I would have ruled the world.

"If you would have grown up in the 80's, you would have been a lost child... the power of everything you love would have overwhelmed you."

Kaitlin Patton on Julia Patton

Discuss.

350

I NEED to bake something sugary today.

I feel the pull of the oven and the whisk.

Every time I walk by the kitchen, I can hear the Kitchenaid whispering my name.

Chocolate something.

Or maybe some sort of fruit situation.

Or like a baked whatever.

I'll think about it.

Who wants to come over and help me eat it all?

Total Bum Morning

Oh, California. How I love you. The perma-sun, the floral and salt water smells, the completely acceptable uniform of yoga pants and flip flops all. day. long.  I just never knew the wonders of this state until I said goodbye.

But here I am. Back again. Saying hello for a bit and I could not be happier.

Since I've been back, my days have been very happily go go go, but this morning I am taking some time to just sit with the windows open and my feet on the coffee table enjoying the air of the last few weeks of summer and the speed of lazy mornings like this that fill my soul to overflowing proportions.

If this summer has convinced me of anything, it is that I am so very blessed-- a cliche that is thrown around so easily in such an insanely blessed life such as mine, but something I didn't truly understand nor take the time to understand until now.

I can get in this nasty habit of looking forward or looking backward and wasting time and wasting life. And without even knowing it was happening (or perhaps being oblivious to the signs that guided me here) I find myself in a outrageously sweet time of life where I appreciative all of these crazy transitions and stages.

Fact: I love California.

Fact: I love Georgia.

Fact: I even loved this crazy stretch of a summer in New York City.

YOU GUYS! THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED BEFORE!

I am happy with it all! There is no comparison with these places because I am happy for my amazing friends and family that have known me for years and that I am getting to spend such precious time with now. I am happy for my crazy awesome roommates/family in Savannah that I can't wait to reunite with in a few weeks. And I am even happy with the challenges and the aches of both places that I currently call home.

And I'm scared. Holy Toledo, am I scared of what the future holds for me and this creatively driven, but directionally challenged life but I am just so satisfied with what God has going on today. Today. Just today. That's all I have control of anyway. What a lesson to learn. What a hard lesson to remember.

Now, I'm going to ride my bike down the street and eat a burrito bigger than the size of my face. I mean, that right there is reason enough to love California.

Let me explain.

Wait. I'm at work on Friday complaining about how I can't be at my dad's party. Then I'm talking about my dad's party. And there are crazy long wrap up posts being posted about the joys of conflicting emotions. And there is Dallas airport. And ice cream. And there is New York City. And Super Shuttle pick-ups at 4:00 in the morning. WHAT IS HAPPENING!?!

Hold up, Chief. Hold up.

Let me give you the run down.

I was in New York.

This summer.

FYI.

It was pretty cool.


Hi. This is my blog. My name's Julia. Welcome.

And some people (mainly my Dad) thought that I wasn't returning to this fair state until the 25th. JOKE'S ON HIM! I'M HERE! AND THERE'S NO GETTING RID OF ME FOR TWO MORE WEEKS! MWAHAHA.

So, when I was having blogger's block last week and was silent for a few days, I was actually just forcing myself not to blog because I could not think of anything to write about besides how freaking excited I was to come home.

And when I was supposed to be at work last Thursday and Friday, I was actually packing up my room, going on long, wandering walks and soaking up the last moments of this crazy adventure of a summer in the city.

And when I left a message on my house phone that I had just gotten back from a walk in Central Park and was about to go to lunch with a friend, I was really sitting at my cousin's house in Costa Mesa trying on my hot dog costume.

So sensibly, the most logical way of revealing that I was actually home and not in across the country for another week was to dress up as a hot dog and surprise him at his own birthday party. The birthday party that I pretended to be sad about missing all those time. Makes sense, right? Yeah. Totally.

