We hope pie was perfect for everyone

Thanks to the most conscientious (that word is hard to spell!) produce fellow at the grocery store of all time, my pies came out wonderfully. That’s my responsibility on Thanksgiving. I’m good with that assignment since I love dessert. I’m getting pretty damn good at making pie.

The boy requested chocolate.

Of course there’d be pumpkin. What’s Thanksgiving without pumpkin? I think it’s a law.

My Honey asked for “berry”. Berry? I’d never made berry pie before. I’ve made lemon and rhubarb and apple and pumpkin and chocolate and probably some others, but never berry.

This was my finished gorgeous blueberry/raspberry/blackberry/ strawberry pie. YUM! It was perfect.

I found a simple recipe for one and added it to the list of veggies we needed for a relish tray. Then Sassy and I headed to our huge neighborhood grocery store on Tuesday evening. The place looked desiccated, like we’d received an emergency alert weather forecast or something. The dairy section echoed. We grabbed the last two containers of whipped cream. I used to make my whipped cream from scratch. It was super yummy, but then I decided I didn’t want to be whipping for twenty minutes and just wanted some damned pie, so now I buy the spray cans. Besides, you’ll probably all agree that spraying it directing into your mouth at three in the morning is totally worth the price of the can.

When we got to the produce department I was sincerely concerned that I’d missed some announcement about a blizzard (no possible way – it was 84 degrees here today), or maybe a blackout that would trap us all in our homes and we had been wasting our time sleeping when we should have been stocking up on emergency supplies. There were no strawberries for the pie, only a vacant spot and a sign advertising strawberries. I found a produce guy and asked him.

“I think we have some in the back.” Off he went and returned with a whole crate of strawberries.

“How about celery?” I asked holding up the very last celery bunch in the store. It was limp and on the verge of disgusting.

“Let me check.” Off he went again, at a jog this time. He came back with a giant box of celery.

“Don’t go anywhere, I’m sure there’s more I need,” I told him. Seconds later I requested green onions.

“Whoop!” I cried when he came back with handfuls of green onions. “You are the best produce man in the history of produce men,” I told him.

His name is Shefii – I swear. I memorized his name tag.

His customer service was so awesome I decided not to press my luck. No Black Friday shopping for me. It can only go downhill from there, right?