My apartment has been overrun by pie.
For those of you just tuning in, I’m at war with Dave. A few Tuesdays ago, I made a genuine attempt to craft an apple pie from naught but the loins of the earth and tragically failed. I ended up with a miserable lump of doughy fruit that promptly got ignored like a red-headed stepchild and thrown in the garbage.
It was a hard day.
I came home the following evening to the warm, enraging smell of an apple pie in the oven. Dave was one-upping me. He saw my pie and raised me a better pie. A tasty one. Actually, an incredibly delicious one.
It was a brief war, as I had no tolerance for his flippant pie baking and decided that if he wanted to be the head pastry chef, he could go right ahead and be such. After all, there’s nothing that makes my blood boil quite like rolling out pie dough. And it’d be nice to ask him to whip up a pie for special occasions, host gifts, and celebrations of all kinds.
Expecting it to be a quickly satiated passion, I left Dave to his own devices – but he was not so swiftly stifled.
First there was an apple peeler. Then official lard (as opposed to shortening) for the crust. There’s just an enormous tub of lard sitting in my fridge at all times. Do you know that today he looked up what the best kind of lard was and concluded it was lard made from kidney fat?! Absolutely revolting. And apples by the bundle. They’re everywhere. I have nightmares of hallways of Granny Smith apples rolling at me like a tidal wave. I run and run, but I can’t ever get far enough from their reach.
Dave is making pies so often that he’s moved everything off the kitchen counter and asked if the flour can just stay there over night because “he’s just going to get it out and do the same thing tomorrow”.
He says cutting apples is meditative.
So I mean, here it is. This is it. Dave is clearly my cash cow. I think it’s time I really buck up and admit this is the moneymaker. We’ll put a nice zen spin on it since it all centers his chi so fantastically well. I’ll have a little cartoon of him drawn all goofy and seated in meditation with a little pastry chef hat balancing on his head. We’ll call them Zen Pies and we’ll make millions.
Or maybe just a few hundred at some Farmers Markets.
But I imagine my chi will be slightly more centered with an apartment that reeks of pastries and a wallet with a little more wiggle room.
This, boys and girls, is my million dollar thousand dollar idea. ♣
- Notice the orchid and fall decorations – both featured in posts of their own. Proof, ladies and gentlemen, that I am a real human being with real posts and a real struggling orchid.
The Jackie Blog 