HEIDI’S PIES ::
MY DECEPTIVELY INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP WITH A PIE SHOP
WRITTEN BY JOEY COSTANZO
PHOTOS BY SHAWN FENDER
The ancient pie oven does not appear to have a functioning thermometer, so Victor just sticks his hand in the oven to see if it feels hot enough.
One of many fascinating, too-charming-to-be-true anecdotes about this age old establishment. Ol-timey, familiar restaurants like this seem to invoke so much emotion and nostalgia. Actually, that’s not true at all. They should invoke emotion, tug on our heart strings, make us want to stand up and support them, but I’m afraid they don’t. I love this pie place. I am almost sure I love it. I want to think that I love it, but there’s a strong chance that I don't care enough about it. If, like so many other wonderful, classically old places, it was forced to close for good, I would tell people I’m heartbroken, that I miss it more than they do, but I’m concerned that I would rapidly accelerate through predictable grieving stages and sadly forget about it before lunch time. What is it about this pie place? The pies here are amazing. It’s been open since 1970 and Victor, the perfectly aged, master pie baker has been here crafting pies since 1972. Victor oversaw the production of nearly 20,000 pies just during this past November. Depending on what version of my resume you look at, one of my degrees from some state schools, that I may or may not have attended, will verify my math skills when I conclude that at approximately $25/pie, Victor’s pastry aptitude is worth millions. I overheard the waitress, who’s also been employed here since the early 70’s, tell one of her customers that our photographer describes this place as timeless. Which can be a compliment or kind of insulting. Knowing him, he meant it as a compliment. The massive, vintage pie oven might be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. It can bake 120 pies at a time. Victor expertly distributes and collects them through a narrow horizontal opening using what looks like a homemade, two pronged pitchfork. Large rotating planks do not stop spinning as Victor makes his calculations of timely removal. It’s unclear if they prefer this dinosaur oven, or if it’s just too big and cumbersome to replace. Again, the temperature gauges don’t appear to work; there’s even a torn note, taped over a switch on the oven that reads, “Don’t turn off,” that clearly has been punctured in order to turn off at one point or another. The regulars are like any other from a perfectly ancient diner. They appear as timeless as the restaurant. They seamlessly blend in with the vinyl upholstery and stain proof floral carpet. They often arrive too early for their country fried steak and eggs and way too early for their Yankee-Doodle Pot Roast, popular dishes from the “Seniors” menu. One can easily imagine this exact scenario playing out half a century ago in Omaha or El Paso; lots of polyester and silk neatly tucked into affordable denim. I’m teasing, but I have had both dishes and have no complaints. The food serves its purpose and you get what you expect, but the pies are the real star.
Maybe I would have more of an emotional connection to Heidi’s if I actually ate pie. It’s not that I don't like it. I like the idea of it. I actually love the idea of pie. A coffee and slice of pie sounds great and confidently mature. If you know anything about me, you would know I’m in a rush to be 60. Sitting down at a freshly wiped counter and sipping black coffee from an old ceramic mug sounds like paradise. So what is it? What keeps me from going all in on a place like this? Heidi’s epitomizes my relationship with my hometown. I recently relocated back to San Mateo, California after being diagnosed with cancer and my wife got pregnant. Not exactly an exciting homecoming, but it was for the best. I had always been reluctant to move back here, I deliberately avoided it for years. I even moved to Raleigh, North Carolina for six years to avoid coming back and nothing against Raleigh, but yuck. I didn’t want to move home and see all the same old people and fall into the same old routine. But I had I forgotten one thing, the Bay Area is now expensive as fuck. All of the morons I thought I’d be trying to avoid, took their broke-asses to Marysville or Sparks. My hometown is now virtually unrecognizable, and now that I’m back, I kinda miss the old San Mateo. I thought I would hate coming home and running into a bunch of people I knew. But I think I hate not knowing anybody, even more. So coming back to Heidi’s to write this piece felt good. It gave me a sense of home. I have great memories of this place. I used to come here late at night after basketball games with my grandparents and even later at night after a high school party was prematurely dissolved. My dad even proposed to my mother in the damn parking lot. Our photographer was basically raised here, almost literally raised here. His mother was a waitress here and would put him in a car seat on the counter while he slept. I know, right? They shouldn’t have been so proud to share that story with me. Legendary Giants announcer, former second baseman and Heidi's regular, Duane Kuiper would give the waitress's kids baby giants uniforms back in the eighties. This place is as charming as San Mateo gets, so why haven’t I been here in 8 years? Even though I didn’t live here permanently, I was around the area quite often. I had plenty of chances to swing by. The only recent memory I have of this place is buying a pie when I was invited to someone's house for dinner. I do this so I can look like a genuine local, someone who effortlessly and altruistically supports our local legends. I’m fully aware that everyone else will bring wine or offensively over-frosted cupcakes from the new cupcakery downtown, and they’ll all notice when someone happily says, “oh cool, Joey brought a pie from Heidi’s!” And I’ll act like I do this all the time and give them a not so subtle look that says, “of course I did, I’m a local’s local. I can’t believe you brought those fucking cupcakes. I hope you rethink how good of a person you think you are”
It’s up to us to keep these places going. The wave of young technical robotic transients are too busy with the latest fluffy cheesecake-cronut patisserie to support an old but not “old enough to be cool” place like Heidi’s. That is how I portray myself when I come over to your house with a famous banana cream pie, like I'm different. But the truth is I’m not. I'm just as shitty. I can’t wait to stand in a long ass line to try the new ramen place or see what this three dollar a cookie shop is all about. I’m a big fraud, it just took a pie shop to expose it. I hate what happened to this town. In my short adult life, the impossibly charming and legendary Bay Meadows race track closed after 74 years running. Our beloved Talbot’s Toyland closed after 66 years of operation. I am hoping places like Heidi’s doesn’t meet the same fate. Truth is, the techies did me a favor, I get to blame them for ruining things that I think I treasure, while realistically, my efforts to keep things the same, fall well short of how I like to portray.
Legendary pie craftsmen, Victor. Possibly reflecting on 50 years of making pies at Heidi’s in San Mateo, California.