Last year we received a pie from Rich. He and Holly and Ruth and Corm were out at El Rancho, and that morning Rich rode up to the mountains and came home with baked goods, including an apple boysenberry pie. It sat on our counter in the classic tempting, white pie box. It was Alex who could no longer contain his pie passion, and when he begged incessantly, I finally consented, "One slice."
He entered the kitchen singing, and giddy with pie joy. He set out his plate, poured a glass of milk, and sliced a generous single serving. What followed was a sound of mournful shock, then gagging dismay. Being too tired to sympathize, I barked "What? What is wrong?" Truthfully, it was probably a bit shrill; the sound mothers make at malls, when they forget they can be heard. And to my ears he answered too pathetically that the pie tasted salty. 'Oh brother,' I thought, and 'kids these days.'
"The pie is fine." And I proved my point by taking his fork and scooping a good size bite in to my mouth. The fruit was oozing and sweet. Locally grown apples and fresh boysenberries, stuffed under a flakey pie crust. The pie crust was golden and sprinkled across the top with...gag...agghh salt! Generous crystals of savory salt had been dashed across this beautiful pie. Alex and I invited everyone to come try the pie, and we warned them, "It's salty." We excavated the fruit filling, and laughed.
In the mountains, in the popular little bakery they were not sure how many of the salted pies had been sold. Bakers are up very early, and I suppose they are sometimes not fully awake. This particular baker, with only one eye open I think, brought down the can of salt instead of sugar and baptized several racks of pies before realizing her error. They were very apologetic over the phone and two days later we received a gift certificate for a free pie. The coupon expires on Sunday. We need to drive to the mountains, and get our pie.
Sometimes life is more interesting when we get salt instead of sugar. I thought I would finally be going to the mountains last weekend, on the driving tour we won at an auction. Dirk called the night before to confess a little mishap that had occurred. I thought maybe someone had barfed in the Ferrari, but it was something else, and the trip would have to be postponed, again. We'll get another pie, one year later, and someday I will ride to the mountains with Dirk and talk about interesting things and appreciate that life is good. Savory or sweet, it's still good.
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