Pie Makes Me Weep

I have an deeply emotional relationship with food. I grew up in a household where every step of preparing and sharing a meal from shopping, to cooking to the actual eating was a way to physically nourish those who emotionally and spiritually nourished us. Dining together was a way to reconnect, to strengthen the bonds we shared. Even when I am alone, I prepare meals and dine at the table, treating myself with the importance of a family. When I'm in a relationship, the sharing of meals with purpose is as important to me as stopping whatever I'm doing to affectionately greet with purpose the one who shares so much happiness with me after a time apart.

Thanksgiving dinner is the zenith of my expression of love through food. In many ways it is more important to me than Christmas. This year, I'm joining friends. I'm looking forward to the ritual of preparing and sharing today's meal. So much so, in fact, that I got misty at the stacks of pies in the Balducci's bakery. I like to think that the bakers made a special effort, and wished the recipients of their efforts well as they worked to put those most comforting desserts together. Pie does not usually make me weep, but Thanksgiving pie... bring out the Kleenex!