Good morning. I made a creamy pear pie last night all by myself. (Except that Henry cut the pears because I’m not allowed to use knives.) Then Henry skulked around behind me like a member of the Kitchen Secret Service, making sure I didn’t set off any culinary equivalents of the a-bomb.
And it came out good! I’m a baker! I’ll be baking more pies today. Maybe not today, but soon. I’m making my own crust for the next one.
"So, basically, I can put anything I want in the middle of a pie?" I asked Henry.
Flipping through the circulars, he mumbled, "Yeah, pretty much. Wait, why?"
"Because now I’m thinking."
"That’s scary," he monotoned.
I can’t stop thinking about oranges and currants. And maple syrup.