This classic lattice pie has a peach filling laced with brown sugar and a touch of bourbon. A flaky, all-butter crust offsets the sweetness and is sure to impress. This is perfect for a summer party!
Oh hi! It’s me! Jesse! The girl who writes this blog? Ringing a bell? Right! It’s been a while!
Between searching for a new home (found one!), taking the CISA exam, throwing my best friend’s bachelorette party, taking a magical vacation in Ecuador, and that little thing I do to get paid (oh right… work…), I’ve been moving AMILLIONMILESAMINUTE for the past month. But, luckily for my cortisol levels, things have finally calmed down! And they did so just in time for the long 4th of July weekend!
I have waxed poetic before about my love for baking pie – like to the point where my nickname at work training became “Trap Queen.” Because of the line ‘I be in the kitchen cooking pie with my baby,’ WHICH IS ABOUT METH. I don’t cook meth. I cook pie.
It’s just such a relaxing, labor-intensive process. From picking out your fruits at the farmer’s market, to the messy-handed process of mixing the pie dough, to the precise, delicate art of creating the top crust, every step is its own kind of therapy. And don’t even get me started on the filling possibilities! The world is your
oyster pie crust!
For this particular pie, I wanted to go very seasonal, and selected a classic peach filling. However, staying true to the Scones & Patron motto, I added some bourbon into the equation. I personally hate drinking bourbon (or whiskey, or scotch) straight up, but this bottle found its way into our apartment at some point during the past year and lends a wonderful flavor to baked goods. See: my bourbon oatmeal raisin cookies, aka my #1 tool for getting men to love me. And, seeing as I’m now BACK in the dating game, you’ll be seeing that recipe very soon!
I made this pie for a dessert party thrown by my friend Lipika. At brunch at Sticky Fingers that morning, her roommate Kathleen divulged that she was making something called “Blueberry Boy Bait.” To which my roommate and I immediately started brainstorming creative names for this pie! With the help of her boyfriend Mitch, we came up with:
- Fuzzy Navel
- Whiskey Dick
- Fuzzy Dick (strong contender, clearly)
- You’re the only ten-I-see pie (because bourbon)
- Peach Fuzz
…yeah, we were doing pretty well. I blame sangria. Luckily, our friend Matt came over shortly after to play Pizza Box (our new favorite drinking game) and almost immediately came up with “Sex on the Peach.” UM, YES, MATT!!
“Sex on the Peach” Peach-Bourbon Pie
To make this pie, you will need:
– 1 recipe all-butter pie crust
– 6 ripe peaches (I used canned because I’m terrible at planning)
– 1/2 cup brown sugar
– 1 T cornstarch
– 1 t vanilla extract
– 2 T bourbon
– Flour, for rolling out the dough
First, you will mix up your pie crust (using the instructions in the link above – ain’t nobody got time to write that all out again) and let it chill in the fridge for 1.5-2 hours. The perfect amount of time to shop for your peaches/get yo tan on/play a game of pizza box!
Next, get to preparing the filling! You’ll begin by slicing your peaches into eighths, as seen below.
Then, combine the peach slices in a large bowl with the bourbon, brown sugar, vanilla, and cornstarch. Stir well.
Once your dough has sufficiently chilled, preheat the oven to 400F and begin to roll out your crust. The bottom crust should be a simple circle pressed into the pie tin. Pile your filling into this bottom crust, then begin rolling out the lattice.
With the top crust, you can get wild! I was a couple glasses of sangria in, so I decided to take on the task of a lattice and a braided border and some leaves, which was absolutely gorgeous but took exactly forever. Do whatever you have the time and patience for!
Bake at 400F for 20 minutes, then turn the oven down to 375F for the next 30 minutes. Take the pie out, let it rest for a few hours before cutting, and there you have it! Sex on the Peach!
*Disclaimer: this pie did not get me laid. But I did make a lot of friends. And that’s all that matters, right? …right?!*