“Anyone want pudgy pies?” my mother asked.

I had never heard of a pudgy pie and it sounded gross. But my grandma practically shook the ground as she yelled, agreeing to having one. “I’ll have one too,” I exclaimed.

My mom waddled down the creaky metal steps out of the trailer, trying to balance a loaf of bread, a can of cherry pie filling, sugar and butter. She put the ingredients on the wire table next to me and went back inside. When she came back, she held what looked like a cast iron stove made into a small cube.

She started by taking a butter knife. She cut into the butter, melting from being so close to the fire, and spread it on both sides of the pudgy pie maker. Then she placed a slice of bread on each side. She took a spoon and scooped out the cherry pie filling and spread it along on side of the bread. She sprinkled a spoonful of sugar over the top of the cherry filling then she closed the pudgy pie maker and submerged it into the flames.

I was hunched over, ready to see and taste the mystery food.

She lifted the one side of the pudgy pie maker. The bread had turned golden brown from the butter. I took my fork and cut into the corner. The cherry pie filling spilled out. The flavor was like nothing I’d had before. The bread was crunchy. The cherry pie filling so warm and sweet.

Now, every year, I can't wait to go up north so I stuff myself with the warm pudgy pies made with the small square cast iron stove.