The blueberry pie bombs that grandma used to make

Editoron

Progress:

  1. Prepare the filling:
    Combine blueberries, sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a saucepan.
    Cook over medium heat until mixture thickens.
    Let cool.

  2. Prepare the dough.
    Roll out the dough and cut out medium-sized circles.

  3. To shape the bombs:
    Place a spoonful of filling in the center of each circle.
    Close the dough to form a tightly closed ball.

  4. Glaze:
    Mix the egg with the milk and brush the bombs.

  5. Baking:
    Bake at 180 °C for 20 to 25 minutes
    until golden brown.

  6. Finishing:
    Let it cool, then sprinkle with powdered sugar.

For full cooking times, turn to the next page or click the Open button (>) and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.

For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.

« Previous

I adopted the girl everyone blamed for my daughter’s disappearance — 10 years later, she faced me and said, “Everything you know about that night is a LIE.” After my wife died, my daughter Emily and I were all that remained of our little family. She was the light of my life. Her best friend, Nora, was always there too. Nora had no parents. No real home. Those girls were inseparable. Emily would say, “Dad, Nora is basically my sister.” Then one October evening, they went for a walk. An ordinary walk near the house, like countless others. But only Nora came back. Her sneakers were muddy. Her lips were blue from the cold. She stood on my porch trembling so hard her teeth clicked. “Where’s Emily?” I asked. Nora just stared past me and whispered, “I have no idea.” The police searched the whole town and the entire state. But Emily was never found. She had vanished. Nora was the main witness. But everyone blamed her for Emily’s disappearance. Even my own brother said, “That girl knows more than she’s saying.” Maybe she did. But every time I looked at Nora, I didn’t see a monster. I saw a terrified child who had lost the one soul who had ever loved her. So I did the thing that made the whole town turn against me. I adopted her. People called me foolish. Weak. Sick with grief. But Nora never took Emily’s room. Never touched her things. Every year, on the anniversary, she placed one white daisy on Emily’s pillow and cried when she thought I couldn’t hear. Ten years passed. Last night, I was sitting in the dim kitchen with Emily’s old pink scarf in my hands when Nora stepped in after her late shift. She was pale. Her coat was soaked with rain. “Dad,” she said, and her voice broke. I stood up slowly. She swallowed hard and whispered, “EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT THE NIGHT OF EMILY’S DISAPPEARANCE IS A LIE.” My pulse slammed against my throat so hard I gripped the chair. “Nora… what did you mean?” Tears spilled down her face. “Please,” she said. “Stay calm. I can’t hide this ANYMORE.” Then she walked to the front door and opened it. The second I recognized the person standing on my porch— I fell to my knees. PART2 YOU WANT??