For the previous Penelope’s Pie Shop, go here.  For the previous Penelope’s Pie Shop installments, visit the Neverending Stories Tab at the the top of this site.

Her heart pounding, Meg lead Penelope into the kitchen.

“Before I show you this, I have to tell you something,” she confessed, swallowing hard.  Her mouth was so dry that her lips cracked with every word and her voice felt like sand in her throat.  Wiping her damp palms on her apron, she locked her fingers together.  As her eyes roamed the room, looking anywhere but at Penelope, she noticed Biscuit had disappeared.  The only thing left on the counter was an empty pie shell, every inch of cream and meringue licked away.

Penelope’s bright green eyes focused like a laser on hers.  “What do you have to tell me?” she asked.

Meg gulped.  It felt like sandpaper rushing over her tonsils.  “When I first came here, I was desperate for a job,” she admitted, trailing her fingers over the counter.  “All I could think about was how my boyfriend had cheated on me and how the landlord was breathing down my neck.”  She peeked up at Penelope.  The other woman’s face was blank, her eyes flickering with interest.

“But then I came here, and all that changed,” she continued, fingering the top of the faucet.  “At first, I hated baking.  The first pies I made–they were horrible.  They tasted like rotten gravel.  But then, with a little help–”  She glanced at the chalkboard and cookbooks, who fluttered their pages appreciatively– “I discovered the joy in creating pie.  I discovered the beauty of combining flavors, the pure fun and frivolity of it all.  And when I saw people appreciating the pies, how happiness was wrapped in every single bite…well, I got it.  I really got it.”  Meg looked up at Penelope.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say,” she concluded, “is that this isn’t just a job for me anymore.  This is a dream.  And I’m hoping I can keep dreaming.”

Penelope’s ruby lips stretched apart in a grin, but her green eyes sharpened.  “Well, let’s see, shall we?”

Meg nodded, ignoring the tightness in her chest and throat.  Taking a deep breath, she pulled a towel off the pie she had worked on for hours.  She and the cookbooks had been through seven versions before they got it just perfect.  Pulling out a plate and a fork from the cabinet, she handed them to Penelope.  The cookbooks looked on, their covers trembling.  Even the chalk rattled against the black board.

Penelope cut herself a thick slice of the pie, sniffing it carefully.  Sliding her fork through the gooey mess, she raised the rich morsel to her lips.  Meg forgot to breathe as she watched the fork slide into Penelope’s open mouth.  Penelope chewed once, twice, three times.  She swallowed and stared at the pie, tapping her fingers against the counter.

Meg could barely stand.  She grasped the counter, feeling hysteria building in her chest.  She hated it.  It was terrible.  She should have realized she couldn’t create a decent pie. Drawing ragged breaths through her parted lips, Meg stared up at Penelope in dismay.  The green eyes met hers and crinkled around the edges.  Penelope’s ruby lips drew back in a grin.

“It’s fabulous,” she beamed.  “What is it?”

Meg’s knees buckled and she grasped the counter, her feet frantically scraping against the floor.  “What?  Huh?  You like it?”

“Very much,” Penelope mumbled, shoving another piece into her mouth.  “It’s delicious.  Chocolate, peanut butter, coconut…what do you call it?”

Gaping at her, Meg forced herself to answer.  “Hello Dolly Pie,” she croaked.

“Fantastic!” Penelope cried, digging her fork straight into the pan.  “Tell me, how did you come up with it?”

Feeling as if she was trapped in a whirlpool, Meg steadied herself against the counter.  Her mind still hadn’t wrapped around the fact that Penelope actually liked her pie.  In fact, not only did she like it, but half of it had disappeared.

“Well, I got to thinking when I was talking to Biscuit,” Meg replied.  “I realized that you had probably made and tasted dozens of pies.  After pouring over the cookbooks, I kept trying to make exotic pies and sophisticated pies and terribly complicated pies.  But then I found out they tasted like putrid sand.  That’s when I discovered the pies were only good if I had fun while making them.”

