The Second Set of Twins
Shortly after I returned from picking cherries, the email came from the Hoarder Family. The subject line read: “URGENT!!!!! are we on pie list??”
Of course they are. They are always on the pie list. This group was bred to love pie. And I love baking for them. No, I mean it. This cohort is serious pie people.
When I arrived at Colleen’s with two warm pies, the Tennis Twins were already there—straight from tennis camp and still in their tennis whites. Atticus was there too but she was in shocking pink. Michael was there too. Then Doris arrived. “But where is everybody else?” I asked.”I brought two pies.”
“Oh that’s okay,” Colleen replied, “I’m hoarding.”
I think it was Blake who cut the pie. Michael came over, took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves just to supervise.
After we all sat down to our first slice, Colleen explained there were too many extended family members in town right now. One of the nephews had selflessly decided to act as a decoy. He was distracting some group of relatives or semi-relatives with inferior pastry at some hard-to-get-a-table place. A baby was involved. We toasted him in his absence. But I noticed there was not plan on his clansmen’s part to save him a slice for his troubles.
Okay so I did a head count. Two pies the same size feed 25 adults the day before. Now there were two pies to feed four adults and three children. I remarked on it. Michael shook his head.
“This pie is worth getting fat for,” said Doris.
Blake asked me what they called “the special bread dough” they used for pie. “You mean ‘pastry crust’?” I asked. “Yes, pastry crust. I love the part where it soaks up the juice from the pie and it’s soft and crusty at the same time. Look. Like this.” He pointed to that soft, super tender border of pie dough that is the no man’s land between the well-cooked exterior crust and the fruit filling. It is part pastry, part pudding. All deliciousness. Blake is 12. He and Alessandra have been food artists since we met over cherry pie five years ago. Blake went back for seconds. A larger slice than the first. The when he got up for his third piece, I quietly noted to myself that he had eaten half of one pie all by himself. “I love this bread part.” I heard him mumble to himself again.
Not to be out done, Micheal had another piece.
I don’t remember when Ned walked in the door. But I did notice nobody offered him a slice of pie. He seemed intent on staying so I offered him a slice. Eventually he and Doris went to a show. It was pouring rain.
The twins were in the bedroom shopping online. Michael might have had yet another slice. It was all a blur after my own second slice. But we talked about the usual things: pigs, ham and then their upcoming trip to Maine.
“You know, it’s pie country.” said Michael. He began describing last year’s blueberry pie. It had a double crust but the filling is thin. They use those really small blueberries. Then he whips out his iPhone. The man starts leafing through an endless album of just pies. By “just pies” I mean just pies he’s eaten. He finds the blueberry pie in question. He has several pictures of it so I can examine it closely enough to reverse engineer it. The crust to fruit ratio is brilliant. It would only be effective with the most intensely flavored fruit. Maine is pie heaven.
It is still raining when I decide i must leave. But I trade places with Citizen. By now the pie is being hoarded in the kitchen. Colleen brings her a slice. The remaining slice is for Josine.
I borrow an umbrella and walk out into the driving rain with two empty pie plates.
This morning I got an email from Michael:
He quoted Tuesday’s pie report: “There were at least 20 people.………Somehow, there was still half a pie left over.“
“This astounds me. I worry about these people,” he wrote.
Two pies divided among ten people.