The Evening Pie

I am eating pie.

Why?

Because a friend gave me a bag of peaches tonight and told me,

"It's enough to make a pie."

As if to suggest that making pies is something I do.

He thought I made pies.  So I went home and made a pie.

I just recalled that his wife and granddaughter both won ribbons at the fair this year for their pies.  So women making pies is the way his world turns.

I guess if I had been proper and whatnot, I would have refrigerated it so that it wouldn't collapse like that when I cut a slice for myself.  I don't know.  Maybe that's not proper.  But it seems like preventing a cave-in would be a proper pie-maker's goal.

My goal was to eat it warm.  So that's what I'm doing.

Wouldn't vanilla ice cream be nice?

The neat thing is that when I took my piece out of the pie pan, the pieces next to it, on the right and on the left, slid down into the spot where my piece was (see top photo).  So I'll need to go back and get the rest of my piece that was kindly donated by my neighboring slices.  I love bonus bites.

Mmm.  My belly is warm and cozy.

But if you were to walk into my house you probably wouldn't smell delicious peach pie.  I think more domineering is the scent of burnt pie juice from the bubbling over action while baking.

I was smart enough to put this below the pie because I had a hunch it was going to bubble over.  This is actually the second cookie sheet.  The first one started to smoke in a fearful way, so I pulled it out and put in this one.

What I should have done, and you're probably suggesting it to me in your thoughts right now, was put foil on the pan.  Then the clean up would be done and the smell gone.  I don't know if the cookie sheets can be saved.  They're soaking in vinegar.  Because it's an acid and should eat all that burntiness off by morning, right?

Right about the time of my Morning Pie.