior citizens and pastor’s wives!
words to live by just multiply like bunnies around here, don’t they?
I have to say, I’m finding it hard to imagine a workplace full of senior citizens and pastor’s wives.
Is it a home for pastor’s wives run by senior citizens?
I hope it is, because that would be fantastic!
“She couldn’t handle his incessant ramblings about Jesus, poor thing. She became a Satanist in the end, you know. And you know where that leads. Poor dear was nothing but a cliche. Embarrassing, really.”
Not me, mate. I grew up in fundie hell and I know from pastor’s wives and pensioners. The air is thick with tension, judgment and the smell of piss.
R, you are particularly imaginative today. Let’s think of ways to escape this dull life we’ve settled into!
Yes, let’s!
nah… i work for an optometrist whose patients are mostly senior citizens and those generationally on welfare.
the pastor’s wife is a co-worker. she’s actually a wonderful person.
really.
well, now i wanna change jobs.
Not as exciting as a home for Pastor’s wives run by senior citizens, but at least you are helping the over 65s see better.
When you escape your dull lives, take me with you.
thanks
now that i’m not trying to keep up, and since i’ve mentioned it… the chess pie story.
once upon a time, in a land not quite as far south as it seems in my head, i had something at a church potluck that was exceedingly yummy. i asked what it was, and someone told me it was cheesecake.
years later, after my tawdry, well-documented, oft-indulged lust affair with cheesecake was firmly established (as if there weren’t enough reasons to celebrate hallowe’en already, i have three or four pumpkin cheesecake recipes), i decided to try making a key lime cheesecake. i discovered that key lime pie in its most authentic incarnation does NOT have whipped cream or cream cheese or any of that nonsense in it, and since i’d lacked the foresight to buy either of those things along with my key lime juice and my pie crust, i made it according to the old limejuice&condensedmilk&eggs formula.
it tasted precisely like marvelle’s cheesecake, which transporting, nostalgic taste i’d been searching for all these long lonely years.
i mentioned this later and mom said, “what? marvelle never brought cheesecake to those things, she brought CHESS cake. most people called it chess pie, though.”
oh.
there was definitely citrus in them thar pies, though. and according to some website that i’ve now lost, key lime and chess pies DO have shared ancestry… especially if you’re using a recipe that calls for condensed milk. so you see why i was confused by the vanilla curve ball.
or maybe not.
ooo, one more thing for this already lengthy comment - when i eat certain types of cheesecake (mostly the really good varieties) or key lime/chess pie, my face gets hot. like, right now, burning, blood vessels doing odd thing HOT. what’s with that?
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