Crumble for Breakfast? This Game-Changing Ritual Will Transform Your Morning

All Praise the Crumble. 

Let's be honest – crumbles are pie's laid-back first cousin who shows up to family dinner in comfortable clothes and somehow steals the show. This humble friend consists of fruit crowned with a crumbly mixture of flour, butter, sugar, and sometimes oats or nuts. Unlike a pie, there is no bottom crust.

And here's my beautiful secret: crumbles are great for breakfast. It goes down ridiculously easy.

I had this raspberry apple crumble yesterday at 7:30 a.m. Did I feel remorse? Seriously?

Crumbles are the dessert equivalent of your favorite worn sweater – comforting, reliable, and irresistible. 

Add it to your breakfast rotation. You can thank me later. 

Pie Hard with a Vengeance: The People's Tournament

I love pie. Real pie, fancy pie, homemade pie – all of it. But today I want to talk about the pies that most pie snobs ignore: snack pies. That’s why Pi Man is Pi Man. He’s the people’s Pi Man.

Those little individually wrapped pies you see at gas stations and corner stores. The ones sitting next to the candy bars and chips. Most people grab them without thinking twice, eat them, and move on with their day.

But I think they deserve better than that.

The Forgotten Pies

Not all pies are created equal – that's been my belief for a long time. But sometimes you can't choose where you find something good. Sometimes the best discoveries happen in the most ordinary places.

That's why I'm doing this tournament: Pie Hard with a Vengeance. It's an apple pie face-off between what I'm calling "snack pies" – those small, handheld pies made for busy people who still want something sweet.

They have crust. They have filling. They're meant to be eaten on the go. And honestly? They're probably all made by the same company in the same building by the same hardworking people.

I don't care about that last part. What I care about is giving these pies a fair shot.

The Lineup

We've got the heavy hitters: Hostess, Tastykake, Drake's, Little Debbie, Entenmann's, Walmart's Great Value, and Table Talk. Each one has been feeding Americans for decades. Each one has earned its spot on those convenience store shelves.

These aren't artisanal. They're not made with organic flour or hand-picked fruit. But they're consistent, they're affordable, and they're always there when you need them. That counts for something.

How I'm Judging Them

I've got six things I'm looking for:

Taste – Does it taste good? Simple as that. When the package says apple, do I taste apple?

Filling – Is there enough? Does it taste like what it's supposed to be? Is the texture right?

Crust – I'm not expecting buttery, flaky perfection here. I want something that holds together, tastes decent, and doesn't fall apart in my hands.

Sugar Content – These are sweet treats, but there's a line between "pleasantly sweet" and "candy disguised as pie."  I give extra points if I walk away with an instant sugar rush.

Packaging – Does it keep the pie fresh? Is it easy to open? Does it protect what's inside?

Nostalgia – This might sound silly, but these pies carry memories. Childhood lunches, road trip snacks, late-night study sessions. That emotional connection matters. If the pie makes me cry, extra points.

Why This Matters

I know what you're thinking. Why spend time on convenience store pies when there are so many amazing bakeries out there? Because sometimes you're stuck at a gas station at midnight and you want something that reminds you of dessert.

These pies might not win any fancy food awards, but they've won something else: they've become part of people's lives. You just need to walk into almost any store in North America.

My guess? Some of them are going to surprise me. Some of them are going to be better than I expected. Some will suck.

No fancy equipment, no complicated scoring system. Just me, a bunch of snack pies, and the simple question: which one is the best?

Stay tuned.

 

When Winning Hurts: The Eagle Wings Tale

This story deviates from the Pie Path. It's about chicken wings. I think it is worth telling.

Once upon a time, Pi Man was a young salesman who, like many young sales people, kicked off work early on a Friday afternoon to hang out at a bar.

This one bar had very spicy wings called Eagle Wings. They were pure fire in the mouth.

These wings were so spicy that no one in the group ever ate more than four at one sitting. The brave soul who managed four would sweat all over his expensive suit like he was being tortured. He was a star. A sweaty, miserable star.

But then came Neal.

Neal was a young sales guy from elsewhere in the branch, across the river where people apparently had different ideas about pain and dignity. He said he would eat ten Eagle Wings if invited. Everyone thought he was bragging and would fold after two, maybe three if he was trying to impress someone.

So we thought.

When Neal showed up, he had a process. Like a surgeon preparing for a delicate operation, he removed his suit jacket, his tie, and his crisp white shirt. This was back in the 1990s, when all salesmen wore suits and ties.

There he sat in his t-shirt, methodically removing all the chicken meat from ten wing bones. He created a large pile of chicken meat which he rubbed excessively in the Eagle Sauce. Eagle Sauce was directly related to volcano lava.

Then something beautiful and terrible happened.

Neal started to chant "I'm pledging, I'm pledging" and then smoothly and quickly ate all the meat from ten wings. He smashed the record. He was a legend. The crowd went wild.

Six months later, I saw Neal and his girlfriend at a work event. She leaned in close and told me that after his wing consumption triumph, he spent the evening in the bathroom, screaming at the top of his lungs: "I hate you guys."

It was a magnificent sacrifice of his well-being to attain legend status.

Thought for a Monday

"We must have pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie."

~ Dave Mamet (thanks again for writing Glengarry Glen Ross!)

Pie Hard with a Vengeance

 

What Was the Most Consumed Pie in the American Colonies? The winner is...

 

I figured apple pie. 

I was wrong.

I then guessed pumpkin pie. Must be right?

Again wrong - although very popular according to DSACSHFR (The Distinguished Society for the Advancement of Crust Sciences and Historical Filling Research).*

The winner according to my web research? Mince Pie. 

