I made a blackberry pie last night. I've been sort of bitchy to Jake lately, because I'm stressing about school, and my book, etc., etc... So I thought: the best way to unstress a person, AND to ask for forgiveness for being bitchy, is to involve a blackberry pie...
The blackberries at the end of the street are so numerous that, once you've picked them all, you have to go back and pick them again, because they've grown back.
It took me three freaking hours to make that pie last night.
And I didn't follow the recipe.
The best pie I have ever had in my life was at a place called Buffy's, or Muffy's, or something like that, in Aberdeen, WA. They sprinkled sugar all over the crust. I did that too. Their pie mysteriously LOOKED a lot better, but...
My pie ACTUALLY TASTES GOOD...
This is the first time I have ever made a GOOD pie.
Pie is an important thing in the Northwest. I don't really understand why, exactly. Actually, I don't understand why it's not as important all over the world. Here, if you're out driving ANYWHERE outside of Seattle, Tacoma, or Olympia, and you stop for something to eat, you will be bombarded with places that will offer you pie. Places advertise their pie specials on large signs. When you say you want dessert, it's just sort of assumed that you'll be wanting pie. What other dessert IS there? In the cities, there's also cheesecake. In the little towns, you're gonna have pie, or you're gonna go without dessert. You can have it with or without ice cream, but pie's what's for dessert.
I'm very proud of my pie. It even sort of LOOKS nice.
My great-grandmother was Pennsylvania Deutsch, and owned a bakery shop. She made pies for a living.
Last night, as my pie was baking, I wandered around the house singing a little song to my pie. Whatever; it works for houseplants...
I'm gonna go get some breakfast... with ice cream.
~Helena*