For this week’s column, I take a tour of the Edwards pie factory in Edgewood and explore the mystery of the pie smell that wafts through Candler Park.
If you have ever driven down DeKalb Avenue, skirting along the MARTA tracks, your mind a jumble of home and work, your eyes focused on the vagaries and changing direction of the middle lane, you have smelled The Smell. O, that most excellent smell! That consciousness-piercing smell of buttery goodness filling the ether, of a thousand grandmas leaning over a thousand window ledges and holding out fresh-from-the-oven pie.
Pie. Pie. Pie. Pie.
That aroma of freshly baked pie reaches out like a steam tendril. No, like a crooked index finger, beckoning you. And even as your eyes focus on the late-model Volvo one car length in front, you have an out-of-body experience, rising like a blissed-out cartoon character, floating through the air, to that pie on the ledge.