You know how every once in a while you’ll be sitting there on the couch, watching a House marathon in your sweatpants, watching your fiance drink Mike’s Hard Lemonade like the throbbing ball of masculinity that he is, and on one of the commercials you switch over to Food Network to see Alton Brown eating a fried Caribbean meat-pastry pocket? And how your fiance then says “Oh man. I want a fried pie. Or something with dough. That you can pick up *he motions picking it up* and go chomp *he makes eating noise*”? And how you then feel, at 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday that you also want a fried pie. So you go into the kitchen and make hot water pastry dough and find a can of pie filling from that time you had to make 3 Black Forest cakes in a weekend? And how, by the time the commercial break is over you’ve made fried cherry pies, convincing your fiance that you’re actually possessed with the power of magic? Well, that happened to me yesterday.
And it was everything I thought it could be.