The pumpkin pie for my mini, belated Thanksgiving is out of the oven, meaning its penultimate stage in pie life has been reached. (The final step in its short existence of course being its demise and disappearance.) Its appearance and vanishing is like magic, no?
No, we shall not be treated to pie in the sky – but pie in the oven and on the kitchen table. Dessert is served.
I saw today that musician Aimee Mann posted on Facebook that she has renamed pumpkin pie “squash quiche” in order to justify having more in the middle of the day for no reason. I think the season is the reason – and that is enough justification, but bonus points for finding good ways to trick oneself.
For right now, it is “pie in the sky” to imagine that I could tackle the fabled cherpumple cake. I considered attempting this baking feat – whole pies baked inside whole cakes in triplicate – yes, but it made no sense since my Thanksgiving will only be one other person and me. But one day I will take a stab at the impossible, improbable and disgusting cherpumple cake.
Pie in the sky is more like tacking four or five inches to your height when you are actually nowhere near the projected/stated height.
Reminds me of an excellent poem and highly appropriate way to close; take it away, Mike Topp: