Glibbertysmidgeon

“I dreamed that rotten food from the top shelf dripped on the pies and wreaked them!” Kris confessed on Wednesday morning. I can’t blame him for having pie disaster dreams. We spent 3 hours on Tuesday night juicing lemons, separating eggs, stirring cornstarch paste, and whipping meringue. It was our first lemon meringue pie experience, and it gave me a deeper respect for my grandmother, who made them regularly when I was young`.

Three hours of stirring, sniffing, starching, zesting and stressing- and we used store bought crusts!

But it was all worth it when these two beauties came out of the oven. The Meringue was tall and golden. We watched them cool in something like awe, licking tart filling from the wooden spoon and red rubber scraper. Kris’ eyes were nearly as round as the pies.

“I want to eat them now.”

I like that about Kris. He’s like the kid on Christmas morning. I like to savor the anticipation. I like that Christmas Eve feeling, when the house is lit up, the presents are stacked, and the whole world is holding it’s breath until morning. Watching him lick his lips over those pies only made the anticipation better.

That was two days before Thanksgiving, and we had to keep our mitts off the pies ‘till then.

We spent those two days making sweet potatoes, au gratin potatoes, spinach & feta quiche, homemade cranberries, and mulled wine. We ordered a deep fried turkey from Jive Turkey, down the street. Otto was bringing the perniel, Mel was bringing the pumpkin pies, green bean salad, mashed potatoes, and butternut squash soup with homemade cheesy croutons. To die for.

When the big day arrived things were going smoothly. The quiches were cooling on the stove, the sweet potatoes cooking in the oven. The wine was warming in the crock pot, and we were scurrying around tidying the house. At 2:30 Kris left to pick up the turkey, and Mel, Pam, and Mary arrived with their arms full of food. At 3:13, Otto and Kika arrived bearing ham, and at 3:30 Kris called to say there wasn’t going to be a turkey.

Jive Turkey had made a grave miscalculation, and people were lined up around the block. One woman threatened to sue. About the same time we decided to forgo the bird, I phoned Kathie to see when she and her family would arrive. As it turned out, nobody told them when to come for dinner. What is Thanksgiving without a little chaos?

Of course, there was plenty of food. There were also plenty of crusty dishes, sticky floors, and gummy counters. On Sunday, when we’d finally gotten the apartment straightened up, eaten most of the leftovers, and collapsed in the living room for a break, I thought again about grandma baking those pies.

My dad used to tell me stories about the days when Grams baked 14 loaves of bread every Tuesday, in a woodstove. Dad and his brothers used to pick blackberries so that Grams would bake pies in the morning, and feed them to Grandpa and the kids in the evening. On one level, it makes me want to kiss the Kitchen Aid stand mixer I got as a wedding gift. On another, it kind of makes me sad to know that there is no possible way I could accomplish the things my grandmother did. A wood stove?

I’m thankful that Aunt Eunice taught me how to make a good homemade pie crust, but I’m also thankful for the modern luxury of a store bought pie crust on Thanksgiving Day.

Mostly, I’m thankful that there’s another piece of lemon pie in the fridge right now, because all this writing about food has made me hungry.