The soup was velvety and delicious. The salad was surprisingly good. I thought that with all the uncooked vegetables it would be too, well, vegetal. But slicing the brussel sprouts and kale very thinly helped. I was feeling so smug about how healthy dinner was. But pie. Damn you pie!
Hubby had always proclaimed himself to be a cake man. He found pies too cloying or pedestrian. I baked him a cheesecake when we were 15 and in love, and he still remembers it fondly. However, we broke up when we were 16 and then spent the next 19 years living apart. When we rediscovered one another, (thanks Facebook!) we found out that we were both living in California--him in SF and me in LA. Our first year back together we spent dating long distance. And the times I would go up to see him, I inwardly wept at his bachelor existence. His bed felt like a prison mattress, his couch (free of course) was torn and lumpy. And his refrigerator was a cliche--beer, condiments, a few moldy bits of unrecognizable leftovers and supermarket lunch meat. And so I cooked.
I roasted pork butts, I made mac n cheese, I baked fresh loaves of bread, and since we were still courting, I made him pie. What my future husband did not know was that I spent my college years perfecting my pie crust, learning exactly how to handle the dough so it is neither too fragile nor too tough. I seduced him with cream pies, fruit pies, and let's face it...my pie. ;)
And so my husband is now a pie man. He requested this particular confection for his birthday this year, eschewing the traditional chocolate cake. In fact, he also requested that we have wedding pie instead of cake, which we did.
However, there is only the two of us, and this pie calls to us like a mythological siren. "eat me," she cries out "for I am not done yet!"
We have answered her call, but we split the slice, which makes it okay. Right?
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