The regional table / Pennsylvania
Wet-Bottom Shoofly Pie
They are not really pies, they resemble cakes, but having a crust we will class them with pies — which is the most honest sentence ever written about this dish.
The document for this pie is a strange and lovely book: Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled during Her Visit among the "Pennsylvania Germans", by Edith M. Thomas, printed in 1915, a novel with a cookbook inside it set in a Bucks County township. On page 377 the heading reads "PEBBLE DASH" OR SHOO-FLY PIE, and the recipe is attributed to the aunt the book is built around. Aunt Sarah made these to perfection and called them "Pebble Dash" pie. They are not really pies, they resemble cakes, but having a crust we will class them with pies. She lined three small sized pie-tins with rich pie crust. For the crumbs she placed in a bowl 3 cups of flour, 1 cup brown sugar and 3/4 cup of butter and lard, mixed and rubbed all together with the hands, not smooth, but in small rivels. For the liquid part she used 1 cup baking molasses, 1 cup hot water, 1 teaspoonful baking soda dissolved in a few drops of vinegar and stirred this into the molasses and water. She divided the liquid among the three pans, putting one-third in each crust, over which she sprinkled the crumbs. Bake one-half hour in a moderate oven. These have the appearance of molasses cakes when baked. That is a wet-bottom shoofly pie, described in full, eleven years before the public-domain line and three decades before the rest of the country had heard of the thing. Note what is in it and what is not: molasses, water, soda, flour, brown sugar, fat. No egg, no corn syrup, no spice. The recipe below is that one, scaled to a single nine-inch tin.
The name is a separate problem from the pie, and the newspaper archives take it apart. Shoofly was a national craze word long before it was a dessert: the Georgia papers of the early 1870s are full of shoofly cravats, a shoofly train on the Savannah line, Shoofly cotton gins advertised out of Bel-Air, shoofly wheelbarrows sold as children's toys at Christmas, and people dancing shoofly, all of it in the wake of the minstrel song everyone was singing. None of it has anything to do with molasses. The pie name arrives much later and arrives badly. The earliest true printing in the Georgia archive is a syndicated cookery column of 14 January 1938 in the Twiggs County New Era, and it reads in its entirety: Shoo-Fly Pie. Line a pie tin with pastry rolled a little thicker than usual. Sprinkle plentifully with brown sugar, dot with butter and bake in a hot oven (450 degrees Fahrenheit) 15 minutes. There is no molasses in it at all. The name had travelled and the recipe had not. Then comes 1946 and the whole country learns it from a record: in Nebraska's entire newspaper archive the phrase occurs exactly once, on 15 March 1946 in the Daily Nebraskan, reviewing Stan Kenton's Shoo Fly Pie, and in Georgia that spring every music-shop advertisement in the state carries Shoo-Fly Pie and Apple Pan Dowdy beside Sioux City Sue. On 30 May 1946 the Early County News printed a Mrs. Guy Collins of the Colomokee Club saying that the pie everyone is singing about is really something to eat, and gave the recipe she had taken out of the Atlanta Constitution. By September a filler item in the Athens Banner-Herald was explaining to readers that shoofly pie is a molasses crumb cake popular among the Pennsylvania Amish, and by 1 November 1956 the Soperton News could call it a regional dessert specialty from the Pennsylvania Dutch, really a pie-pudding with its sugar-crumb top layer. One dated claim should be treated with suspicion: the Cairo Messenger of 30 September 1949 printed that George Washington learned about sauerkraut, shoo-fly pie and scrapple at Valley Forge. Scrapple is defensible; the pie name is not attested anywhere within a century of that winter, and the sentence is folklore that a newspaper repeated. A last absence worth printing: The Pennsylvania German Cook Book of 1902, five hundred and sixty recipes, contains no shoofly pie and in fact no molasses pie of any kind — a molasses cake and nothing else.
Why this version works
Boiling water, not warm. The molasses has to be thinned enough to pour and to stay poured. Water at a full boil drops the viscosity far enough that the mixture levels itself in the shell and stays a liquid layer under the crumbs instead of climbing into them. Warm water leaves it thick, the crumbs sink through it, and you get one homogeneous cake with no wet bottom at all.
Crumbs rubbed to rivels, not to sand. Her word is rivels and her instruction is not smooth, but in small rivels. Irregular lumps of flour, sugar and fat are what make the top layer read as crumb rather than as streusel paste. Rub with the fingertips only until the largest pieces are the size of a pea and stop; overworked crumbs melt into a lid and seal the steam in.
The soda goes into the liquid, not the crumbs. Molasses is acidic; soda dissolved into it fizzes on contact and again in the oven, lifting the middle third of the filling into a light cake while the densest part stays at the base. The 1915 recipe slakes the soda in a few drops of vinegar first, which is not superstition — it guarantees it has dissolved before it meets the batter, so you get no bitter soda pockets and no yellow-green streaks.
The bottom is wet because the crust is cold and the filling is deep. A shell that goes into the oven cold, filled with a deep layer of sweet liquid, sets its base slowly. The sugar and molasses immediately above it never reach a cake temperature and stay sticky. That is the whole difference between wet-bottom and dry-bottom, and it is a matter of proportion and of oven, not of a different recipe.