Nestled on the rocky coast of the Northeastern United States, Bar Harbor attracts nearly 4 million tourists per year – that’s a lot of blueberries.
Bar Harbor, Maine, is a product of “The Gilded Era.”
A period of time post-Civil War and pre-WWI, renowned American humorist Mark Twain dubbed this period this name due to the booming economic climate paired with the common underlying societal issues that plagued the young nation growing into its more mature years.
Like all good jokes, the term is just as funny as it is true. To “gild” means to paint a relatively common material (like stone, wood, metal, porcelain) with a thin layer of gold to make it pleasing to the eye. And pleasing to the eye America was. Over the 40-year timeframe, it attracted millions of hopeful immigrants and presented seemingly endless opportunities for wealth. And names like Morgan, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Astor, and Ford accumulated fortunes beyond our collective wildest imaginations.
And what is all that wealth without a summer home?
Bar Harbor was originally named Pemetic (meaning “range of mountains”) by the native Wabanaki. This pocket of land was unusually abundant for its rocky roots; boasting troves of lumber, loads of fish, and bountiful bushels of blueberries. When settled by English statesmen around 1800, the town became a small community of dairy farmers and rugged shipbuilders.
But by the 1880s, Bar Harbor became the destination to build grand estates for a mid-year getaway. Along with rival Newport, Rhode Island, dozens of mammoth summer homes were constructed for the wealthy. Hotels, yacht clubs, and a bustling downtown followed shortly after. Suddenly, the coastline brimming with common material was, very much, gilded.
And this brings us to pie – blueberry pie, to be specific
Maine takes credit for 99% of America’s production of blueberries. The wild variety covers 44,000 acres of land. They’re so incredibly common that if you were to frolic around the open fields of the northeastern coast, you’d probably come home with the soles of your shoes dyed indigo.
Naturally sweet and easy to eat by the handful, blueberries are to Maine as salt is to the ocean. They’re everywhere (and delicious). But this common delicacy begs the question that has plagued humanity since the beginning of time: when something’s so abundant, what do you do with it all?
The Gilded Age answer? Give it a golden crust.
I walked into A Slice of Eden, a small, from-scratch bakery serving up all the local favorites daily. The clock just struck 1 pm when a customer walked in and asked for a slice of blueberry pie.
“Sorry, fresh out.”
A few minutes later, another customer came in with the same request and was greeted with the same reply. A few minutes later, another one. Beffudled, I asked one of the owners, Charity, what the deal was with the blueberry pie.
“It’s by far our most popular treat. Every day it sells out by noon” she told me.
Blueberry pie…for breakfast?
I never heard of blueberry pie for breakfast, but for the sake of knowledge, I had to arrive earlier the next day with the intent to indulge in a sunrise slice. I walked in the next morning, headed up to the counter, and to my amazement, there were only two slices left.
Gracious there was a duo for sale (but equally amazed that there was only a duo for sale), I purchased the sliver of heaven and patiently waited as they warmed it up. It came out in a to-go clamshell container as if by some chance it would survive past the door. Suddenly, my eyes grew larger than my stomach. I took a bite, and before I knew it, the single slice of Eden disappeared.
It was so delicious that I began looking at the other piece of pie. I almost went for it, but I think I would’ve felt…ahem…