House of Pies

It's 1:15am. My cell phone rings. It wakes me. I stumble off my bar stool, leave some coins on the bar and wobble outside to answer the phone. I hear a voice on the other end.

"Dude. Key Lime Pie"

I wipe the sleep from eyes trying to recognize the voice on the other end. It's my drinking associate Johnny and he needs a slice of Key Lime Pie.

"Come get me." I say with the most urgent tone in my voice.

Five minutes later, Johnny collects me from the curb of Jumbo's Clown Room and ferries us both toward Los Feliz. We smoke a few stale cigars in the car and within minutes we arrive at House of Pies (1869 N. Vermont Ave.)

We stake our claim at the counter and order coffee. A cup of coffee tastes so god damned good at two o'clock in the morning. Within minutes we each had a gigantic slice of Key Lime Pie sitting in front of us.

The first bite is like tasting the clouds with its fluffy, meringue topping. Then comes the filling. It is SO wrong yet SO right at the same time. How can something so acidic like limes be cooked up with cream and milk ? I'll tell you how: The inventor of the key lime pie is a fucking genius. He went against the convention. He broke all the rules. But, wait...here comes the finale...the Crumble-y graham cracker base. heavenly. cosmic.