So, yes. I am in California for a few more weeks until I get my booty back on over to Savannah for another banner year in the East Coast. But, if you're here in the Sunshine State too right now, I would absolutely love to see as many of you lovelies as possible! I hate to say it, but I am actually already very busy so text/call me asap because I WANTSTASEEYA!


PS- he'll deny it, but he totally cried when he saw me.

What I know. Now.

(Wrote this on Friday, but couldn't post it until today)

You may remember this post from the very beginning of the summer. It was literally my very first day in New York, and I was panicking.

Besides "somewhere below Canada and above Georgia," I had no idea where I was-- and, let's be real-- if someone had walked up to me and told me that I actually was on the island of Fiji, I would have taken their word for it. And on top of some major location confusion, I was seriously wondering what in the world I was thinking deciding to head hot off the heels of the most intense academic quarter of my life and start a job at one of the largest fashion companies in the world all while not knowing nearly anyone else in the city in an apartment with two random roommates and a weird cat.

It was 90+ degrees out and I sat on the floor in my room (now lovingly referred to by yours truly as "The Tenement") and tried to organize my thoughts and feelings by pulling out my go-to, panic button security blanket: I wrote a list. I thought if I wrote down everything that I was sure of, it would be long enough and tall enough to shield me from the list of things that I didn't know-- a list that was involuntarily building longer and longer with every second threatening to topple over like a game of giant New York City Jenga, burrying me and my big city dreams. The fears, the facts, the weather, the smells. Seeing it on paper was going to help me know. Know anything. Or at least pretend I knew anything.

I wrote down that list. And re-read that list probably over two dozen times in the next few weeks. And then, when I knew more, I wrote a new list. And then, other lists. Lists of food that made me close my eyes, raise my eyebrows and hum with the first bite. Lists of people here that I made my friends (even if we never talked). Lists of people that even being 3,000 miles away, I could still feel their support. Lists of parks with shade. Lists of feelings. Lists of thoughts. Lists that had two things on them and lists that were pages and pages long. 3AM lists. Subway lists. Elevator lists. And even one, in a fleeting moment of vandalism, sharpie on the side of a building list.

Now. It's the end of my time here. And I know a little bit. I most definitely don't know everything, but I do know a little bit too. 

So, this is what I know now:

