Pies don’t take to much to adjust to high altitude, but bakers above 10,000 ft. will probably at some point be frustrated by burnt crusts, fruit fillings that don’t soften or gel, or (my favorite high altitude pie disaster) pecan pies that boil over like giddy volcanoes.
I love pies, especially fruit pies. And today, in good American fashion, I took a pie to my next-door neighbor.
I was trying to make peace with said neighbor after pounding on their door at 2 in the morning in my fuzzy bathrobe with glaring red hearts on it and yelling at her and her family and their 100 plus party guests to turn their music down so my daughter could sleep. I wasn’t sorry for telling them to turn their music down (and they later apologized profusely, after a few days of sleeping off their hangovers), but I was sorry that I hadn’t yelled at them in a nicer manner.
Thus, this pie: