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Ten Easy Pieces

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This pie waited impatiently while I read Madeline with Faye. Faye’s dad knows from pie. Faye’s mom, likewise. There at Faye’s place, steps from Wall Street we chattered about Global Warming and the pervasive meme of one percent. We continued our chatter with Jennifer’s husband about librettists and fiddle players. Still the pie sat quietly in the basket. When it finally appeared on the table to be served on grandmother’s pancake plates, our frivolous chatter turned to silence. We turned to more solemn subjects like who invented the fluted pie juice moat, the golden ratio of sugar to fruit, and the phenomenon of pie release. Later, there were the secret discussions of whether absent spouses should get a slice. The pie and I are sworn to discretion. We don’t slice and tell.

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When next we met this pie, it was on set at a late night filming of foot massages starring Molly, Zach, Rachel and you-know-who.

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Written by etinnyo

June 22, 2012 at 2:26 pm

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

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