Penelope picked up the pie plate and nodded.  “Go on,” she said, licking chocolate and coconut off her fork.

“Well, I knew I wanted the pie to have peanut butter in it because of the pie I made for the princesses,” Meg replied, pointing to the dining room where the princesses were still devouring their peanut butter ice cream pie and candy bar pie.

“And I knew I wanted to have caramel in the pie, because when I was growing up my grandmother made the most fantastic caramel pie,” Meg continued, drooling slightly at the memory of her grandmother’s caramel pie.  “It was out of this world, really.”

“I’ll believe it,” Penelope murmured, slurping up the rich mess with delight.  Two-thirds of the pie was gone.  Chocolate was smeared all over her chin and coconut dangled from her nose.  Trying not to giggle, Meg continued.

“I also knew I wanted to have coconut and whipped cream in the pie,” Meg informed Penelope.  “Just like the pie Mrs. May used to make for me after school when I was growing up.”

“Delicious,” Penelope murmured.  “But how did you come up with hello dolly pie?  There are dozens of pies with coconut and chocolate and caramel and peanut butter.”

“The cookbooks helped with that,” Meg admitted, sweeping her hand over the bookshelf.  “One of them flipped to a recipe of hello dolly cookies, and I realized it was perfect.  Hello dollies were a favorite dessert of mine growing up.  I only got them at Christmas at my grandmother’s, and they were so special to me.  I knew I could have fun making a pie out of it.  With a little help from the chalkboard and the baking book over there, we created our own recipe.”

With a final gulp, Penelope handed the empty pie plate back to Meg.  “That was delicious,” she said, wiping the chocolate smears and peanut butter chips from her mouth.  “I loved it.”

“I can tell,” Meg replied, her eyes wide as she stared at the empty pie plate.  Every chip, every glob of caramel and every bit of cream was gone.  The pie plate had been licked clean.

“So, what do you want to make next?” Penelope asked, twirling about the kitchen.  “Or do you wish to go home?  You’ve been here several days now.”

“Does this mean I’m hired?”  Meg could hardly breathe as she waited for an answer.  To work in the pie shop would be a dream come true.

“Of course.”  Penelope’s eyes sparkled.  “You understand the love of pie and make fabulous ones.  What more could I ask for?”

“Oh, thank you,” Meg bubbled, rushing over to throw her arms around Penelope.  The cookbooks clattered in joy and the chalkboard scribbled, Congratulations!  We knew you could do it!

“You don’t know how excited I am!”  Meg cried.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”  Releasing her hold on Penelope, she glanced around the kitchen.  “And thanks to all of you.  I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

The cookbooks beamed.  We know, the chalkboard replied smugly.  We’re brilliant.

Penelope rolled her eyes.  “Now I’ve got a cocky chalkboard,” she muttered.  “What next?”

“Where’s Biscuit?” Meg wondered aloud, her eyes skimming over the kitchen.  She poked her head into the dining room, looking from one side to the other.  “Do you know where she went?”

“Who?”  Penelope’s bright green eyes were wide.  “Who is Biscuit?”

“Your cat,” Meg replied, her brow furrowed.  “The pretty calico.  The one that talks.”

Penelope shook her head.  “I don’t have a cat, dear.  Health codes, you know.  Listen, perhaps you should go home and get some sleep before we bake again.  I think you’ve been up for too long.”

“But I swear there was a cat!” Meg cried.  She glanced at the cookbooks, who remained silent.  “I know there was!”

The chalkboard drew a large question mark on it’s black surface.  Penelope’s bright green eyes twinkled.  Meg looked into them and felt a strange chill go down her back.  She had never notice, but there was something in Penelope’s eyes that looked very familiar.  She peered closely at her face, staring at her nose still smeared with coconut cream.  It was the way Penelope’s eyes twinkled….

