Pie. Just uttering the word pie fills my heart with joy.
I love pie. Given a choice between cake and pie, I choose pie.
Pie is soothing. Pie is humble.
Pie makes no judgment of me, so how can I judge pie?
Cake, on the other hand, has style and finesse.
Pie has no finesse.
Even if pie has an intricate lattice top or a fancy crimped crust or wispy meringue peaks, pie is never graceful, never elegant.
Cake is city slicker. Pie is country bumpkin.
But don’t weep for pie, because pie has something far greater than smooth edges or precision piping or a flutter of perfectly coiffed butter cream roses.
Pie has soul.
Pie evokes warmth and comfort. Eating pie is wrapping yourself in a big, warm hug.
Pie is approachable.
Pie is forgiving. Pie doesn’t care if your socks don’t match or if your skirt is wrinkled, or if you’re wearing a wig to hide your identity.
Pie likes you just the way you are.
Pie is sociable.
And that is why on Saturday, I found myself at the Phoenix New Times Chow Bella Pie Social.
To judge a pie contest. Ten pies from ten professional chefs. Four other judges and me.
It was a tough job, but somebody had to do it.
The New Times will print the results this week. To me, it really doesn’t matter who won because in the end, I did.
I ate pie.
Are you pie or cake?
