Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Pie, O Glorious Pie: The Breakfast of Kings and Social Deviates

The moment scarred me for life. I was nine-years-old, and I wanted to watch cartoons and polish off some leftover pumpkin pie topped with a mountain of whipped cream. My mother sternly lectured me about the ill effects of eating pie for breakfast. She led me to believe that the pie and cartoons were a deadly combination that would rot my brain and leave me malnourished. She also hinted that eating pie for breakfast was a morally decadent act that would lead to a life in the gutter, where I’d rub elbows with winos, junkies, and other outcasts, all who as children probably ignored their mothers’ warnings.

I’m now 38-years-old and I’m setting out to dispel this myth. Last week one of my wife’s co-workers delivered a late Christmas gift, a raspberry pie from Marcon Bakery in Washington, Kansas. I thought it would be a great opportunity to test my mother’s theory about consuming pie for breakfast, so this past Saturday I started my day by devouring a slice of pie for my breakfast (However, I drew the line at doing this while watching cartoons. I didn’t want to push things too far. I have to maintain some semblance of civility).

The first bite of pie triggered a flood of endorphins, leaving me giddy, irrational thoughts ricocheted in my mind. I had visions of starting a bakery. I’d call it the Giddy Up Pie Company. I could wear chaps as I baked. I then envisioned myself quitting my job, purchasing a VW van, and trekking across America seeking the perfect pie. Apple. Cherry. Meringue. Chess. Shoe-Fly. My mind soared with delusional thoughts – grandmothers, dusted with flour and brandishing rolling pins, encouraged me to cross over to the dark side. Before I acted irrationally, I landed back to reality. I realized I was just a guy enjoying a great piece of pie.

After one day of pie for breakfast I decided to cease my experiment. It was just too risky. Chalk another one up for Mom – as always she knew best.

However, I did learn that I love receiving a pie as a gift, and I’m flirting with the following idea: Once a month, I’ll eat something to start my day that won’t meet any mother’s criteria for a nutritional breakfast. Perhaps, a little moderation will keep me out of the gutter.

Save the pie for dessert!

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