“I’ll see you first thing tomorrow,” Penelope interrupted her thoughts, leading her gently to the door.  “We’ll start baking immediately, so be thinking about what kind of pie you’d like to make.  Have a fabulous night, and thanks for watching my store!”  Before Meg could reply, the door closed in her face.

Standing bewildered on the sidewalk, Meg stared up at the pie shop.  The sun and fresh air felt strange after spending so many days in a kitchen.  Blinking and murmuring aloud to herself, she started home.   She could find Biscuit tomorrow.

Peering out the kitchen window, Penelope watched her leave.  With a grin, she turned to the cookbooks and chalkboard.

“I think that was quite successful, don’t you?” she said in a cheerful voice.  The cookbooks chorused in agreement, their pages fluttering wildly with joy.

She’s lovely, the chalkboard said.  But you pigged out on pie!

“I’ll burn it off,” Penelope shot back, her green eyes flickering.  With a wide smile, she sauntered across the kitchen.  “What shall we bake now?”

And if anyone had been watching, they would have sworn a calico tail peeked out from under her red dress.  Of course if anyone had been watching, they would have believed it was an apron string.

But after all, it is Penelope’s Pie Shop.  So who knows?

Hello Dolly Pie Recipe

From Cooks.com

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow, we have a new recipe from everyone’s favorite bunny and Friday, a new Twirl!  Then we have Marie from A Year From Oak Cottage as our featured creative blogger and a craft!  Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

Penelope’s Pie Shop 9

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For the previous Penelope’s Pie Shop, go here.  For the previous Penelope’s Pie Shop installments, visit the Neverending Stories Tab at the the top of this site.

“Well?” Biscuit demanded, her eyes wide with hunger as she dipped her paw casually into the coconut pie.  Licking a large scoop of coconut cream and meringue off her fur, her tail twitched with curiosity.  “What’s your brilliant idea?  What are you going to do?”

“I can’t tell you,” Meg announced, her eyes glittering with wild excitement.

“What?” Biscuit bellowed, her fur prickling on end.  “What do you mean?  You can’t boast about a brilliant plan and not reveal it!  That’s cruel.”  She scooped another glop of the pie onto her paw, her green eyes blazing.  “That’s beyond rude.”

“I can’t tell you because I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Meg explained.

“You just said you did.”  Biscuit took an indignant lick, cream trembling on her whiskers.  “You said you knew exactly what you wanted to do.”

“I do,” Meg replied.  “I just don’t know how I’m going to do it.  I’m going to need time.  And help.”  Her gaze darted toward the hopeful cookbooks, whose pages were twitching with excitement.  A frantic scribbling across the chalkboard made her laugh.

Please tell me that we’re going to make a pie no one has ever seen.  I was born for fame and fortune, you know.   I was made for greatness.

“We are,” Meg reassured the chalkboard and cookbooks, a grin on her face.  “We’re going to do something amazing.  But first, we have to  make a proper peanut butter ice cream pie for the princesses.”   Bowls filled with peanut butter and ice cream immediately flowed from the hutch, swirling around the room.

I wonder what type of pie we should make for Penelope… the chalkboard mused.

Meg laughed as the cookbooks’ suggestions for a pie filled the air: a drizzle of honey by the oven, a cup of berries hovering around the lamp on the counter, blocks of caramel that looked like a dentist’s nightmare.  Draping an apron over her dress, Meg tied back her hair and began pulling cookbooks off the shelf.   “Let’s get started, shall we?”

“You handle the pies,” Biscuit informed her, her green eyes focused on the coconut cream pie that was half devoured.  “I’ll focus on clean up.”  Purring with bliss, she dove face first into the remaining coconut cream pie.

For the rest of the afternoon and night, Meg worked on pies.  The kitchen was filled with singing and laughter backed to the rustle of cookbook pages.  Ingredients hummed around the kitchen, appearing at her slightest whim.  The chalkboard had gone hoarse with suggestions, scribbling with only the tiniest nub of chalk left.  Biscuit, whose pie laden belly was a sight of it’s own, slept for eight solid hours.  She didn’t even bother to wash the cream off her face or paws.  Though Meg would have never told her, she looked like a kitty Santa Claus with her beard of meringue and mittens of cream.

