My wife Patty learned how to make pie crust from my Mom early on. Patty made the best apple pie I have eaten – ever, period! Patty even baked the leftover crust for me to nibble on when I got home. Eventually (after many pies were consumed by me), she told me that she was done making me apple pies. I objected strenuously, and we compromised when she agreed to one per year, when she choose. In that way a new tradition between us was born. I will spare the reader the details of my feelings toward apple pies in my present state of mind. However, an amusing story involving my oldest son and “apple” pies comes to mind. It goes like this:
Like father, like son, is the best way to describe the attitude of my sons towards apple pie made by their mother. Patty also made a very good rhubarb pie and she made it the same way she made her apple pies; the only thing different was the taste. Well, my oldest son does not like rhubarb and he would not even taste Patty’s rhubarb pies – no way. After dinner, one night, she served each of us, including my oldest son, a piece of her pie and did not announce what it was. As we ate the pie, we congratulated Patty on her pie making skills and my oldest son told her she made a fine apple pie. Patty burst out laughing and she informed him that it was a rhubarb pie. My son was in a state of disbelief and he, as far as I know still dislike rhubarb pie.
What brings this story to mind is my youngest son’s girlfriend made a very nice rhubarb pie for me yesterday. It was every bit as good as Patty’s. I hope she waits a while before she makes me an apple pie – I do not think I am ready for that yet.