I was originally mistaken: I live the East Village.
{Rookie mistake}
And living in the East Village is really cool if being cool is important to you.
Which, in case you haven't caught on yet, is not super duper important to me.
Because I say things like "Super Duper"
I prefer the West Village.
Which is really cool if being surrounded by beautiful, expensive things is important to you.
Which, I don't mind admitting that I have found, is quite important to me.
The last flight of stairs to my apartment got easier to climb.
{accidental metaphor}
99% sure that the woman in 2C is a hoarder.
99% sure that the co-eds in 3D were smoking weed every moment of this entire summer.
100% sure that I am definitely allergic to caffeinated coffee.
Trust me.
It just... doesn't sit well.
When the weather forecast says 30% chance of rain, it really means 100% chance of rain.
Umbrellas are for losers.
But, if you're going to buy an umbrella like this loser, don't wait it actually starts raining and everyone jacks up the prices by $10.
Showing up to work so soaking wet that drops of water are streaming off your elbows gets you nothing other than someone glancing at you and then the window and saying "Oh, is it raining outside?"
Walking 27 minutes to work in the morning is the best way to start the day.
And the best way to end it.
I will truly miss this.
A lot.
It may have been the highlight of my summer.
And I'll miss all of my friends from that I met on the walk.
The construction workers at NYU.
The woman serving shaved ice.
The parking garage attendant on Lafayette and Astor.
The Banana Republic model on the billboard at Houston.
The lotion lady on Spring.
I am the most verbal processor of all the verbal processors in the whole entire worldsies and when there is no one to verbally process with for months and then your sister and your mom show up, this verbal processor goes a little verbal processor cray cray.
Hot, hipster carnivores, hang out at the the Meatball Shop.
Hot, hipster herbivories, hang out at Hampton Chutney.
I love New York City.
I want to live here after I graduate.
I hate New York City.
I never want to live there again.
Smiling while hailing a cab does nothing positive when it come to the relationship between you and your cabbie.
When you've misjudged traffic and maybe, perhaps are a bit behind the "Walk/Stop" crosswalk lights, keep your head down and keep walking.
Waving and mouthing "Sorry" at all the cars waiting on you just makes them a bit testier.
I can never get enough Chipotle. Ever.
I can't take personally the fact that 8/10 people quit their jobs while I was an intern.
This was not my fault.
Except maybe it was because one time, I got someone coffee and I accidentally ordered it with soy milk instead of skim milk.
I blamed it on the Barista.
It was totally me.
Sometimes, I feel loneliest when I'm with the most people.
And the feeling of empowerment comes when I am alone and the one making the decisions and walking down the streets and deciding where I was going.
I'm going to miss walking.
I don't think I'm cut out for Twitter.
I didn't get a tattoo.
Probably for the best.
Maybe not.
I already sort of regret not getting one.
Become good friends with the Trader Joe's delivery guys.
Tell them how excited you are to see them/how hungry you are when they come to the door with your food.
Sometimes, they'll throw in an extra box of Veggie Nests.
Eating pie for 7 consecutive days may have been the highlight of my summer.
There's something about a body of water against the backdrop of tall, powerful, inspiring buildings that makes me feel melancholy every time I see it.
The day they had me put my iPod on shuffle at the office was the most high stress moment of the summer.
Manicures and pedicures are so not overrated.
My Facebook statuses creatively thrive when I am in solitude.
Maybe to an overwhelmingly annoying extent.
Taking a book to a park and reading is fun, but what's even better is pretending to read and just listening in on other people conversations instead.
The Brooklyn Flea Market is amazing.
Revlon "Just Bitten Kissable" Balm Stain is the greatest thing sold at CVS pharmacies. In every color.

Sometimes it's harmless to wink at someone on the subway to see what they'll do.Sometimes it's not.
I ate everything.
I found my New York.
I learned.
I talked to myself out loud like a crazy person.
I was inspired.
I cried this summer.
I was the only person in the world who had this experience.
And I have no idea if I'll ever be able to explain what this summer meant.
Even to myself.
And I won't be able to hold on to the way I feel right now forever.
I've already started to forget things.

But, I made it through the summer.

Not only did I make it, but I thrived this summer.
I enjoyed this summer.
This summer was painful.
But this summer felt like living.
The cat's name is actually Tasha.
We never got along.
The Super Shuttle is picking me up tomorrow at 4:30 AM.

The End 

Home

The Donald

I'd like to wish a big, fat, mustachioed, chili covered, Teva wearing Happy Birthday to this wonderful dad of mine today-- without whom my life and arguably every single amazing thing in it would not be possible. You are simply one of a kind and an amazing man that I am lucky to know.

It makes me oh, so sad that I will not be with you today, but especially tomorrow for the annual Hot Doggy Don Birthday Bash, but I will definitely get some street meat here in NY dedicated to my one and only Pops.

(PS- it makes me almost equally as sad that I had to go all the way back to CHRISTMAS to find a "recent" picture of you. Lots of pics when I get home whether you like it or not!)

Hair Cut

I am happy happy happy. Because today I get a haircut.

Yip yip yip. Snip snip snip. Clip clip clip.

That is my happy haircut song.

Anyway-- it is schedule for immediately after work today and so now, when getting dressed, I have the tough task of deciding what I want to be wearing so that I feel my absolute best post haircut. You want to wear something that is comfortable and familiar enough that you know you like yourself in it in case the hair cut is a total bust, but I also like to wear something with a little pizazz because it's just that much more fun to leave the salon and walk around with the feeling that you own the place, ya know?

