No matter how you slice it
I didn’t think I would ever meet a slice of pie that I didn’t like. But I did, just recently, at the Kansas Mennonite Relief Sale in Hutchinson. Actually, I need to amend that statement to say: I didn’t think I would ever meet a slice of pie at the Kansas Mennonite Relief Sale that I didn’t like. I mean, we Mennonites are known for awesome pies and zwieback and dinner rolls and bread, etc. But on Friday night of the two-day event, the luck of the pie slice was not on my side, and I got a bad piece. The real trouble here is that at least five other people also got a bad slice of that same pie. But before the tale of the pie, let me set the stage.
Every year, we head down to the Kansas State Fairgrounds in April for the Kansas Mennonite Relief Sale. I wish I could take all of you there to experience it. It is a highlight of the year for me because it’s like a big family reunion. This is where I hug and greet people I get to see only once a year—at the KMRS—and it is like a huge family reunion. This is where thousands of people gather to ooh and aah over some of the most beautiful quilts you could ever see, and then watch and participate as they are auctioned for hundreds, even thousands of dollars. This is where I enjoy eating ethnic German foods that I get to eat once a year, at the KMRS. This is where I flip a “reset” switch in my soul, grateful and blessed. And this year, it is where a little over $600,000 was raised in the two-day event for projects all over the world, especially Ukraine.
So, about that pie. above all desserts, I would have to say that pie is my favorite, and it’s even better if there is ice cream on top. And Friday night, after we had eaten our meal of verenike, sausage, and borscht from the Feeding the Multitude venue, we walked around to let that ham gravy and verenike settle and then it was pie time. We gravitated towards the group in the corner who was selling not only pie, but also homemade vanilla ice cream to go on top. They were churning the ice cream right there on the spot. I chose one of my favorite kinds of pie—strawberry-rhubarb—and had them put a serving of homemade ice cream on top. We went to sit down with friends and enjoy our pie and ice cream, and that’s when I realized that someone had made a pie that did not in any way meet the high standard and respect that I have for pie. It may have had a little bit of strawberry in it, but it was hard to tell because the pieces of rhubarb were so large, very bitter and tough chunks of stalk. If it truly was rhubarb, it should not have been used for pie, and probably should not have even been cut from the plant.
I say all this because I have no idea who made the pie, and no one reading this knows either. (And Lord knows, I’ve had many flops of my own throughout the years. Seems I can’t bake much of anything anymore without doing something stupid!) But you know what? I ate it all—every last bite. Even though I complained a bit, I forged through it. I paid for it; the money went for a good cause; and most importantly, the maker/baker had a heart for giving. So I’m sorry for grumbling about a bad piece of pie. But here’s how I made up for it: all day Saturday, all I ate was pie. About mid-morning, while enjoying the quilt auction, I went back to the same people as the evening before and got a slice of peach pie with another scoop of homemade ice cream. Later in the day, with so many choices of food to eat for lunch, the only thing I was hungry for was another piece of pie, so I had a slice of triple-berry pie, with ice cream. And late in the afternoon, as the ice cream was gone and the pie stand was just about sold out, I treated myself to one more slice, this time pecan, just to help them get rid of it. All I ate all day Saturday was pie. That’s a pretty good diet, don’t you think?
By no means am I an expert pie baker, but I keep working at it. The last time I made a pie, it was probably the best one I had made in a long time. Actually, it was the only one I had made in a long time. I love pie, but I love it even better when someone else has made it. Except for whoever left the rhubarb in large chunks in that first piece of pie I had at the Kansas Mennonite Relief Sale. The next three pieces made up for it!