When the sun rose, the bell over the door announced new customers looking for breakfast and lunch pies.  Meg assisted them all cheerfully as the cookbooks in the back worked overtime.  Biscuit curled up in the shop window as the shop buzzed with activity and happy diners.  The bell rang again.  Meg looked up to see the three young girls in the doorway.  Once again, they were dressed as princesses.

“We’re here!” the first princess announced.

“Just like we promised,” the second princess said.

“Where’s the peanut butter ice cream pie?” the third one asked, pulling a fork out of her puffy, sequin-covered sleeve.

“And don’t worry if it doesn’t taste like the one the Shabby Princess makes,” the second princess said kindly.

“It’s almost an impossible feat,” the first princess admitted.

Her eyes twinkling, Meg pulled out the pie and set it on the table.  She handed the girls some forks and stepped to the side.  “I’ll go get you some milk and glasses,” she said, trying not to smile.  It was all she could do not to squeal in anticipation.  Hurrying to the back, she pulled out the jar of milk from the fridge.  When she heard the princess shriek in delight, she leaped into the air and clapped her hands.  Ignoring the milk sloshing all over her arms, she rushed into the dining room.

“Do you like it?” she asked breathlessly.  “Is it really the same pie?”

“It’s perfect!” the first princess cried.

“Exquisite,” the second princess confirmed.

“We may need another one,” the third princess warned, helping herself to a second piece.

Meg clapped her hands in glee.  “I’m so glad you liked it,” she said, heaving a sigh of relief.  “I also made you a candy bar pie.   I thought you could taste test it for me.”  She pulled it out of the refrigerated pie case and placed it on the table.  The princesses’ eyes went wide with greed.  Licking their lips, they each cut themselves a thick slice of pie.

“This is unbelievable,” the first princess sighed, closing her eyes in bliss.

“This might be better than the peanut butter ice cream pie,” the second princess whispered, hoping the others didn’t notice her blasphemous confession.

“We might need another one of these too,” the third princess confirmed, helping herself to a second slice of the candy bar pie.

“Well, this is a change!”

Meg whirled around.  Penelope stood in the doorway, her green eyes twinkling.  Her brown hair was pinned up on both sides of her head in ribbon looped pigtails exploding with curls.  Her rich red dress was covered with a colorful polka dot apron and her red heels shimmered with her every step.

“Thanks for watching the store for me,” Penelope continued, as causal as she had just popped down to the corner store instead of being gone for days.  “It seems like you’ve learned about pies since I’ve been gone.”

The first princess reached out and grabbed Penelope’s apron strings.  “Ma’am, you must hire her,” she begged.  “She makes the best pies.”

“The first one tasted like sawdust, but the peanut butter ice cream pie tastes just like I remember,” the second princess confirmed.  “And the candy bar pie….oh my.  It’s really good.”

“It’s beyond good,” the third princess argued, helping herself to a fourth piece.  “It’s phenomenal.  It’s unbelievable.  It’s amazing.  It’s stupendous.  It’s delicious.  Drool-worthy.  Tasty…”

“Ok, ok,” Penelope interrupted, her peals of laughter filling the store.  Her green eyes danced as she focused them on Meg.  “Did you manage to whip up a pie for me?”

Meg nodded.  Her stomach twisted in knots and her hands were coated in sweat.  “It’s right back here,” she said.  Biting her lip, she lead Penelope into the kitchen.

To be continued….

Candy Bar Pie

Recipe and picture from Southern Living and myrecipes.com

Preparation

1. Preheat oven to 325°. Cut candy bars into 1/4-inch pieces; arrange over bottom of crust.

2. Beat cream cheese and sugar at medium speed with an electric mixer until blended. Add sour cream and peanut butter, beating at low speed until well blended. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating just until yellow disappears after each addition. Spoon cream cheese mixture over candy on crust.

