Knees and Pecan Pie

Fact: overcooked pecan pie is almost toffee

          Nothing makes you appreciate a full-on Thanksgiving spread more than 50 years of cranking one out single-handed. 

          Our holiday was in New Jersey at Lovely Daughter’s, where the turkey was not only moist, but not cooked by me. The carbs plenteous, the desserts were many, and a full set of grandsons was there, along with a couple of favorite relatives.  

          We rode to the Garden State with my contribution of stuffing and two pies. My apple pie fell in the middle as usual, but as everyone affirmed, it really was very good. I might reconsider the type of apples I use, but I worry that if I bought the super-firm non-collapsing kind, wouldn’t I then end up with a crunchy pie?

          I should have taken some pictures – everything looked great, even the table in the dining room. A little background: in August (yes, August. Hold that date.) Lovely D decided she was done with her dining table and it was time for a new one. She therefore gave it to EGG (acronym of the grandson’s names) number one, who had just moved into a house with his girlfriend.

          August, September, October went by and two weekends ago she and Best SIL Ever went shopping. Nothing. One more weekend and they found the table they wanted and scheduled it to be delivered. Fabulous. Except the date was the day after Thanksgiving.

          Thus, the folding white plastic table from the basement, which looked perfectly fine with its white tablecloth and decorations. Guess what? The food tasted just as good and those of us around it were brought that much closer by the dimensions.

          And what about that pecan pie? At the last minute EGG number two was horrified that no one had asked for a pecan pie. A boy after my own heart. I NEVER make pecan pie except for large and rare gatherings because it is my very, very favorite thing on this planet. More than lobster. Possibly more than chocolate.

          Anyway, I said of course I’d make him a pie. And I did, except I burned it because of my left knee. I’d placed the pie in the oven, turned on the timer, and settled into my chair to rest my currently moody knee. (It’s not arthritis. Torn meniscus?) Doing what I never do, depending solely on the timer, I didn’t get up till it went off and I pulled out the darkest pecan pie you’ve ever seen, with almost black crust.

          So, I froze that one, made a new one, took that to NJ.

           Yesterday morning I thought with gratitude that without leftovers, I wasn't tempted to have stuffing for breakfast, or a slab of apple pie. 

            Then that afternoon I thawed pecan pie #1 and last night I ate two pieces right in a row.

            I now hate myself.