Sep 272010

If this looks more like something you’d want to motorboat and less like something that’s sucker-punching your gag reflex, then read on.

I love pie. For years, I’ve wanted to have a pie party but usually complacency sets in and I put it on the backburner.

But then Henry made an avocado pie for my mom’s Labor Day cookout and it was smooth as silk, tangy, rich and to be honest, I just closed my eyes and smiled while thinking about it. He even made a citrus-tinged whipped cream which he plans to slather on the next avocado pie he makes. Which hopefully will be on October 10, 2010 for my first annual to nothing PIE PARTY.

It’s going to be held at a pavilion in South Park, and the invitation is open to any local person reading this who has a propensity for pies (or anyone who likes pies enough to travel to Pittsburgh!). I’m trying to convince Henry that we really need to pay extra to be able to have alcohol at the park because I can’t imagine spending an autumn day outside, eating pie, with NO MULLED WINE to wash it down.

Actually, I’ve never had mulled wine, but Alisha always talks about it like it’s her own invention, and has subconsciously convinced me that I must have a big steaming vat of this. I think she should make it in a cauldron. Alisha – we will discuss this soon. Look out for my telegram. Bring your decoder ring.

If we’re not friends on Facebook, here is the official event notice:

A Pretentiously Perplexing Pie Party

Sunday, October 10, 2010

2:00PM – 6:00PM

A Pavilion in South Park, TBD

Please pop a squat with me beneath a pavilion on a (hopefully) pleasant autumn day, plunging plastic ware into a plethora of piquant pies.

Please present one (1) pie for passage; a paltry price to pay for a party pinioned by prestigious proclivity.

Pursuing pies of all persuasions! Palatable produce, pungent pasty, puzzling pot pies.

Leave all picky palates at the plantation and come get your piper pied!
In other words: let’s eat the crap out of some pies.

I’m having my mom make her amazing butterscotch pie, you guys. It could anally rape you and you wouldn’t even notice it, it is THAT good. And I might be cajoled into baking the only pie I’ve ever baked in my life (not including the raw pumpkin pie that left my ex-boyfriend with a persnickety duodenum): a succulent pear pie.

If you would like to attend, please let me know! Even if we’ve never met before, what better way to say hello and swap saliva than with chunks of cherry pie falling from our mouths like the remnants of that Civil War reenactor we cannibalized last Arbor Day?