The hunt for really excellent Key Lime pie took us out of Islamorada and down the road towards the Keys to a little place my husband heard about by the side of the road. Can I share the name? Would if I could. The pie is eaten, the scrap of paper long trashed, our memories are mostly a collage of blue upon blue, a hot sun, some perfect aqua blues of small homes near a trailer park, and a cat that said hello briefly and then left to go about its Florida cat business.
The pie was good.