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Day Two Hundred and SeventySIX:  Apple Pie.

Apples, peeled and sliced,

Sugar,

Flour, butter, salt, pie crust, and all of the rest.

I had never made a pie without a maternal hand until this evening.  My lovely roommate Bre and I decided, after she had been apple picking a few weekends before, to put our kitchen skills to the test.  The pie crust was not from scratch, so it was a little cheated, but we just made the best apple pie in the world.  Food, baked goods, drinks, anything that you make yourself always tastes better because it is so satisfying to have it all come together.

That pie was satisfying indeed, and it continues to sit atop our communal microwave, covered and still warm, waiting for both of us to devour even more tomorrow, the next day, and so on until it is over and done with.  How depressing to think that soon it will all be gone, that our hard work will essentially disintegrate into our tummies.  It was worth it, though.

I’ve always wanted to be more of a baker.  I love making dinners, and “improve-ing” as Bre called it whenever we had to be creative about something’s relevance in a recipe.  How many additions is too many?  Never too many additions to a recipe.  I think that if I had more time right now I’d be eating much more interesting things, maybe healthier, maybe just more eclectic, but all-in-all, the time is not there.

So I look forward to the days where I can (bith about them not having large print one) own some cookbooks, an apron, maybe have my own set of pots, pans, mixing bowls and the like.  Won’t it be nice to think of new recipes to try?  To afford the ingredients and afford the time to put into them?  Time, though, comes short to everyone after the age of maybe fifteen, because as I’ve learned first hand not everyone has an evening off of rehearsal to just bake a pie.

Oh how lucky I am, was, because all you need is pie.

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