Thursday, February 19, 2015

Berries and Cream

 As a little girl, I would sit on the counter and watch my dad when he made pies.
I remember the swishing of the knives (back in the day before the pastry cutter), blending the shortening into the flour 'til it was just right.
I remember stealing the scraps and tasting the just-barely-salty lardy flavor in my mouth.

And man...that crust is to die for.

I had friends over for dinner recently and knew, a couple weeks before, that I was going to make berry pie.
And it was one of those things that I thought about
for all those two weeks leading up to it.

They came on a Saturday evening, and the night before, in the quiet, I mixed sugar and tapioca and berries.
I made pie crust, all the while listening to an interview that my father did in 2010.
I heard him laughing, talking, telling stories.
The kitchen was quiet, just me and him and this familiar thing since childhood.

It was perfect.

And really, all I have to say today is that there are few things as delish or as comforting to body and soul as a slice of berry pie with cream.
And amen.

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