The $300 Pie

Do you love to write? Consider joining others like you who meet periodically at the Daviess County Library in Gallatin. Current members of the Gallatin Writers’ Guild are Betty Plymell, Elanor Best, Jamie Beel, Tamy Graham, Vanessa Mullins and Vila Gingerich. Look for samples of their literary works as space permits in this newspaper or go online where you can read their prose anytime: https://gallatinwritersguildportfolio.home.blog/

I’m one of those “more is better” kind of cooks. If the recipe calls for a pinch of this, I cheerfully add two heaping teaspoons, whistling all the while. A cup of cheese? Why not two or three? I have yet, in all my years of cooking, to use only a partial bag of pasta. It never looks like enough once it’s boiling in the pot. But that’s okay because I’ve already tinkered with the sauce so much that it’s also doubled in the process. I usually get by with these culinary excesses. In fact, I’m often complimented on my cooking. But there was one memorable instance when I got caught with my apron down.

We have a lovely old community hall that sits out in the country not far from our home. Built in the 1940’s, it’s mostly unused in these days of t.v. and texting but still requires some TLC every now and then to keep it in good shape. So the building committee decided to host a community potluck supper followed by a benefit dessert auction to raise funds for a new roof. A perfect opportunity to try the Caramel Apple Pecan Pie recipe I’d just clipped from a magazine. Brimming with butter, sugar and spice, it sounded like a truly decadent delight.

The day of the potluck, I got out enough flour and sugar to make pies both for my husband and for the auction. The recipe called for a rich butter crust filled with sliced apples that had been briefly sauteed in butter, sugar and cinnamon. Next came a caramel sauce of cream, butter and sugar which was poured over the apples. Chopped, toasted pecans were sprinkled over that, more butter dotted over the top and then the top crust laid on which was later glazed with, you guessed it, more sugar. The whole process took hours to complete and it was late afternoon when I finished.

Now I know that it’s advised to never offer anyone a dish that you haven’t prepared before. And I do remember thinking as I worked, “Wow! That’s an awful lot of sugar!” So, after letting the pies cool a bit, I cut a test slice for my husband and me. I took the first bite. A piercing sweetness shot through my mouth, curled my tongue and settled into the fillings of my teeth which proceeded to painfully throb. John took a bite and visibly flinched.

“Not bad,” he gasped, reaching for his coffee. “Not bad” is my husband’s lingo for “My god, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted!” I served him tofu lasagna one time to which he responded, “Not bad but a little light on the meat, don’t you think?” as he made himself a roast beef sandwich.

There wasn’t enough time to whip up an alternative so, on our way to the potluck, I instructed my husband to bid on and win that pie back. Anyone familiar with country potlucks understands that they are a brutal judging ground for all women involved. I had taken great pains to protect my culinary reputation throughout the countless potlucks I’d attended since arriving in the county and this ghastly pie was not about to undo all my hard work. Under any and all circumstances, he was to get that pie back.

With most of our neighbors in attendance, the auction started off well. A beautiful plate of brownies brought $15. Martha Hammond’s gingersnaps sold for twenty. Ruthie Schroeder, known as much for her homemade cinnamon rolls as for the 6 terms she served as county commissioner, sold a dozen for $30. Then up came my pie. As I pinched his arm, hard, my husband dutifully bid $15.

“Make it twenty,” said Paul Harms, the head of the building committee.

“Twenty five,” said my husband.

“Thirty,” countered Paul.

“Thirty five,” said my husband.

“Hey boys, that must be one hell of a pie,” hollered Jimmy Davis. “I’ll put up forty dollars!”

“Fifty,” said my husband with a wan smile.

“Sixty,” yelled Paul.

By this point, I was trying to explain to anyone who would listen that it really was a horrid pie and didn’t those darling cupcakes over there look delicious? But my husband’s continued bids along with my fervent protests only further convinced the crowd that that had to be the best darn pie ever put into a pie plate.

“Ninety dollars,” yelled Tom Colburn.

“A hundred,” hollered Jimmy.

“One ten,” shouted Chris Reece.

My husband, pale and sweating, finally bellowed, “One hundred and fifty dollars!”

A stunned silence fell. The auctioneer shouted, “Sold!” And just as I was drawing a steady breath, Jimmy hollered out, “Heck, I’ll give another $150 if she makes me one, too!” The whole building erupted into wild cheers while my husband was repeatedly thumped on the back and I, shell shocked and despondent, received countless congratulatory hugs.

We ended up taking home a pumpkin cheesecake for $15 that was so delicious we ate it right out of the pan for breakfast. Our $150 pie went into the trash. Then I got to work on the one for Jimmy. I tried my best to tweak the recipe, scaling way back on the sugar, but it came out looking just as dismal as the first. With a sinking heart, I delivered it to his doorstep where he stood eager as a kid at Christmas. Jimmy just happens to be the president of our fair board and has had many an opportunity to taste blue ribbon pies which made the whole episode even more unfortunate. I reluctantly called a few days later to ask how he’d liked it. “Not bad,” he said and I swear I could hear him flinch through the phone.

It took a while to repair my reputation. Humbled, I cooked between the lines, feeling chastened and timid with my teaspoons. We ate a lot of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, bland and safe. But then one day I threw caution to the wind and chopped up 3 cloves of garlic for a kettle of tomato soup instead of the one called for. It was fabulous. I was back. The meatloaf pan was retired to the back of the cupboard where it hasn’t been seen since. Still, if they ever have another dessert auction, I’m going to take a plain old apple pie. Or maybe peach. There is that recipe for a ginger basil glaze that I’ve been meaning to try. More is always better, right?