3. Bake at 325° for 35 to 40 minutes or until set. Remove to a wire rack, and let cool 1 hour or until completely cool. Cover and chill 2 hours.

4. Microwave chocolate and cream in a microwave-safe bowl at HIGH for 30 seconds or until melted and smooth, stirring at 15-second intervals. Drizzle over top of cooled pie, and sprinkle evenly with peanuts.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a ode to peanut butter…and peanut butter cookie recipe!  Friday we have a new Twirl and this weekend, a new creative woman and whimsical fun!

Do you know any creative women that should be featured?  Would you like to be featured yourself?  Then drop me a note and let me know!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

Penelope’s Pie Shop 8

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Taking another bite of the caramel pie, Meg stared at the smug cat twitching its tail on the kitchen counter.

“What?” she demanded, digging another bite out of the sticky remnants that remained on her plate.  “Come on, tell me.  Why does this pie taste fantastic, while the others tasted like sand?”

Biscuit smirked.  “Why don’t you try to make another pie?” she asked, her whiskers fluttering in amusement as Meg cut herself a third slice of caramel pie.  “That is, if you can think of any other pie but the one you’re currently inhaling.”

“Listen, cat,” Meg snapped, “I haven’t had this pie in seven years since my grandmother passed away.  I’m going to enjoy it.  No restaurant has ever been able to make a caramel pie that compared to hers.  Once Penelope hires me, I’ll start training for a marathon or something, ok?”

The cat shrugged, its tail languidly trailing along the counter edge.  Her bright green eyes danced as she delicately licked a calico paw.  “I’m simply trying to help,” she murmured.  “You asked, you know.”  Curling into a ball, the cat closed her eyes and wrapped her tail around herself.

Meg dug into the pie, her eyes closing in bliss as the thick caramel mixture spread over her tongue.  Her fingers were sticky and her teeth felt like they had been wrapped in plastic, but she didn’t care.  There was something about her grandmother’s caramel pie that could cure any wrongs, fix even the worst of bad days.  Even now, delight buzzed in her chest and contentment flowed from her lips in happy sighs.

She slid her fork into the gooey pie and took another bite.  As hard as it was, she had to think of another pie to make.  If the little princesses had felt anywhere near what she felt for the Shabby Princesses‘ Peanut Butter Ice Cream Pie, she was going to give them that happiness.   Taking a final bite of crust and caramel, she licked her lips and set her plate in the sink.

“There’s got to be a pie I can make,” she murmured, glancing at the wall of thousands of cookbooks.  Their pages fluttered with anticipation, each book hoping she would open it first.  “Something simple, something classic.  Something that screams joy and comfort.”  Pulling a thick book off the shelf, she ignored the other books’ unhappy sighs.  “Apple is too common,” she muttered to herself.  “Cherry is too sweet for me.  I’ve never had rhubarb, so I don’t even know if it would taste right.  And blueberries seems like such an obvious choice.”  She pulled another book down, flipping through the pages.  “That’s it!” she crowed, planting her finger on a page.  “Perfect!”

Spinning in the center of the room, she clutched the book to her chest and sang out the ingredients.  “The finest toasted coconut around, 3 cups of milk and 4 eggs!  A little vanilla, some sugar and one fine pie shell, if you please!”  One by one, the ingredients rose from the book and whirled around the room, landing on the counter tops with a flourish.  The sugar and cornstarch mixed together in a white tornado over the counter, the milk pouring into it like a whirlpool.  The mixture drizzled into a waiting pie crust below.  Meg skipped over to it and stuck her finger into the mixture.  She tasted it and smiled.

“Delicious,” she told the cookbook.  It’s cover flushed bright red.  Humming to herself, Meg watched as the meringue spread itself over the top of the pie and toasted coconut sprinkled over the top.  Stepping back, Meg beamed.

“It’s perfect!”  she cried.  “Just perfect.”

