Great Expectations

         My eldest granddaughter, Sydney and I had a date. A date to bake pies. She came prepared with a pastry recipe she had tested at school and I provided the kitchen and the ingredients. Fresh from success in her cooking class, Syd wanted to create pumpkin pies. Imagining the flavour treat I did not object.

         Soon the once spotless kitchen reflected our diligent efforts. Flour coated every surface and hung in the air. It looked as if we'd flung it on the blades of the ceiling fan and chosen the fastest blade speed.

         As we created we chatted and giggled. Sydney shared tales out of school. She boasted she'd already baked several pies for staff members and had not heard one word of complaint. How could ours not be magnificent?

          I chose to take a supervisory/onlooker role. While my guest baker mixed the pastry dough with her bare hands I acted as a witness. She assured me this method produced the best results. I've never been a pastry expert plus I had an excuse for my no-hands approach. I didn't want my rings smothered in sticky dough.

         Our pie crust would be a from-scratch phenomenon while the guts, the pie filling would be one spooned from a can. I managed to operate the can opener and free the pumpkin puree. This seemed a more expedient method than wrestling our needs from an actual pumpkin. Knives and I often disagree. Neither of us were fond of pumpkin slime either. To carve one once a year for Halloween was experience enough for both of us. Into the puree we stirred eggs and spices. Nothing smells like cinnamon and nutmeg.

         Sydney rolled out her pastry and fitted it into pie pans before filling her pies with aromatic pumpkin. She beamed and to my eyes they looked like pumpkin pies. They seemed to be beautiful. Now all we had to do was bake them and not burn them. Nothing ruins baking like charring. Since we had no intention of this happening we set a timer and waited.

         During the magic transformation process heavenly, tantalizing aromas tickled our noses. I teased my co-baker that I just might keep both pies. She reminded me of our deal and also that she'd promised one to her mother. We agreed this is the best part of baking, anticipation. Our taste buds were salivating with great expectations.

         At long last the timer chimed and Syd pulled the pies from the hot oven. I noticed she was no longer smiling. With a quick peek over her shoulder I too lost my grin. No, there was no sign whatsoever of burning. The crust, what there was, had a lovely golden hue. The filling had set and plumped the pies. It still smelled divine.

         What could not be unnoticed? There seemed to be a distinct lack of pie crust, a shrinking or disappearance. Where had all that lovingly prepared dough gone?

         With obvious sarcasm, Syd muttered, "They're one of a kind."

         I chose to ignore her and responded with, "We did it! Give me a high five."

         My granddaughter glared at me.

         I chirped, "I believe we've invented a new light crust pie."

         "More like where's-the-crust pie, Nanna."

         

         For some unfathomable reason, Syd thought her Mom wouldn't want a pie now even though it was her favourite and I had to coax, no insist, she take one home. Yes, it did not resemble a typical pie, but it still tasted delicious. I believed two slices of it were the equivalent of one with a full crust. One of its slices had the advantage of less calories, too.

         As is the modern way of communication Syd and I shared via cell phone messaging with the rest of the family members. They commiserated with us. One replied, " I'm sure they will be delicious. Sadly pastry desserts are foreign to our family."

         I responded with my own optimistic message. Syd has already promised there will be another attempt some day. We are learning... At least we know how to bake the good stuff like cookies and cakes.

         My daughter agreed. "That we do and those are very important."

         So, our lesson that day: great expectations need to be sprinkled with a grain of salt. We don't always get the slice of pie we are anticipating. Stuff happens in the kitchen, mysterious stuff. We aim for edible stuff.

( 732 words ) Giovanni's # 39