Yuck.

Mince pie is a sweet pie filled with a mixture of fruit, spices, and suet. Suet is the hard fat found around the kidneys and loins of cattle and sheep. It's a specific type of animal fat that has a firm, waxy texture when raw and becomes solid at room temperature. 

Yup, that is suet.

Pi Man does not want to go back in time.

* Ok, I made DSACSHFR up. 

Face-First Into Tradition: The Cultural Origins of Competitive Pie Eating

Among the many wonderful things from Toronto, we have them to thank for the first recorded pie-eating contest. It took place in 1878 as a charity fundraising event and was won by Albert Piddington, whose prize was a “handsomely” bound book. Newspapers across the United States covered the event, describing this unorthodox form of "the latest new entertainment."

The choice of pies made perfect sense. Pies were cheap and popular foods for nineteenth-century Americans and Canadians. They were readily available and messy enough to provide entertainment value for spectators. They captured public imagination as a novel form of entertainment that combined competition with comedy.

Here’s a little pie-fact - originally pie-eating contests were called “pie-eating tournaments,” How about that? 

Following that first Toronto contest, pie-eating competitions became popular at county fairs, community events, and fundraisers throughout North America. They became part of the broader tradition of competitive eating that would eventually evolve into the organized events we see.

The pie-eating contest represents one of the earliest forms of organized competitive eating, predating the famous Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest by decades. Today, pie-eating contests remain popular at local festivals and fairs. They serve the same purposes they did in 1878: raising money for good causes, bringing communities together, and providing messy, lighthearted entertainment that makes people laugh.

Oh, one more thing. There are two recorded deaths during pie eating contests. Even lighthearted entertainment comes at a price.

How America Took Britain's Greatest Food Group and Made It Dessert

I wanted to know. I did some research. Here’s the scoop. The difference comes down to timing. It was all about the Sugar Revolution.

When sugar became cheap and available, British pie culture was already set in stone. American pie culture was just getting started.

By the 1700s, Britain had Caribbean sugar colonies. Sugar prices dropped and it became mainstream. But savory meat pies were already the norm in Britain. These hearty pies served as main meals, not desserts. The tradition was too established to change.

America was different. The colonies developed their pie culture during this sugar boom. When sugar became widely available, American bakers embraced it. They made simple sweet fillings with basic ingredients. American pie culture grew up alongside increased sugar availability.

American colonists also had access to abundant fruits—apples, berries, pumpkins. They had cheaper maple syrup  and molasses.

Britain kept its savory pie tradition. Steak and kidney pie, shepherd's pie, and meat pies remained central to British cuisine. These pies were substantial meals that fed working families.

America went the other direction. We became sweet pie people. 

Don't say you don't learn stuff from Pi Man.

Why Pie-Throwing is America's Weirdest Protest Tradition

 

Sometimes the best way to make a point is to throw dessert at someone's face. Seriously.

Pie-throwing as political protest has a surprisingly long history. Spanish bakers were apparently chucking pies at royal dinners back in the 1600s to protest Habsburg policies, which honestly sounds like the most delicious revolution ever.

But America really perfected the art. The modern pie-throwing movement kicked off in 1969 when activist Jim Retherford smooshed a cream pie right into UC Berkeley president Clark Kerr's face. And just like that, a beautiful tradition was born.

The most famous pie incident happened in 1977 when gay rights activist Tom Higgins delivered a pie to anti-gay crusader Anita Bryant during a press conference. Bryant's response? "At least it was a fruit pie," before bursting into tears and praying for the pie-thrower.

What makes pie-throwing so effective isn't the mess—it's the humiliation. There's something deeply ridiculous about being covered in whipped cream and custard that instantly makes even the most serious person look silly

The visual impact is incredible too. Early activists figured out that pie-throwing created perfect photo opportunities. Each "hit" became a viral moment, spreading the protesters' message far beyond the original audience. The practice became so common that security had to start screening for potential pie-throwers at public events.

Even The Three Stooges got in on the action, making pie fights a comedy staple. Though Larry Fine later admitted the behind-the-scenes reality was gross—prop crews would literally sweep pie goop off the floor, complete with nails and splinters, to reuse it. Ouch.

 

A Pie Blogger's Confession

Forgive me Pie People, for I have sinned. It has been 1661 days since my last posting.

I know, I know. You counted. I counted too. Every morning I'd wake up and think, "Today's the day I'll write about that magnificent key lime pie," and then I'd stare at my laptop screen.

Honestly, I burned out during the pandemic and then I had a hard time getting back into it. I just wanted to eat pie in silence. And let me tell you, silent pie consumption is a lonely art form. No one to share the triumph of a perfectly flaky crust, no one to witness the tragedy of a soggy apples. Just me, my fork, and the crushing weight of my abandoned pie blog.

The irony wasn't lost on me that while the world was baking bread, I—a person whose identity revolved around circular pastries—couldn't even muster the enthusiasm to write about a simple fruit tart. I had become a fraud, a shell of my former flour-dusted self.

But life has seasons and this season is called "I am back."

What got me back? The pure goodness of this Apple Crumble (made with oatmeal!). A sign from the heavens? One bite of that buttery, oat-studded top layer giving way to tender, cinnamon-kissed apples below, and suddenly my fingers were tingling—not from carpal tunnel, but from the desperate need to share this revelation with you, my patient, long-suffering readers.

So here I am, humbled and hungry, ready to resume my sacred duty of chronicling the circular wonders of this world. Thank you for waiting. The pie posts shall flow again.