Sorry, no tiger.

There is no tiger in my life of (Pi) pie story. The 5 or so months I work for  my parents at their summer lodge consist of mornings chained to the two ovens in the small kitchen, which magically produce up to 40 pies during busy mid-summer days. Our all-time record, that occurred this summer, was 42 pies. Every summer since I was born, I've watched my mother roll out countless amounts of pie crusts each morning, something she's been doing every summer for 33 years now. Baking pies is no easy task, especially at almost 10,000 feet in elevation. Fast baking at the altitude is an oxymoron. She rolls pies crusts for usually 5 hours, while her pie minions (the other four plus helpers, including myself) play ring around the rosy trying to find empty counter space on which to prepare the various pie fillings. We make it all from scratch, no Betty Crocker cherry pie fillin' in a can will be found in that kitchen, which means the preparation can take up to 1 1/2 per type of pie; for example, skinning and slicing 20 cups of peaches for our fresh peach pie. But it all starts with that dang crust. Now, to those of you who are expert creators of pie crust, I salute you, because I'm terrible at it.  I have decided I lack the patience and artistry to create such a delicate, light, delicious layer that is the foundation to my mother's pies. Now, this is a skill I'm determined to master, and with her as my Mr. Miyagi, my time will come. The problem with my Mr. Miyagi, is that she doesn't set timers...FOR ANYTHING! She's been a slave to pie for so long, that she's become a pie psychic!

"Alright, and how long do I cook this for?"
"Oh....maybe an hour fifteen...somewhere in there...that'll probably be alright...sometimes those pears can take only 45 minutes...although it can take up to two hours when the barometric pressure is lower..."

My mom's amazing. She get's up at 4:30 am, while I drag my ass in the door an hour and half later. She's already had two cups of coffee, and pie's flying in and out of the oven faster than you can say, "Would you like forks and napkins with that to-go order?"

Which brings me to pie lickers.

Pie Licker (n): a person who licks pie.

Most people don't lick their entire pieces of pie, but I'm using it to describe the people who lick the pie plates so clean, you can't tell if the plates already been washed clean or not. Don't get me wrong, I lick my pie plates clean as well, but it's different when you've been up since dark 'o clock making them darn things.  I guess the kind of pie licker that rubs me the wrong way is the person who walks in at 6:30 pm after we've been sold out of pie for 4 hours, and let's out a pie licker cry, "awwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhhh." Then he or she usually follows it up with, "You're out of pie?," as if this is unusual a half hour before closing time, and then a "Well can't you just make more?"

Now, I know for a FACT, that I would be one of these pie lickers if I didn't work at Rock Creek Resort, so please know I'm not meaning to offend any of you other lickers. However I beg you not to ask, "Why can't you make more pie." This is a FAQ, that in order to be answered, I feel like throwing on a tour guide's vest and giving the pie licker a tour of our kitchen. Up to 42 pies! Coming out of two ovens?! I think that's pretty darn impressive.

Now, to those of you who made it to the bottom of this long, pie complaint post, I want to thank you. Choosing the end of the summer, when Rock Creek Resort workers are burnt out on pie customers, pie phone calls, and "not another Rock Creek Special order!" , was probably not the best time to start my Life of Pie blog. Pie has actually helped me become a better kitchen worker in general: I've learned to stop grabbing pots that are boiling over without proper hand protection, I've backed into the oven enough times to look over my shoulder before walking backwards, and, thanks to my friend and pie coworker Sara, I've learned to not carry two pies in my hands when the spring on the swinging door finally gets fixed and now you have to be as fast as lightning to make it through the doorway before getting the wind knocked out of you as it slams you in the back while those darn pies fly onto the floor. Working in a kitchen has helped me appreciate the energy that goes into making food. It makes me realize how delicious grub made from scratch really can be, and it makes every piece of pie I eat taste better with each bite, knowing the amount  effort that goes into each piece.