Didn't-Make-it-to-The-Derby Mini Pies

I baked these in the name of the Mini Pie Revolution (the best part about being a Revolutionary Leader? I don't have to follow my own deadlines! Plus, y'know, pie).

I may live below the Mason Dixon, but I hail from Massachusetts. I take oatmeal, not grits, for my morning porridge. I prefer my sun tea sans sugar, and I cook my greens in olive oil instead of pork fat. Still, I have to admit that Southerners do know their way around two things: Thoroughbred horses and baked desserts.

True story: when two family friends toured the Kentucky countryside, they happened across an ornate mansion. Thinking that they had found a unique, Civil-War-era Southern home, they stopped to photograph the building. Mid-snapshot, a groom lead two horses out of the "mansion'"s doors – the women had been admiring a horse barn.

The animals housed in such luxury represent the best in breeding, money, and luck. Should a Thoroughbred chip a nail, Kentucky's home to a state-of-the-art equine hospital. The horses eat fifty-dollar-a-bale organic, imported alfalfa (horsey fois gras). Horse dentists keep Thoroughbreds' teeth in better condition than most human Kentuckians'. In short, if you're considering reincarnation, you might want to consider the pampered-racehorse lifestyle.

But most Thoroughbreds live less pristine lives. They race in low-grade stakes or claiming races. They might make money for their owners for a few years, before they're retired at age five. They might fail on the track, in which case they're sold as hunter-jumper prospects, or put into rescues, or sold into less savory circumstances.

My horse, Flash, was one such failed racehorse. He turf-raced in Florida with some success, failed to run on Pennsylvania dirt, and ended up with me and my dreams of 3-Day Eventing glory. We never accomplished much in the arena. I lacked money, and Flash likes to find injury-causing trouble, so I spent more on grain and vet bills than riding lessons and entry fees. But Flash taught me a lot, and I love him a lot, and that seems worth more than ribbons.

The Kentucky Derby has its own pie, a copyrighted concoction of a torte-like chocolate, bourbon, and chopped pecan filling in a short crust shell. It's sweet, thick, and rich. I don't really like it. Sure, the chocolate-booze combo shows potential, but why mar the mess with so many overly-sweet pecans?

Flash, and the loser-horses like him, deserve miniature pies (they're in the small time, after all). Walnuts might not taste as sweet as pecans, or victory in the winner's circle, but combined with 62% bittersweet chocolate and Kentucky bourbon, they create what can only be described as a winning combination.



Didn't-Make-it-to-The-Derby Mini Pies

Makes 12 small pies (It would've made more if I had not overfilled my pie shells).

Ingredients:

12 mini pie shells (recipe here)
1/2 cup melted, unsalted butter
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup plus 1/2 cup semisweet or dark chocolate chips
1 1/2 cups walnuts, chopped
2 tablespoons Kentucky Bourbon

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Melt the butter in the microwave. Let the butte cool, just enough so that it's not piping hot. Crack two eggs into a bowl. Slowly add a little bit of the melted butter into the eggs. Beat the eggs and butter together with a fork. Continue to slowly add the melted butter to the eggs, and keep beating the eggs and butter together until they combine.

In a separate bowl, stir the flour, salt, and sugar together in a bowl. Add the flour mixture to the eggs and butter. Beat the mixture into a dough. Add the bourbon.

In double boiler, melt one cup of chocolate chips. Slowly add the melted chocolate to the dough. Whisk everything together until the dough becomes a uniform color. Fold in the chopped walnuts and the remaining chocolate chips.

Spoon the chocolate filling into the pie shells. Bake at 350 degrees for thirty minutes, or until a toothpick slides cleanly from the pies' centers. Soothe your disappointment with mini pie and bourbon-whipped cream.