For the previous editions of Penelope’s Pie Shop, look under the Neverending Stories tab at the top of this site!

Meg stared in horror at the peanut butter ice cream pie.  “What do you mean, there’s a problem?” she asked the princesses.  She gripped the edge of the counter so hard her knuckles turned white.

“We don’t mean to complain,” the first princess apologized, “But this is nothing like the peanut butter ice cream pie the Shabby Princess made.”

“We were expecting something else,” the second princess said delicately, pushing the offending pie away.

“It tastes like sawdust,” the third princess said bluntly.  “Sawdust and honey. Nothing like peanut butter at all.”

“Or ice cream,” the second princess added in a whisper.

“What?” Meg exclaimed.  She raced over to the table and picked up one of the pieces of pie.  Digging her fork into it, she shoved an enormous bite in her mouth.  Her eyes went wide and she spat it out on the plate.  “That’s terrible!  That’s atrocious!  I can’t believe I worked all night to have something taste this wretched!”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” the first princess said.

“The Shabby Princess really was an expert at pies,” the second princess confided.  “It would be hard for anyone to live up to.”

“Not everyone is good at making pies,” the third princess said in a practical tone.  “Perhaps you could try a different industry, one without baking.”

Meg tore her fingers through her hair.  “Excuse me a  moment,” she said.  Racing into the kitchen, she flung open the fridge.  Picking up the banana split pie she had made, she dug her fingers into the center of the pie and scooped the contents in her mouth.

“That’s simply not sanitary,” Biscuit scolded from the counter, wrinkling her nose.  “Don’t you know how to use a fork?  And a plate?  Or should I simply lay a drop cloth under you and hang the pies upside down from the cieling?  You could just lay on the floor with your mouth open.”

Meg cried out in disgust and hurled her chest over the sink, spitting out the banana split pie.  She took a paper towel and pawed at her tongue, gagging.  “That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted in my life!”

“I can see that,” Biscuit replied, her bright green eyes full of laughter. “Perhaps instead of wallowing in self-pity, you should take care of the customers outside.”

Meg swore under her breath and raced back into the lobby.  The three young girls were getting ready to leave, their princess dresses rustling as they climbed out of their chairs.

“Listen,” Meg pleaded, “I can do better.  I promise.  That was the first pie I ever made.  I have no idea why it was so terrible, but I promise I can do better.”  Seeing the doubtful looks on the girls faces, she grabbed a peanut butter pie out of one of the refrigerated cases and held it out to them.  “And you can have this peanut butter pie, free of charge.  I didn’t make it,” she added quickly.  “Penelope did.”

The princesses looked at each other.

“I suppose we could come back tommorow,” the first princess said with a shrug.

“Maybe you were just nervous,” the second princess mused, looking greedily at the pie Meg held out in her hands.

The third princess grinned.  “At the worst, we can always try another kind of pie,” she replied.  “Like smore pie.”  Meg winced, but didn’t say a word.  Grabbing the pie out of Meg’s hands, the princesses bade her farewell and flounced out of the shock.  Sighing with relief, Meg raced back to the kitchen.  She paced the floor, gnawing on her lip as she thought.

“What did I do wrong?” she asked aloud.  “I read everything aloud, like the chalkboard said to do.  I mean the books made these pies, not me.  Maybe it’s their fault.”

“It’s not,” Biscuit said, her voice unapologetic.  “It’s yours.”

Meg sagged against the counter, cradling her face in her hands.  “This is terrible,” her muffled voice said through her fingers.  “Penelope asked for a creative pie, and I can’t even make a good one!  Plus, I almost lost her three customers with my stupid pie.  Everything I did last night was a giant waste of time.”  She looked up at Biscuit mournfully.  “Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all.  Maybe the little girl was right.  I should just work in a bank or as a secretary or something, far away from food.”

Biscuit fixed her bright green eyes on Meg.  “Do you even like pie?” she asked, her tail twitching across the counter.

“Of course,” Meg replied.  “I ate most of that apple snickerdoodle pie by myself!”

“Why do you like pie?” Biscuit asked.  Her whiskers glinted in the kitchen light as she eyed Meg.

