Seasonal living and the sensual, sensate life.

I Have a (Pie) Dream

“If you wish to make an apple pie truly from scratch, you must first invent the universe.”

 

                                                                                  —–Carl Sagan, Cosmos

 

 
And now, let me interrupt your carefully plotted turkey preparations (Bagged? Barbequed?  Spatch-cocked?  Deep fried?) to speak solemnly about pie.   Fellow food and tradition lovers, I have a dream!
 
 
I have a dream that one day cooks everywhere will rise up and throw out pre-made crusts and those frozen vaguely-berry imitations to discover the deep pleasure of making something so lovely with your hands, fresh ingredients, and a little faith.
 
I have a dream that an old recipe will be unearthed or a new one discovered and that taking courage in her hands, a pie-maker will be astonished at the magnificence of the cosmos captured in a 9-inch round.
 
 
I have a dream that sugar pumpkins will be roasted or canned whole pumpkin and good green granny smiths will be chosen, and that the pie makeR will know the integrity of these ingredients count more than ease or speed.
 
I have a dream that these pies will be made in solitary meditation and in harmonious groups, and that the pleasure of sifting and blending, cutting and sugaring, will make the sunlight bend and the day long and glowing.
 
 
I have a dream that this year more discover the art of pie crust, which let’s face it is simply fat, flour and water slightly blended.  And that these new converts will see it’s okay to gently pulse the food processor to get the perfect mix.
 
I have a dream every crust will be properly chilled to allow its gluten to relax and the dough to preserve its shape.
 
 
 
I have a dream that America will eat its pumpkin pie on a plate instead of in a cup. And the pies will be like the lightest, creamiest custard instead of grained cardboard.
 
I have dream that cool whip will be banished from the table.
 
I have a dream that each and every pie will be tasted and savored, and praise will be given to the pie maker for their hours of devotion, the prayer of his hands, the song of her sweat.
 

 

I have a dream that one day every hand-crafted pie shall be exalted, and every store bought shall be made low, and the glory of the universe shall be revealed in each tender bite.  
 
 


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