There are two old ladies that live in my head.
They wear aprons, dispense wisdom, and cluck at me when I'm going out drenched in perfume like a streetwalker.
They are helpful ladies. When my son was young and I had no idea what was going on, they reassured me that he was normal and I was normal and everything was normal, and women have been having babies since the dawn of time, so what makes you so special?
Followed up by some affectionate hand pats.
But they also disapprove of my housekeeping, think I go too easy on my kid, and definitely frown on my pie.
Well, I don't make pretty pies.
Have you ever seen a pretty pie? One those old ladies used to do? Making a pie to these ladies was like making a sandwich. And damned if their crust wasn't perfectly crimped. Uncrimped crust would not do.
Like letting your husband go to work with a dark stain around his collar. Slatternly.
Well, I don't make very pretty pies. No cute cut-outs, no latticing. Hardly even any crimping.
But I'll tell you this, bloggy friends and imaginary old ladies: I make a tasty pie.
And it is that time of year. Blueberry. Raspberry. Plum. Apple.
Pick 'em while they're ripe and full of sun, and stuff them in a crust. Quick!
Soon it'll be all hazelnuts and sweet potatoes, and where will we be then?
I have a feeling the old ladies will help me through it.
They always do.
Here is my favorite crust.
What pies are you making this year? Do you make pretty pies?
*Okay so pie isn't necessarily an ingredient. Or is it?