November 26, 2004

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

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.

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7 Responses to For Thanksgiving, E.S. and I

  1. Pat says:

    Sorry about the pie. Do they really let you take a dog on NJ Transit?

  2. Brian says:

    Exactly my question, Pat! When I was still with my ex in New York, I would always resent going to his family’s house because we had to take the NJ Transit bus. My parents’ house was always so much more glamorous because we could take the train instead.

  3. i. bendito says:


    Delectable to taste if not to behold.

    Didn’t you mean to say that you platform dived into the pie? 😛

  4. Patrick says:

    Score points for ES. I’d have probably thrown the pie into a new pan, spread ice cream over it, and pretended to have made cobbler…making the dessert a real disaster.

    As for the cranberry recipe…would you mind sending me it? I’ve got to make someone dinner soon.

  5. carla says:

    But how was the tart? (I love It looks pretty spectacular.

  6. Jere says:

    My parents live near Toms River too. I take that bus with some regularity.

  7. Not an M.D. says:

    A crumb top “crust” — you are a master chef! Yummy!


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