Well, The Cake Might Be a Lie, But The Pie Sure Isn’t...

Dude, seriously... You need to try this pie.  My wife made it.  It’s apple.  Go ‘head.  Take a bite.  It’s her first go at making one...

Is it like my mom’s?  Um.  No.

See, I used to think that the taste of mom’s apple pie was something special, something sacrosanct, something beyond judgement. Now I realize that memory is horribly, horribly flawed.  Like, flawed to the point where, if I were to simply refer to my wife’s apple pie as “delicious”, then, by relative measure, I would have to refer to my mother’s as “holy God what is this a dead animal wrapped in a turd or something quick get me something, ANYTHING, to drink oh God I’m gonna be sick”.

When I was first watching my wife construct this amazing confection I immediately rejected what I was seeing.  “This can’t possibly be right,” I thought (and muttered). As it baked in the oven, though, it smelled right but I was still very, very suspicious.

I took the first bite and I knew it was all wrong.  The texture was weird and certain parts of my tongue were dormant or non-plussed... Yet others were going “Saayyyy...  Let’s try a little more...” I took the second bite and the sourness of the fresh green apples and the complex sweetness of the caramelized sugar and the saltiness and flakiness of the hand-made crust hit me all at once and I thought I was going to pass out.

I eventually heard her trying to communicate with me.  Her voice was only coming through in waves... Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear what she say... Uh, I mean, said.  

“Do you wan’t whipped cream?” she asked me.  

I looked at her, horrified and defensive, as though she just asked me if I would rather be eating a raw infant. “N...N... Noooo. No, of course not! What the hell is the matter with you?!”, I said.  I scooted the plate a little closer to me in case she tried to pull something funny.

She let me finish.  I was even allowed to have another piece because I think that she thought I was just trying to spare her feelings.  After she saw I finished the second portion and she noticed my pupils were reduced to pinpoints and I was sweating endorphins I think she started to really believe that I wasn’t fooling around here.

I wasn’t allowed a third. 

I briefly considered taking a hostage to turn the tables in my favor, but my options on that front were limited so I just thanked her and sobbed a little instead.

I’m sorry, but I have to go now.  I fear I am seriously risking violating the warranty of this laptop by drooling into it so much.  I hope everyone out there has had as wonderful a Thanksgiving as I have had. 

Now to set my alarm for three A.M... For an early “breakfast”, you understand...