And then the fact that New York City is a virtual sweat lodge mightily limits my usual choices.

Am I the only one that thinks this way? Tell me that you guys think extra hard about your haircut outfit too...

A Real Life New York City Moment:

For the love of the game.

A Real Life New York City moment:

PS. Pie Week(s) is officially over. It ended with the worst pie I've ever had. I don't even want to talk about it.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I just, like, have nothing to blog about.

Pie Week: Four and Twenty Blackbirds

The following is an exact transcription from note's taken live, on site, during pie consumption:

Four and Twenty Blackbirds:

Gowanus, Brooklyn

Heading back to Brooklyn. 

Bringing Jessie with me in case of Emergency.

Drank a lot of water all day in preparation.

After a quick subway ride from Soho, we walk up to an unassuming, street corner, joint. 

Friendly atmosphere.
Maybe a little hipster elitist, but the furniture seems friendly.

Cool antique forks.

Large, sturdy wood tables.

A general feel that matches and compliments the neighborhood in which it lives. 

Really inventive flavors.

I feel like they invented Pie.

I feel like they looked at an apple pie, threw away any recipe or notion of it that they might have had and started to reclaim each component from scratch to construct their perfect pie. 

Black bottom oat

Pecan filling without pecans

Oats on top

Chocolate bottom over the crust

dec.  a.  dent.

Jessie says: Weird after taste.

No way. 

This sucker is built for speed. 

So sweet and delicious.

The pecan-less pecan filling is genius.

And basically pie batter. 

And this, we have found, is truly the way to my heart. 

Salted caramel apple.

AMAAAAZZZINNNNNGGG.
I am so loving this "put some salt on it" trend that is happening in the dessert world. 
And just like wearing leggings under dresses, I don't want it to ever end.

Salt and caramel adds to a pie that is already perfectly crafted.

Not too salty.

Jessie disagrees. 

Too salty, she says.
She must not like leggings.

Thick crust.

Flakey.

Fresh apples. 

Could use a bit more caramel in my opinion. 

I see it, but I don't taste it.
It's taunting me. 
Still, I really like this pie. 

The homemade whipped cream.

A little chilled and super thick. 

To die for.

May even give Magnolia a run for it's money!

Overall Pie Week Grade: A

They do pie. And they do it well. 
I am already thinking of ways to fit in another visit before I leave. 

Just wait.

Note to all NYC Men: You lose 5 attractive points every time you push the "DOOR CLOSE" button on the elevator.

Patience.

The door will close.

The world will not end.

All About Solange

Earlier this summer, I was at dinner with my friend, Jessie, and we were talking about which celebrity's closet we woud steal (such a girl conversation) if that were at all possible. Jessie said she'd go with Jessica Alba and I said, hands down, Solange Knowles.

I am completely obsessed with her colorful Brooklyn inspired style and her boldness when it comes to the ever-changing look of her hair. This moring, I found out that she is the new face of, one of my all time faves, Madewell!

I'm already loving this short video, but I can't wait to see the ads they cook up in the coming months.

(via the Cut)

Michael Carson

Can't stop staring at these Michael Carson paintings.

“I like the fact that the face can be such a subtle subject and one brush stroke can be the difference in the feel of the entire piece.  That gives me the ability to work in one subject matter and still find that I learn something new in every painting.  I love to incorporate my love of design, fashion and architecture into my work.  My nondescript surroundings help me to create a mood or a story that I am trying to relay through my painting.  Seeing how the work evolves, the subtle and drastic differences, and looking forward to the future is what keeps me painting.  I view a painting as a success when I take from it something new that follows me into my next work.  It’s just learning to become a better painter.”

Re-obsessed.

Do you ever discover something, love it, sort of, kind of, completely forget about it, and then re-discover it only to find that you love it even more than you ever thought possible at the beginning?

This happens to me a lot. Sometimes with restaurants. Mostly with certain family members, but at this time, it's with Pinterest.

