Mike and I used to have friends over for dinner and pie on Sunday nights when we lived in Chicago. I love to bake pies (see this movie for all the crazy deliciousness that pie can be).
One Sunday I had baked an apple pie. Out of all the pies, this is the most labor intensive to make. It’s a lot of peeling and a lot of very thin slicing. The pie crust is my grandma’s recipe (Looking for a good apple pie recipe? Let me know and I’ll send it to you).
I made the pie in the late afternoon, and for safekeeping, i.e., out of the reach of certain canine inhabitants, I put it on top of the refrigerator in the pantry to cool. Claire and Charley were visiting the downstairs neighbors’ Rhodesian Ridgebacks. Bo was hanging out at home with me having recently been banished for bonking the freakishly large Rhodesian Ridgeback Taylor on the head in an exciting and nail-biting match of canine wits. Hours later, I went to get something out of the freezer and tragedy struck. The apple pie tumbled to the ground, landing facedown, of course. Alas, there was no way of saving the pie. Thinking that there was only one way to make the best out of this miserable situation, I got a fork, called Bo into the kitchen, and while I ate the portions not touching the kitchen floor, Bo ate those that were. I cried a little bit, but it was a perfect exercise in symbiotics. And it was a pretty good pie if I do say so.