It lists shortbread and brownies, and chocolate chip cookies (some of those were even flown in to the front lines in the Gulf War to boost the morale of U.S. troops there). Even mooncakes are there—those lovely little goodies with a rich pastry wrapper molded around a centre of lotus, red bean or even durian paste that pop up in Asian bakeries and stores during the Chinese Mid-Autumn Festival celebrated around the world.
But nowhere in my handy-dandy copy of 1001 Foods You Must Taste Before You Die can I find dirt pie or its adult-version predecessor—mud pie. What?!
With summer in full swing, and the sweet sounds of kids running and laughing across grassy fields and beaches, or wherever your kids’ favourite non-digital hangouts might be, I couldn’t help but think about mud pies the other day. That’s mud pies, plural, with an “s”, not mud pie, which we’ll get to in a sec.
Growing up in central Alberta with all that gorgeous black dirt everywhere, us kids loved making goopy, gloppy mud pies.
Down alongside the creeks in the forested ravines near our house, we’d dig up rich Alberta soil and mix it with just the right amount of water to get the appropriate result. It looked like a glob of sort-of melted chocolate if you squinted just right. Plus me and my neighbourhood pals had another specialty—mud pies made from the sand in our backyard sandbox. It must have been pretty dirty sand, which we loved because if you got the ratio just right you’d get a nice puddly sand pie that would dry a bit in the sun. If you timed it right, even the little drip on top would keep its shape. But we could never pick a whole one up after it “baked” without it at least busting in half.
My five-year-old mom and her friends, however, had a much better technique when they lived in the wee town of Wimborne, southeast of Red Deer as you head towards the Rocky Mountains.
Like so many of our sweet prairie towns now, the last of Wimborne’s four grain elevators was torn down more than a decade ago, and the trains have stopped running altogether. The grand population, as of 2021, was some 15 people, down by half from 10 years earlier. They live in 12 of the 14 houses still standing. (Hey, don’t knock it: You can buy a charming four-bedroom home there for $267,000!)
But in Wimborne’s heyday, when my grandad managed the local Crown Lumber outlet where you could buy everything from fencing to shingles to keep your farm or ranch going strong, the kids often made mud pies, usually after it rained. And here’s the trick: They’d mix up the water and mud in a small lid to just the right consistency, then trot over to their neighbours’ homes on horseback, a stick in one hand and their fresh “mud-pies-in-a-lid” in the other.
Everyone would “ooh” and “aah” appreciatively, and even pretend to eat them. And you could well expect a delivery of same from your pals the next time it rained.
FROM MUD PIES TO DIRT PIE
To me, it was a mid-’70s, early ’80s thing, mud pie: A rich chocolatey, fudgy, ice-creamish sort of pie, originally from the states. Many say Mississippi, although one good blog run by the winkingly-named “Food Dictator” mentions a former food editor at The New York Times who was raised on the Mississippi Delta and said he’d never heard of such a thing despite growing up there. More, he thought as I do—it’s pretty much a recent invention.
Here in Canada, if you’re lucky enough to enjoy a slice at someone’s home, it’s usually not quite as complicated and layered as the mud pie recipe at the site above. Still, it invariably honours the tradition of a crust of crushed Oreo cookie bits (sans icing), and more crumbled Oreo cookie bits on top. That’s the so-called mud.
The Keg—born and bred in Canada, namely in North Van by one George Tidball in 1971—has been serving a sort-of-mud pie for ages. Called Billy Miner Pie dessert, it has a mocha ice cream base with caramel sauce, almonds and those hallmark Oreo-like crumbs. I can’t confirm it (lordy, where’s a copy of Nathalie Cooke’s, Tastes and Traditions: A Journey Through Menu History when you need it), but a lot of steakhouses of that ilk and/or era had mud pie on their menus. I guess to balance all that fine booze and heavy meat you needed an equally rich, heavy dessert.
Kids, however, have a much lighter and often smarter take on life, as did Barbara McQuade, the Vancouver Sun’s food editor for ages who compiled Sun readers’ favourite recipes into several great recipe books over the years. I’ve still got a very yellowed 1992 clipping of one of her articles from, you guessed it, summer. It’s for dirt pie—with worms. Gummy worms, that is. A kids’ version of mud pie.
This summertime treat is as easy and playful to make as mud pies themselves. Kids of all ages love to help—then gobble it down. And I say put some gummy worms on top of the real posh mud pie, or any dessert you make. Sure to lighten it up.
A couple of cautions: You’ll need to firm up your dirt pie in the freezer a few hours before serving. If you make it the day before, it’s tough slicing brick-hard ice cream, so pop it in the fridge a couple of hours beforehand. Hold the gummy worms, too, until serving time. Otherwise, as Barbara noted, you’ll end up with rigid worm corpses.
Dirt pie recipe
1 9-inch graham cracker crust
6 c. chocolate ice cream
About 20 chocolate Oreo-type cookies
1 c. miniature marshmallows
Gummy worms for decoration
Let the ice cream soften slightly in the fridge until it’s a creamy consistency. Meanwhile, coarsely grind the cookies in a food processor, or chop them with a large knife. Measure the ice cream into a bowl and work it with a wooden spoon until it’s soft enough to fold in the mini marshmallows and 1 3/4 c. of the cookie crumbs. Keep the rest for topping. Spoon the ice cream mixture into the pie shell and top with the remaining cookie crumbs. Cover with plastic wrap and freeze until firm. To serve, remove from the freezer and decorate it with the worms. Let stand in the fridge about 15 minutes before serving.
Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning journalist who still loves the real dirt
