Near Fiasco Friendsgiving Pie

I’d never been to a “Friendsgiving” before, probably on account of my anti-social tendencies and occasionally crusty demeanor. But last year, I’d actually found a group of people I like and who like me, or at least my proclivity for producing pastries.

For my first, I decided I couldn’t arrive empty-handed, especially since when I am in a crowd I never know what to do with my hands…

So I whipped up a pecan pie in a flash and, after hearing that my current flirtation (now boyfriend) would be in attendance, I spent the rest of the day primping, as girls do.

Face masks, teeth whitening, even a pedicure, candles and cucumber water, a spa day of sorts to calm my nerves.

However, my mental peace was short-lived. And as the hour of Friendsgiving approached, the fiascoes started stacking up.

The face mask I’d used a million times betrayed me and turned my skin a delicate shade of really-frickin’-red upon removal.

Remember that soothing candle I mentioned above? I bent over it and accidentally caught my hair on fire. The smell was awful, the look of the singed wisps sprouting from my head, worse.

“It’s okay, it’s okay – I can recover. So what, I look like a beet, and my hair is charred? It’s fine. What else could go wrong?” I thought.

Just wait.

My crush suggested we ride together and that he pick me up. From my house. My PARENTS’ house. Oh, well great.

This Friendsgiving was starting to seem like a nightmare; but, I was comforted by the perfect little pie I had baked. So warm and inviting with gooey filling, festive spice, crunchy pecans. I knew the pie would impress which put me at ease ever so slightly.

Thankfully things started looking up. The meeting with mom and dad was brief, and I was the only awkward party. They were great, he was great, and I stared at my feet, silently struggling to push a few of our more…private…memories out of my mind.

My inflamed face had mellowed, my hair was styled to expertly hide the burn marks, and my guy seemed very happy to be with me as we drove through the night hurtling towards people we like and the promise of a stiff drink.

As we pulled up, I figured I was out of the woods. I’d made it. The only thing left to do was present the pie and unwind.

As we ascended the steps, I heard a rip, a plop and a long, drawn out, “Oh shiiiiit.”

The box had ripped, and the pie had dropped to the ground; but, amazingly it was mostly unharmed – just a little banged up. After the initial shock, the guy and I were bent over with laughter. We scooped up the street pie, threw the dismembered box in a bush and composed ourselves (made out a little) before ringing the bell and entering the house.

The pie was received with “oooohs” and “ahhhhs,” and nobody knew our little sidewalk secret. I began slicing and passing.

The rest of the night was a baked good blur of delicious food, fun friends, that handsome pie-dropping guy and happy memories I don’t really remember.

Here’s my recipe:

Measure out all ingredients. Place eggs in a large bowl.

Whisk together eggs, butter, molasses, and salt. Add pecans.  Set aside.

Roll out pie crust and place into a 9-inch pie plate.

Crimp edges for a fancy effect.

Slather that fancy crust in egg wash.

Pour in the filling. Transfer to a 350°F oven and bake for 40 – 50 minutes until the crust is golden and the filling is mostly set with a little jiggle in the center.

Let pie cool before boxing. Annnnnd….dropping.