I'm always the last one at the party for cool things that everybody else was obsessed with months ago (like my sudden obsession with Mumford and Sons in late June of this year), but I do have to say that I was one of the first pioneers of Pinterest. Mhhmm. I basically invented Pinterest. Or at least with my friends, anyway.

I oohed and ahhed at the cool antiqu-ey photos, saved all the links for the World's Best Brownie Recipes and had a major ah-ha moment with the wonders of the 75 different crafts to be made out of twisty ties, but then, like so many, I got sick of the thin-spo pics and cheesy quotes. And the sight of any hot pink themed wedding where the bridal party wore hot pink cowboy boots and the groomsmen wore hot pink Stetsons made me feel physically nauseous. So I let my love for Pinterest fade. And then die.

But, I realize now that back then, I was so young and naive and I didn't quite grasp the genius of it all! I loved it, but didn't get what I was supposed to do with it. Like following people. Or re-pinning. Or cutting out all the gross stuff and just looking at pics that me and my super classy friends liked. And then, this summer of long days of work with copious amounts of web surfing time hit and I thought I'd give old Pinty another try. And by golly, like a fine wine, it has gotten better with age.

It's so fun! And pretty! And handy! And I'm pinning like a mad woman! (but not too much. I am a very selective pinner).

I mean, I know pinterest is soooo 2011, but I like it today. And that's good enough for me and the Mumfords.  

PS- You can follow me here.

PPS- I'm fine. Thank you for all the concerned texts.

(Image via Modern Hepburn)

Not a great weekend for pie.

Friday: See this disaster.

Saturday: a pre-planned blackout day for Pie Week. Nothing to be alarmed about.

Sunday: I go to the Brooklyn Flea to get pie amongst the treasures of antique booths and the citizens of New York City. Instead, I faint due to dehydration.

No pie. No treasures.

Just me, some homeless people and free water at the cooling triage.

Pie Week: Baked

The following is an exact transcription from note's taken live, on site, during pie consumption:

Baked:

Red Hook, Brooklyn

That awkward moment when you're the only person in the whole entirety of Marc Jacobs International that isn't 21 on Margarita Fridays.

Plus side: This means I get off of work at 4:00.

I suppose this is God's way of telling me he's a fan of pie week.

Off to Brooklyn I go.

8 train stops. 

Finally in Red Hook.

Toto, we're not in manhattan anymore.

This is definitely Brooklyn Brooklyn.

Not hipster Brooklyn.

Jay-Z Brooklyn.

I do like this mural, though. 

The things I do for this blog.

Was not expecting such a far walk from the train station. 

Let it be known that this is a sketchy part of town. 

If I go missing and someone finds this phone, know that I was in pursuit of pie. 

It's a million degrees out. 

This better be a la mode.

No, seriously, I think I'm being followed.

I'm here. 

This looks promising.

Super cool vibe. 

So cool, that I'm allowed to use the word "vibe."

Me likey.

THEY HAVE NO PIE.

THEY ARE OUT OF PIE. 

THEY HAVE NO PIE. 

THERE IS NO PIE HERE. 

NO PIE. 

BUT. 

BUT.

BUT. 

THERE'S NO PIE. 

IS THIS A JOKE.

I feel faint.

The woman behind the counter asks me if I'd like anything else instead.

Anything else instead!? 

No!

I'm here for PIE!!!! 

The pie that you guys are famous for!

I feel like a cat out of a bag. 

I'm mixing up two phrases.

I feel like a wild cat.  

I feel like a Cat out of Hell. 

I stand there speechless for about 20 seconds before I verbally and mentally crash by saying "ummmmmm...." and holding the mmmm sound for a solid 15 extra unnecessary seconds before telling her Im going to need a second.

Ok, Julia. 

Regroup.

I suppose I will partake in a grasshopper bar. 

And I need an iced coffee.

They don't have decaf.

Coffee is a no-go.

