I know I’m supposed to be blogging about yoga, but instead
my thoughts are going to apple and pumpkin and pecan and the subtle variations
in the crust that can make all the difference in the world.
I am thinking these things because I am and always will be a
Ryan, and at Thanksgiving this means that almost everything else takes a back
seat as we get ready for our annual pie contest.
The story of the pie contest is this: Many Thanksgivings
ago, because my family is made up of wonderful and creative cooks, someone came
up with the brilliant idea of having a contest. The only rule was that you had
to make your crust from scratch. And so every year since we celebrate
Thanksgiving by having a no-holds-barred competition to see who can come up
with the very best pie. The trash talk begins in July. We work up to a
frenzy through the early fall, with photographs of prototypes and other teasers
circulated via cell phones and the Internet.
When Thanksgiving arrives, we linger through my brother
Dave’s oysters, have a pleasant enough dinner and then, to much applause and fanfare, unveil the year's entrants. Sometimes
there are only 8 pies, sometimes as many as 13 or 14. The competitors include experienced bakers
like my dad as well as nieces and nephews still in elementary school.
Each and every pie is absolutely
delicious. But, there can be only one winner.
And that’s where the judging comes in. We still don’t have
an ideal system. Initially, anyone who didn’t make a pie was put on the jury.
But the pressure on these folks was too much. So we switched to an open format:
Anyone who wanted to take taste every entry may vote. The challenge now is
to convince the youngest judges (never had this problem with my own kids) that
they don’t have to vote for their parent’s pie.
Whatever each entry’s merits, I’ve discovered that the pies
reveal much about each of us as individuals. For example, Cheryl is the most
reliable person I know. She’s had one husband, one job,
and only two homes for the last 30 years. And using the same basic recipe, plus
a gourd she grows in her yard, year after year she makes an amazing pumpkin
pie. Amy is a highly accomplished public relations executive. She presents her
company with panache. And while her pie changes every year, the presentation of
each is always flawless. Handcrafted
pottery for serving. Pastry adorned with beautiful cutouts. Homemade whipped
cream for the perfect topping. Before he became a dad four times over, Chris
tied beautiful, effective fishing flies. Today, he chooses and uses
every ingredient for his pies with the same precision that he used for flies. And he practices the recipe a few times over
before he’s ready to submit. Miriam, a mindful yogi and mom, always comes up
with a variation on a traditional pie that includes something wonderfully good for
us: handpicked apples, organic oats, maybe some fresh ground nuts or seeds. As
for me, the reckless one in the group, my entrees are always a little unpredictable.
Cranberry meringue, for example. In a contest where there may be multiple pumpkin
or apple based pies, mine end up in a category all alone (strategically, not
the safest approach but that’s another story).
As much as the pie reveals something about its baker, the contest
says even more about us as a family. Clearly,
we all love to eat and cook. And maybe this is where there’s a tie to yoga.
Because the pie contest helps our family maintain its balance all year round.
Maybe the contest reminds us to use the time we have to be happy, to laugh, to
appreciate one another, and to recognize our many blessings – at Thanksgiving
and always. As a family, we generally don’t bicker or focus on our differences
or woes, even though there are sometimes many. Is it because of the contest? I
doubt it. But I think it helps. After all, it’s awfully hard to argue when
you’re eating a piece of pie.
Happy Thanksgiving. Namaste.
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