Meg wrinkled her forehead.  “I don’t know,” she replied.  “It’s good.”

“What’s good about it?” Biscuit asked.  “What makes it better than a cookie or cake?”

Meg tapped her fingers on the counter as she thought.  “There’s just something comforting about it,” she said finally, her fingers rapping one by one against the counter’s surface.  “I mean cookies are fabulous, but they’re every day.  You can always pop in some chocolate chip or sugar cookies.  They’re always at parties and bake sales, even at sandwich shops.  They’re staples.  Cake is elegant, sophisticated.  It’s like Easter Sunday, or a fancy dinner party where you have to wear a nice dress and heels.”  She continued to rap her fingers against the counter.

“Pie is just…homey,” she replied.  “It’s rustic and laid-back.  It’s more special than cookies, but more every day than cake.  They’re easy and simple to whip up, and usually pretty cheap.  And there’s so many things you can do–fruit pies, cream pies, hand pies….It’s pure comfort with a crust.”

“What’s your favorite pie?” Biscuit pressed.

“Caramel,” Meg answered.  “My grandmother used to make it for me every summer when I’d come stay with her for two weeks.  She would buy extra caramels so I could suck on them while she was making the pie.  She’d let me press the crumbled vanilla wafer crust into the pan.”  Meg smiled as she thought of her grandmother, stirring the caramel and milk in the sauce pan over her ancient stove.  “It was always perfect,” she recalled.  “No matter what time of day or how tired she was, it always tasted the same.  It was perfect.  Just perfect.  Thick and sugary.  My mom always said it was so rich her teeth ached, but I loved it.  I couldn’t get enough.  Sometimes, she’d let me eat it for breakfast.”

Licking her lips, she sighed.  She looked over at biscuit and started.  A caramel pie sat on the counter.

Stepping closer to it, she stared at the pie.  “Did you do this?” she asked the cat.

Biscuit snorted.  “Like I would make a pie?” she replied.  “A cat baking pies.  Hilarious.”

“Well, I didn’t make it,” Meg replied, folding her arms over her chest.  Biscuit stared at her, and her eyes widened.  “Did I?  How can I make a pie just from thinking about it?”

“Try some,” Biscuit suggested, pointing at the pie with her tail.

Taking a deep breath, Meg pulled out a knife and cut herself a slice.  The pie was as thick as her grandmother’s had been.  The knife dragged through caramel, dangling strings of sweet goodness into the air as she placed the slice on a plate.  Pulling a fork from the drawer, she cut into the slice.  Her heart fluttering with anticipation, she raised the caramel bite to her lips.  Biscuit’s wide green eyes flickered with interest as she watched.  Closing her eyes, Meg took a bite of the pie.

It was perfect.

It was everything she had remembered.  Everything about it was right–the thick caramel, the sweet rich flavor that made her tastebuds dance, the stickness of her teeth as she tried to swallow.  It was like her grandmother had just whipped it up on the stove that morning.

“Well?” Biscuit asked impatiently with a yowl.  “How is it?”

“Perfect!” Meg exclaimed.  “It’s absolutely perfect!”  She took another bite, closing her eyes in bliss.  “I don’t get it,” she wondered aloud as she dug into the pie.  “How come this pie is perfect, when the others were terrible?”

Biscuit smirked.  “I know why.”

Caramel Pie (from Sugar Bitches: Just Desserts Cookbook)

1 T. gelatin

1/4 cup water

28 caramels

3/4 cup milk

1/8 t. salt

1 cup whipping cream

1/2 cup chopped nuts

1 t. vanilla extract

vanilla wafer crumb crust

Dissolve gelatin in water.  Melt caramels in milk in saucepan over low heat.  Add to gelatin and salt.  Stir.  Chill lightly until thickened. Whip cream.  Add to caramel mixture.  Add nuts and vanilla.  Pour into crust and chill.  Serves 6 to 8.

To be continued…

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a brand new recipe–LOW FAT banana pudding pies! Also, we have a new Twirl coming up and a new Creative Woman in the Pond!  Stay tuned!

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