Hubig's Pies: After the Fire
Hubig's Pies: After the Fire
"This must be where pies go when they die."
Today’s dispatch is an encore presentation originally published on June 25, 2022. It’s the fourth story featured on LAST CALL among the hundreds published since then that paid subscribers can access in the archives.
I wanted to share this today because it’s a favorite story of mine, one filled with friendship, coincidence, tragedy, and a community rallying around fried hand pies, and because the setting of this tale is New Orleans, where thousands of bartenders, distillers, producers, restaurateurs, beverage writers, and cocktail enthusiasts are currently gathering in New Orleans this week for Tales of the Cocktail, the annual conference and festival for spirits industry professionals.
When I first wrote this, the future of Hubig’s Pies, which opened in New Orleans in 1931, remained uncertain, but since its publication the local business has returned and their beloved glazed hand pies are back and can be found at Greater New Orleans’ grocery stores, convenience stores, hardware stores, marinas, and more, and also available to be shipped to all 50 States.
I know flying there this year was filled with turmoil, delays, and cancellations, but wishing everyone there a great time, and please stay safe and look out for each other.
And if anyone at Tales returning to NYC has the inclination (and room in their luggage) to mule me back a few Hubig’s (I’m partial to Pineapple and Apple!) I’ll kindly buy you a round and/or trade you a signed copy of any of books.
—BTP
So I Drifted Down to New Orleans
You might notice the bartender at your favorite spot is AWOL this week as it’s very likely they’ve decamped to New Orleans for the 20th anniversary of Tales of the Cocktail, an annual conference that attracts bartenders, journalists, distillers, and hospitality professionals from around the world for five days of seminars, tastings, workshops, tours, dinners, award ceremonies, and plenty of spirited parties.
But another New Orleans event that will be remembered this Wednesday is the 10th anniversary of the five-alarm fire that destroyed the Hubig’s Pie Factory, a New Orleans institution, in the early morning hours of Friday, July 27, 2012. I arrived in New Orleans for the first time the day before the Hubig’s fire as my book Bitters was up for a Tales of the Cocktail Spirited Award (there would be no James Beard/IACP/Spirited Award Triple Crown for me as Jim Meehan’s The PDT Cocktail Book took home the hardware that night).
As a drinks writer I should be attending Tales without fail but I’ve only been one other time since then. The primary reason is that the heat and humidity of New Orleans in late July makes me weak as a kitten. Great for cheaper hotel rates. Bad for husky men with red hair. I have never experienced anything like it (even August in NYC). And the sky would open up each afternoon around 4 p.m. for a half-hour thunderstorm and downpour, which only made things hotter and stickier. I was miserable.
After checking into my hotel and picking up my credentials I started with a Vieux Carré and a spin on the revolving bar at the Carousel Bar and Lounge in the Hotel Monteleone then spent the rest of the day exploring and eating my way around the French Quarter. After a scheduled event at Cure I stopped by my hotel to clean up before dinner. I still remember seeing my dear friend Rocky Yeh in the lobby. I knew him from my time living in Seattle and he gave me a bear hug and complimented my throwback Mariner’s ball cap. We miss you, Rocky.
Later that night I walked to Cochon for a solo dinner at the bar (there was even a copy of Bitters on the backbar). I let the gracious bartender steer my ordering and soon plates of wood-fired oysters with chili-garlic butter, a charcuterie board, and a smoked pork chop landed in front of me. On the walk back to the hotel I stopped to listen to an energetic young brass band playing in front of a drugstore on Bourbon Street. I threw some bills their way and then stepped into the drugstore to get some snacks for the hotel. When I’m traveling I love to wander around grocery stores, especially the ice cream and potato chip aisles where you can find some of the best variety of regional offerings. I knew that pint of Creole Cream Cheese ice cream would melt as soon as I walked outside so instead I picked up what would be my first, and would turn out to be my last, Hubig’s Pie.
(Last Night) I Didn't Get to Sleep at All
I have a thing for what I call Late-Night Hotel Pie. If I’m on the road and the place where I’m eating has pie I’ll ask them to pack up a slice to take it back to my room. One of my lowest moments of this tradition took place in Oxford, Mississippi, when walking back to my hotel after a late night at the upstairs bar at City Grocery, I secured a slice of lemon chess pie from the Chevron station. I sat on the end of the bed watching Letterman, eating the pie from the container, and when I woke up hours later face-down on the bed with the lights still on and TV blaring, the remains of the pie were stuck to the side of my face.
And when I said I picked up a Hubig’s Pie, it was really four hand pies. I figured one for each night. When I got back to the hotel after Cochon I unpacked the pies: two pineapple (I love pineapple pie) and one each of apple and banana. I quickly tore into the pineapple pie and it was truly delicious. A convenience store fried hand pie, yes, but miles above any other commercial brands.