I’m sure many of you are thinking to yourself right now “Make a pie? That’s crazy! Why make a pie when I can buy one that’s ready to eat?” I know this because I once thought the same way, believing that pie-making should be left to the “professionals.” While the professionals should be in control of many things in life, pie-making is definitely open to the masses (that means you!). Also, it is scientifically proven that you’ll value a pie you make yourself more than one you buy at a store.
So, I’m not going to judge you if you use this as inspiration to go out and find a wonderful ready-to-eat pie (We’re all busy people and either way you’re still treating yo’ self) — my argument is that making a pie is quick and easy but, at the end of the day, I can’t promise that it’ll be a cakewalk, especially if you have no baking experience (though remember that everybody must start somewhere). There is the possibility of disappointment along the line, but in my experience this recipe is a fool-proof way to achieve self-fulfilling self-indulgence in the form of a hand-made apple pie:
Venture into the wide open north and you might just find yourself in Tioga, Texas (birthplace of Gene Autry, doncha know it?). This is where I found myself late last week, traversing the countryside on the hunt for the mythical abode of Clark, Master of Barbeque. [Note: This mythical status stems from my father’s insistence we travel to Tioga, Texas for BBQ.]
On this quest to Clark’s Outpost BBQ, you’ll know you’re near when you pass Buck Creek Road (yep, readers, we’re entering the real Texas) and the outpost will soon appear on your right. I would call it a hole in the wall, but there are far too few walls in that area for it to hide from sight – besides, it has too many awards on the walls to classify as unknown.
Is that Comic Sans?
As an (unpaid) writer, I survive on a small budget. So while my friends are checking out the new hot-spot food places around town, I take my jar of pennies and key rings to the local 7/11. I’ve developed a good sense of the food there (or, in some cases, “food”), but I’ll always have a certain level of devotion to the 7/11 brownie.
Now normally when you see a packaged brownie, the first instinct you should have is to run. Run fast that thing is nasty. (If you’ve ever eaten a brownie from Which Wich or Freebirds, you’ll know what I’m talking about.)
These brownies are consistently good, however, and so big that you may have to save some for later (HAHAHA, I’m kidding. Who does that?!). Eating a 7/11 brownie is like waking up on Christmas Day and finding that you seriously got a pony this year. Or like getting hit by a rich man’s Lexus and suing him for all he’s worth. Or like getting two prizes in your cereal box. Or like winning the Kentucky Derby while riding a Donkey.
Understand? These brownies are good.
Seriously, we don’t. But as a part of our food coverage (Our classy, classy food coverage) I have to tell you about these chips that we had last night.
Jeff and I annihilated the entire bag of chips in one sitting. Seriously, those chips were like crack (So we called them “crack chips”. Get it?!?!).
Down to the last chip, Jeff and I decided we would fight for it. Armed with pepper spray and a rope, I attempted to trip Jeff, but he was too quick, side stepping me with a perfect 360 spin-jump. I dodged the copy of A Communist Manifesto that he hurled at my head, fumbling with the cap of my pepper spray. In that brief moment of distraction, Jeff chunked another book at me (The Color Purple), effectively knocking me down. Jeff raised the last chip above his head triumphantly, before bringing it down to his face and consuming it in one massive bite. Defeated, I resigned myself to snack on some cracker crumbs and small bits of cheese.