Pie really isn’t my thing. Eating pie? I’m great at that. But making pie? Not so much. The fillings are no problem, easy as (wait for it) pie. I’m talking crust here, folks. Pie crust is beyond my skill set, apparently. I think it’s the rolling: I can never seem to make it come out even; there are always patchy bits that tear on the way to the pan. And even if I do manage to get it assembled and into the oven, the end result is usually tough, not tender. Chewy, not flaky. Altogether not worth the effort. I had a boyfriend once who was really into pie. Seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally master a basic recipe that’s been deviling me for years. After my third attempt, complete with behind-the-scenes tears (both in the crust and in my eyes), after which he gently put down his fork and smiled at me the way I now smile at Harry when he draws a blob, I consigned my rolling pin to the back cabinet. We broke up soon after. I blame the pie.