Biscuit peered over, her green eyes flickering with interest.  “Why coconut cream pie?” the cat asked.  “What made you pick that over blueberry or apple?”

“When I was little, I went to a really nice lady’s house every day after school,” Meg replied, already pulling out a plate and spatula to try a slice.  “My mom couldn’t afford daycare.  She’d give the lady $50 a week to watch me.  Every year for my birthday, Mrs. May would make me a coconut cream pie for my birthday.  It was the only pie she knew how to make, and she spent hours working on it.”

Sliding a slice on a plate, Meg grinned at the cat.  “So if this tastes like summer and happiness and one of Mrs. May’s big hugs, then I’m considering it a success.  And then you HAVE to tell me why these pies worked and the others didn’t.”

“Deal,” Biscuit agreed, licking a bit of meringue topping off of the pie when Meg wasn’t looking.

Taking a deep breath, Meg slid her fork through the creamy pie.  She took a tentative bite and chewed slowly.  Then she burst out laughing and gave a loud whoop, pumping her fist in the air.

“It’s perfect!” she cried, leaping around the kitchen.  “I did it!  Well, we did it,” she acknowledged, nodding at the cookbooks.  “But it tastes just like the ones Mrs. May made!  It’s got the same fluffy top, the same sweet taste and the same toasted coconut.  I feel like I’m at her house all over again, sitting there after school doing my math homework while she told me stories of her grandchildren and their adventures.”  Dancing around the kitchen in truimph, she took another bite.

“So now you have to tell me”–  She turned around and burst out laughing.  Biscuit’s entire face was covered in cream, with toasted coconut dangling from her whiskers.  Half the pie had neatly disappeared from the dish, with only a few smears of cream as evidence it had ever existed.  “And you made fun of me for eating three slice of caramel pie?” Meg teased.  “At least I used a fork!”

Biscuit scowled.  The coconut twitched on her whiskers and cream trembled on her chin as she began to wash her face with her paws.  “The reason you did better with these pies is simple.  You understood.”

“Understood what?” Meg stared at her.

A frantic scribbling on the chalkboard made her whirl around.  You understood the love of pie.  The joy of pie.  The happiness pie can bring someone. Meg blinked at the scrawled words on the chalkboard, ignoring the cookbooks twittering in the case.  “I still don’t get it.  I’ve always liked pie.  I mean, it’s good.  What’s not to like about it?”

Biscuit had succeeded in removing part of the coconut from her whiskers.  The rest dangled under her chin like a trendy beard.  “For each pie you made, you had a story behind it.  The caramel pie reminded you of your grandmother and tasted of joy you had in your childhood.  The coconut cream pie brought up sweet memories of a woman who was kind to you.  The pies were better because you understood them.  You know what they meant to you, so you put your joyful memories into them.  The pies you  made before were an obligation and full of fear.  You were terrified you wouldn’t get the job.  You were more worried about just making the pies instead of relishing them.”

The sound of chalk dashing against the chalkboard made her turn.  Pie is a celebration of every day life, the chalkboard read.  It is joy.

Meg nodded.  “That’s how those little girls felt about their peanut butter ice cream pie,” she murmured.  “I never understood what made a pie worth celebrating.  But now, I think I do.”  Her eyes twinkled and she stood up, tossing her hair behind her shoulder.  “I know exactly what I’m going to do,” she announced.

Biscuit’s green eyes widened hopefully.  “Make another coconut cream pie?” she asked, licking her lips.

“Even better.”  Meg grinned.

Coconut Cream Pie

Picture and recipe from Cooking Light Magazine, 2002.  Recipe found here.

Yield

10 servings (serving size: 1 wedge)

To be continued….

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a truly Texas recipe and Friday, a new Twirl!  We’ve also got a weekend full of creative fun and a new featured creative woman!  Stay tuned!

Copyright © 2009 - A Duck In Her Pond (aduckinherpond.com)

Penelope’s Pie Shop 7

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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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Penelope’s Pie Shop 6

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