$10 minimum on credit cards.

I have no cash.

This isn't my day.

3 more blocks to an ATM. 

Did I mention that it feels like its 98 degrees out today with 85% humidity?

OK. 

Back at the bakery.

I pay.

I sit. 

I eat.

This grasshopper bar isn't even that good.

I've never been so ambivalent about a dessert in my whole life.

God? 

Are you listening? 

I know you read what I blogged about earlier-- when I said I was sick of pie... 

But I take it all back! 

I didn't know what I was saying. 

I'm sorry. 

I'll never smite Pie Week again. 

Just give me a chance to prove myself. 

Please!

This ice water is delicious though.


Today, I learned a hard lesson.
Something about not realizing what you have until its gone or whatever. 

Overall Baked Pie Week Grade:

DISQUALIFIED.

PIE WEEK FAIL.

Now

At certain moments, I miss certain people an extra whole lot.

Now is one of those moments and I am extra missing certain people.

Could this post be more aloof? Maybe.

Yikeso.

Barf.

Are you guys, like, totes bored with Pie Week? Because, I gotta be honest... I'm getting there. Little known fact about Julia: I have the attention span of a fly (see: haircuts). And the fact that I have followed through with four real visits to four real pie shops is pretty impressive for me. Not gonna lie. But technically I have three on the list to go! I mean, I have to keep going. I will always wonder about those pies if I were to bail last minute, but I can't help from daydreaming about a big fat ice cream sundae right now. Waaahhhh....

Pie Week: The Little Pie Company

The Little Pie Company: 

Midtown

Boyz II Men.

Michael Jackson.

Brian Mcknight.

Fluorescent lighting.

A framed picture of Jamie Foxx.

No signature.

Just a framed head shot.

Old men sitting outside.

I notice all of this within the first minute of walking in the door. 

This place is legit. 

THE PIE COMES WARM

Mississippi mud pie

Ummm. 

What? 

Am I eating heaven?

Because this is what heaven tastes like.

This whole pie basically consists of half baked brownie batter.

In other words: heaven.

And Usher just came on.

I've found the Mothership.

So decadent.

Only downfall is that it's so deliciously rich that it's hard to eat the whole thing.

This is a welcomed challenge.

A

Sour Cream Apple Walnut

I can't.

I can't.

This is it, you guys.

Why even continue?

This is the best apple pie.

In the world.

The crust is so flavorful.

Very brown sugary.

But still flaky and delicious.

Sidenote:

A man just came into the shop for the chocolate pudding cup. 

Apparently, it's his third of the day.

#locals

My attention is back on the pie.

Apples are very thinly sliced. 

Paper thin.

Hardly any sauciness going on. 

Some sort of sour cream and cinnamon concoction.

More boys to men is playing.

Little pieces of candied walnuts within the apples.

But not too many that I ever think to myself "Ugh, there are too many walnuts."

I am so very happy.

A+

As we walk out, I believe I can fly begins to play.

And I start to believe... maybe I can fly too...

Do you know where I live?

Something funny happened earlier today that on some other day may have upset me but, on this day, it simply made me laugh.

I am currently in the process of trying to figure out how in the world to get about one whole extra suitcase worth of Marc clothes that I didn't start summer with from NYC to Savannah in a few weeks when I go home. (I know, I know-- such a pesky problem to have.)

Anyway, when I was researching all the ways of getting things from point A to point B, I found myself on the UPS website entering in some shipping info like the weight of the boxes and the timeline recquired for the job to get done.

Then the website asked me to enter my address. And for about .8 seconds, I had to think about where I lived. Then, it hit me. Duh. I live at 1**7 Port Carlow! And I proceeded to fill in the rest of the registration with my address.

And when a message popped up that said that the shipping info didn't match the billing info, I felt like a doof. Right. No. I haven't lived their since probably... 5th grade. Nice one, Julia.

Let's try that again: 1**1 Port Carlow.

