a pie in the eye of the beholder

Some tales bear repeating.  Even if they have not been told the first time.

I am getting to that age where I regularly pepper my speech with "I may have told you this before."  It is one of those self-deprecating defenses: I will say it before someone deflates my tale with "Oh, yeah.  You've told that one several times."

I thought I was going to be put in that position for today's story.  But a quick search of Mexpatriate (using the very handy search engine at the upper left) reveals that this is a new story for you all.  Except for the people who have sat through it in person.

It involves one of my favorite pies.  Banana cream pie, to be exact.  But a little context first.

Last evening, my friends Ed and Roxanne rode over to La Manzanilla with me to experience another of Alex's dining experiences at Cafe de Flores.  I saw on our local message board that one of her featured desserts was Old School Banana Pudding.  You can probably see why it interested me.

And it was everything I could want.  Homemade pudding in a small  mason jar with fresh bananas, thin Mexican cookies, and whipped cream.  Everything bite was perfect.  And best of all, it triggered a raconteur's tale for the assembled diners.

A couple of years before I moved to Mexico, I drove over to the local Marie Callender's restaurant to buy a pie.  Don't be shocked if I tell you it was banana cream.

Back in those golden days, I did most of my reading and eating in my hot tub.  This was to be no exception.

In my world, there are four servings in a pie.  When it comes to pie I like, a piece can never be too large.

So, off I went to the hot tub with my large portion of creamy pie.  I suspect it survived for only a few minutes.  Back into the house I went to dole out another serving -- and to brew a cup of Constant Comment tea.

It too disappeared quickly.  I took the empty plate back into the kitchen to leave it in the sink.  But the third piece called out to me.  And I gave in.  That piece lasted me much longer than the previous two.

When I came into the house to finally get rid of the plate, it occurred to me that no one leaves that last piece of pie in a pan.  Too often it simply goes uneaten.  And that is the veritable definition of a shame.  But not that night.  It went on my plate.

I do not recall just how long it took me to work my way through the final piece.  But I can remember that the last two or three bites did not go down smoothly.  It was more like tamping down a wad in a pirate cannon.  But I was not to be denied my bragging rights for eating a full pie in one sitting.

Would you be surprised if I told you I could not look at a banana cream pie for sometime without feel a bit nauseous?  Thinking about it now, I am not certain I have eaten any since then.

Well, until last night.  And it was a great lesson.  No matter how I try to indulge in aversion therapy, I will never be a Skinnerian.  Not that I would want to be.

Not only did I relish my little banana cream faux pie, I also received a hot tip on where I can buy some fresh cherries locally.

Life is good.  And delicious.