Day One Hundred Sixty Two: June 10
I’m a secret chef. Mommy accuses me of holding out on her. The first Thanksgiving we were married, I told her I was going to make pecan pie for Thanksgiving dinner. She scrunched her nose and said “Honey, they don’t sell pecan pie filling in the commissary.” I said no, don’t worry, I was going to make it from scratch. Her next observation was that I didn’t even have a crust. No problem, said I, I would make a crust. She gave me her best “Yeah, right!!” face before settling back to her lesson plans.
Sure enough, an hour and a half later, a pecan pie popped out of the oven. And, sure enough, she had to give me props. She says I held out on her; that through five years of dating my culinary contributions had been limited to frozen pizza and Pllsbury cinnamon rolls. But when she tasted the pie, she had to admit I was at least a good pastry chef.
Tonight I made key lime pie for the church youth group end of year barbeque. I think it turned out nicely, and the little leftovers suggest that others agreed, too. Obviously I haven’t won over M, just yet…