Again. NOPE. It's been a solid 6 years since we moved from that one.

So then, when that slight mind lapse ended, I started to type in my real address, 3** Pirate Road.

Except...wait... I haven't lived there in 3 years.

(What's scary is that this story is by not even 1% an exaggeration.)

Then, totally perplexed by my own life, I had to literally close my eyes, and sit for about 5 seconds to recall the address that I currently call home. The irony in this, of course, is that in the past year and a half that my parents have lived at that house, I have spent maybe about 4 months there in total. And by this time next year, they won't even be living there either!

By the way, the home that I was starting to develop in Savannah since last September also doesn't count anymore because I moved out of that sucker too. Ha!

So, even though I am technically living in 3 different homes in 3 different states in 3 different corners of the country, I still have to think for a second when I have to write down my own address.

What does this mean?

And how much therapy am I going to need in 15 years because of it?

Oh, geez.

Too much to think about right now.

Nothing a little pie can't fix.

Pie Week: Magnolia Bakery

The following is an exact transcription from note's taken live, on site, during pie consumption:

Magnolia Bakery: 

West Village

Hard to remain unbiased with magnolia bakery.

I've been here many times before.

And it's in my favorite neighborhood of all time (New York City, speaking).

It is also sort of one of those notoriously popular NYC destination spot kind of bakeries, so I'm expecting great things.

But I've never had their pie.

Just walking with Jessie (co-conspirator in all things pie panned) down 6th and across Bleecker to get to the bakery puts me in a good mood. 

West Village, why's you gottsta be so fine?

Magnolia is as charming as ever.

Note to self: must invent a cheesecake week so I can have an excuse to try their Chocolate Pudding Oreo Cheesecake. 

Looks amaaazeee.

We go with the Apple Crisp, Berry Crisp, and Chocolate Pudding Pie. 

Editors Note: In case you're keeping track of the many feet pics I've taken in the last three months, yes, I have worn those sandals every day this summer. 

There isn't really anywhere to sit in Magnolia, so we take Pie Week to the streets.

Specifically, the lovely park across the street will do.

Apple crisp

Not warm

Generous amount of crumble.

No, you know what? 

I wouldn't really use the word "crumble" to describe what this is.

Crumble just doesn't really do it justice.

It's more like large boulders than crumble.

I'm thinking more Coliseum size ruins than crumble.

Apples are crunchy- this is good.

Heavy nutmeg and cinnamon- good.

Tastes like thanksgiving.

I want it to be fall.

Yum.

Solid.

A

Chocolate pudding pie

Is this supposed to be freezing? 

Because it is.

First Bite:

Um. Yes. Speechless.

But no. I have plenty to say.

This is amazing.

Everything I want in a pie.

Crust is compact but has dimensions.

Pudding is rich.

But, it's definitely still pudding and not mousse.
I hate when pudding tries to be mousse.
It's not trying to be anything it's not.

I totally appreciate that.

Whipped cream tastes light and fresh.

The ice cream at Bubby's and the Whipped cream at Magnolia could totally date.

A+

Berry crisp
Not served hot.

Crisp is a bit bland.

Ok- this isn't mixed berry.

Just blueberries.

Ugh.

I hate it.

This tastes like gasoline.
I want to spit it out.
But I'm a lady.
So, I just let it sit on my tongue as I let my jaw hang open and I make a whiny noises. 

I hate it.

D+

And ONLY because Jessie talks me down from being unnecessarily cruel and giving them an anger induced F.
Her argument being that it is technically still edible, so it can't qualify for an F. 
True.  

This is a tough grade to give. 

We have two extremes here. 

The cream of the crop in pudding pies and the world's worst blueberry pie ever to exist. 

Ultimately, I love Magnolia, but I think pie may not be their selling point. 

Stick to their cupcakes. 

Or their seemingly delectable cheesecakes. 

Ultimately, my experience was best described as "Nice."

B+