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The Last Slice of the Last Pie

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We climbed the stairs to the Highline and found the closest place to sit: a bleacher-style overlook on to 10th Avenue. We had left Juli behind to take care of business. She does a brisk business selling man-eating alligators and sharks. I felt a little bad leaving her behind.

“You trust us to save you a piece, right?”

“I should think so!” She said.

So here we were, Michele, Marco, Kanishka and I, gossiping about the invention of the internet. I was teasing Marco for being so grumpy that he almost grumped himself out of pie. But here we were eating pie together after all (even Marco) while teenage tourists stepped about us with their selfie sticks.

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I had the presence of mind to stash a slice for Juli before we passed the pie around for seconds (we almost forgot).


This is the last morsel of my last slice of pie.


Juli ate hers standing among her colorful creatures, having a private moment right there in front of everyone. Then the very last piece of pie was gone.

Written by etinnyo

July 26, 2014 at 10:33 am

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

The First Slice of the Last Pie

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I met Sawad on the top deck of a certain pier for tacos and the first slice of the last pie of the year.

There’s not much more to say except that he had more than one slice.

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Written by etinnyo

July 26, 2014 at 10:18 am

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie


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Written by etinnyo

July 26, 2014 at 8:13 am

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

Wednesday’s Half

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P1050237-tweakedI woke up Wednesday to half a pie that had walked around in the rain the day before, talked politics in a pilates studio and gone to see an animation set to Dark Side of the Moon with new lyrics. So I had a slice for breakfast.

By late afternoon, the pie was quite recovered and ready for mischief. We met Tom at a fancy, highbrow bakery.  The pie ordered a chichi coffee drink. Talk turned to adventures in the animal kingdom:

A few days before, Tom was painting in his garage studio when he noticed three beautiful birds on his front lawn pecking at something in the grass. Just then he saw a bunny nearby. “How idyllic,” he thought. It brought to mind the painting, Peaceable Kingdom. The lion and the lamb…you get it. The next thing he knew, there was a lot of noise, the rabbit had one birds in his mouth and was shaking the hell out of it. He says it’s a true story. Why shouldn’t I believe him?


Last stop: A and D’s Sky Terrace. There we executed a prisoner swap of sorts. The pie plate I had left behind on Saturday (that had held half a pie saved for Nan’s birthday) in exchange for two extra slices of pie for A and D.


Written by etinnyo

July 25, 2014 at 4:34 pm

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

About Tuesday Night

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The weather Tuesday morning was a bloody mess. I would be lying if I said my spirits were high. It felt like all of New York City (and perhaps the world) was a suspended over a big boiling cauldron of soupy, gloppy, clingy steam. It felt like putting your face in a terrarium that hadn’t been opened in a while. Air so thick I could see it clinging to my window. But somehow I summoned the courage to turn the oven to 400˚F and bake. And then commute.

“At least there would be pie,” I said cheerily, before my umbrella turned inside out and the handle fell off.

As the day progressed the weather got worse. Big black clouds dropping thunder and lightning, then the cats and dogs turned into cougars and wolves.

I had planned a picnic. Ugh. Much back-and-forthing. Finally an inside place for us to meet. Then came the excuses and regrets until finally there were just three of us.

Three of us found ourselves sitting on Pilates equipment on a black, black early evening. Sheets of rain outside.



I hadn’t planned it. Pie makes for strange bedfellows. But in this case, both Eriola and Regina had just come back from the same troubled region of the world. Though they didn’t know each other til this night, they were each writing reports on the region. Over pie, we discussed the complicated and bloody landscape of the region. Slice by slice, its history of hatreds dating back more centuries than one cared to count. Slice by slice, violence upon violence, until today’s sad powder keg of disagreements and promises unkept.

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Written by etinnyo

July 25, 2014 at 1:07 pm

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

A sleeve of ice on its morning commute

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Ladies and Gentlemen:

I present a sleeve of ice on its morning commute.

And I thought carrying pies every morning was a commitment. This guy is carrying a bag of ice somewhere from the Bronx to at least Midtown Manhattan (where I am now).

Written by etinnyo

July 25, 2014 at 10:25 am

Posted in Commuting, New York

Double Birthday

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2014-07-14 09.02.16

Monday’s Pie came out of the oven at the usual time and waited on the counter while I went to work.

The pie rested because it had a big night planned. It was going to a double birthday party that evening for Alex and Wade.

By the time it arrived, the backyard grilling portion of the evening had been rained out thrice. The crowded kitchen floor of Harlem brownstone had the conviviality of a Russian bath and the humidity to match. Everyone was having a jolly good time. The only thing to do was grab a beer and toast the cats and dogs that were falling from the sky by the bucketfuls.

When the crowd began to dissipate between thunder claps to about half its number, Kate and I cleared the cheese, chips and guacamole and put out the desserts.


There was a toast to the birthday boys—a rather long and glorious toast — given by the wives recounting their first meeting at the seaside. The men folk stood on the shore (safely) discussing all manner of esoterica while their women went for a swim on the ocean. They swam quite by accident into a huge, shimmering school of spawning herring (or something) and having barely survived the experience became sisters for life. When they left the water to return to their men, they were both covered (head to toe) with fish semen. I swear this is true on the camel skull on the fireplace mantel and the giant moth on the wall. We raised our glasses.


When the Apocalypse comes, I will find these women and with them fight all the zombie vampires and herring hordes. When the Rapture happens we will find our own wheat and mill our own flour for pie dough. And we will pick cherries. Oh yes, oh yes, we will bake pies.

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Written by etinnyo

July 24, 2014 at 6:34 pm

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie