For Thanksgiving, E.S. and I and my dog A. went to E.S.’s parents’ house in New Jersey. They told me they planned to prepare a turkey and stuffing and all that good stuff, but when I asked about cranberry sauce they said they usually just got it from a can.
I muffled my gasp of horror before there was any actual vocalization to it, and suggested that it would be no problem for me to make some cranberry sauce and bring it with me. They graciously accepted my offer, and I allowed as to how, since I would already be cooking, it would be an easy thing for me to take the burden of dessert off their hands and bake a couple pies. Again, they graciously accepted.
Cranberry sauce is, in addition to being the easiest thing in the world to make, really fun, because all the cranberries pop, making this cute exploding noise while you’re cooking them. I figured I’d also throw together an apple pie and, for a challenge, a chocolate-orange tart from a recipe I got off epicurious.com.
All the preparations went off without a hitch, and on Wednesday night, E.S. and I, along with my dog, a pie, a tart, and a Tupperware container of cranberry sauce, were safely ensconced in seats on the New Jersey Transit bus. I fell asleep almost instantly, as is my wont on long trips on public transportation, and woke up as we were pulling into the station at Toms River.
Only to find that I had stepped on the apple pie in my sleep.
It was awful. I was faced with two equally unacceptable choices. If I served my hosts a pie with my footprint in it (a possibility, as it had been covered in plastic when I stepped on it), they would think I was a clumsy lout who couldn’t even take care of a pastry, much less their son, and they would hate me. If, however, I imposed on them by forcing them to take me to the grocery store and commandeering their kitchen so that I could make a new pie, they would think I was an inconsiderate boor the only explanation for whose utter lack of manners was that I was raised by wolves, and they would hate me.
In the end, E.S., working in concert with his parents, prevailed upon me just to give them the pie, and promised that nobody would hate me.
And I have to say that, despite its having been smushed, it tasted pretty good.