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Posts Tagged ‘candy bar’

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Flagrant imitation of a Four and Twenty Blackbirds shot. Their pies always look like the work of a New England grandma, made as geese fly overhead and honk faintly, wistfully, as wood smoke curls into the grey clouds.

My pies tend to be fruit based. Or homemade low-fat vanilla pudding + fruit based. This is because I’m usually the one eating my pies, and if I made pies like the above for myself, I’d be as big as a Boeing*. I made it for my friend Matt’s annual ‘Pie-Day Friday’ party**, for which he requested something that comprised his favorite combination, chocolate and peanut butter. This is also my own personal kryptonite, so I was happy to oblige him.

But it was strange, and not just because Martha Stewart’s recipe was written too loosely, and not just because her staff has a worrying obsession with writing recipes using off-sized baking pans that no one owns. It was odd to make a pie crust and fill it with peanut butter and chocolate, and no fruit at all. And they have you press in bits of homemade peanut brittle into the peanut butter. There was a lot of leftover brittle, so I ignored the instruction to drizzle more peanut butter on top (which was easy to ignore, as I don’t own a microwave to melt it, and warming it in a pan just burns it and makes your house smell like the boiler room at J.M. Smucker. Hypothetically speaking.) and instead I just stuck more pieces of brittle around the edges, Stonehenge style. It was odd, and all told, it was honestly less of a pie than a giant round candy bar.

But conversation noticeably dried up for a little while while the guests ate it, so I know it went over well.

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It didn’t call for fleur de sel, either, but there it is.

*W├╝sthof-sharp analogy that will be dated embarrassingly soon, like circa Thursday morning, so I hope you’re reading this is in a timely fashion.

**The invitation said to bring leftover pie from Thanksgiving or to bring a new one. I asked Matt, a prosecutor, ‘But if we all walk in with pies, wouldn’t that leave you with still more leftover pie, necessitating yet another pie party?’ He replied, ‘Tell no one you have unraveled our scheme.’

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On the fourth of July I woke up fed up. The afternoon before I had had—let’s call it ‘a procedure’—at my eye doctor’s. Below are the opinions of everyone involved.

Me: Good idea.

Eye Doctor: Good idea.

Eyes: Try and make me.

As I told my Facebook pals, I will spare the details* of this procedure for the benefit of the squeamish among you. Suffice it to say that my eyes were glassy, inflamed and distractingly uncomfortable that whole night, lending me all of the guileless charm of a Courtney Love groupie.

I had the eye doctor paged the next morning. Sweetest of joys, he was on his way to a barbecue nearby, so he met me at his office inside an hour, and in jeans, t shirt and a baseball cap he, ahem, reversed the procedure.**

It’s astonishing how free I suddenly felt. Laughing and crying at the same time, I drove directly out to buy some chocolate. Those of you who remember my recent post kryptonite and my frequently exercised policy of rewarding myself with food aren’t blinking at this.

It was*** a peanut butter and jelly chocolate bar, and it was bloody awesome despite the fact that it was milk chocolate, which typically gets the snub unless it’s October 31.

It being a muggy day, the candy bar sort of bent and gooshed when I bit into it, and the top layer of chocolate peeled back as if a blanket from a bed, revealing continued gooshiness inside. Please note that this is not a complaint.

So if July 3rd was frustration and discomfort, July 4th was soothing myself with drops of Lotamax and a 99-cent candy bar from Trader Joe’s. Liberation can be celebrated in metric tons or in ounces.

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I like how the peanut butter glistens. Isn’t that cool? I hear other people shoot sunsets.

*Curious and not squeamish? Google ‘punctal plugs’.

**Totally, unabashedly past tense.

***Nice euphemism, right? Are you just dying to know what happened?

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