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Pie and Sausage Fest

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Contents of my pie basket on Friday morning:

  • two glass pie plates
  • four pounds of cherries
  • four pounds of pastry dough
  • a glass jar of spices
  • a glass jar of secret pie hooch
  • a roll of parchment paper
  • two cherry pitters

Contents of my purse:

  • everyday purse things
  • rolling pin

Thusly equipped, I took my morning commute. And later, the evening commute, but this time to Brooklyn to my oldest and (don’t tell anyone else this) dearest of pie friends, Laura and Fred.

The party was in full swing when I arrived.  I was assigned pie soldiers. Melanie and Roman set about pitting the cherries as I rolled out the pastry for two pies. Fred began grilling sausages out on the patio. A mother arrived and taught her young son how to make Mojitos for all the guests.


When the pies were in the oven. I stepped into the living room where Fred was holding court. He showed us a photo on his phone of what looked like a folded paper towel with a neat grid of little black squiggles and a hand lettered number. The squiggles were mosquitos he had caught on that day. Then on to the description of the contraption. And finally with a little insistence, Fred lead a small band of us to the back of the garden to the lair of the mosquito trap. I shot this little video.

We took a further tour of his little Brooklyn Paradise, the figs, the herbs the grapes, the mourning dove nest complete with chick, and his hallucinogenic plants. Fred has a green thumb. His gardening talents match Laura’s profound talents as chef and hostess.

The variety of sausages was mind-blowing. In the midst of dinner, the pies came out of the oven to cool on the stove. I rubbed my hands together with glee. Then I had a second helping of salad and sausage.

After a while, we had pie. And then after pie, Melanie read a poem about cherries from one of her books published in the 90’s (around the time I made my first pie). I post it here with her kind consent.

What can I say about these pies? They were seasoned with that first cherry pie I ever made nearly twenty years ago—the one I pitted with my swiss army knife on the back porch of the summer cottage while Laura cooked dinner for us inside and Fred was out front swatting at insects that eventually flew and stuck in his paintings. They are seasoned with the  accumulation of new friends I make each time I visit their comfortable and exquisite paradise.


Kate, Paul, Jacob, Elijah, Nachson, Stevie, Maggie, Yiftach, Amos, Ian, Sallie, Walter, Melanie, Roman, Keno, Yoon, Desi Fred and Laura ate these pies.


Written by etinnyo

July 7, 2013 at 11:16 am

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

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