Ever since the falling strawberry-rhubarb pie disaster a couple of weeks ago, I’ve been mourning in that very special way that only happens when you are grieving over something you could have eaten, but didn’t. It doesn’t matter whether the thing you failed to eat was actually good or not (in the case of that falling pie, who can say?) The fact is that you never got the chance.
Today I should have spent the morning catching up on my work, but instead I made myself a rhubarb pie, with a nice latticed lard-butter crust. It’s my consolation pie.
The only problem is, it’s still mid-afternoon. I’ve got a 4-hour meeting and dinner to worry about before I can come back home and explore things fully. By that time, it won’t be consolation pie any more. It will be reward pie. And after that, if there is any left, it will be secret-stash-leftover pie, and so on, until, inevitably, it becomes all-gone pie.