I've been having pie anxiety ever since reading your pretty perfect pumpkin pie post last week. In a twisted turn of fate, my daughter, granddaughter of my father, the original pie extraordinaire baker, is apparently him reincarnated in the pie world. So now, just when I felt it was safe to try making pie — I mean, he's been dead for 23 years for goodness sake — you come along and announce that you make pretty perfect pumpkin pie.
While I am a very good baker, I have avoided pies my whole life because I grew up eating the most perfect pies ever. They were — ARE — legendary. How could I ever compete with my memory of these amazing pies? The answer is I couldn't so — I'm no fool — I didn't.
Until last year when I made my first pies at Thanksgiving. While not the stuff of yore, they were still just fine (I wrote about it here) and I figured I'd improve on them this year.
And then you came along all pie and mighty, and I've been hyperventilating about this ever since. It's probably one reason why I decided to make rugulah over the weekend, a semi-tricky pastry that I've always wanted to make but didn't because it seemed hard but now I've done it successfully so there. (I will post my recipe another time.)
But then I had a revelation. I don't have to make pretty perfect pumpkin pie. I can make good enough pumpkin pie and the world will still spin on its axis. Sometimes I don't actually have to be best. I guess that's something to be thankful for, don't you think?