Pie, Claudius.docVIP

Pie, Claudius Is there anything more delightful than pie？ The answer to that question is， duh， of course. Life has an infinite number of things that can bring more happiness than， say， a gooey， buttery pecan pie or a decadent key lime pie topped with cloud-like spoonfuls of whipped cream. But there’s something particularly satisfying to me about baking， which in my mind is always associated with lazy afternoons where the most pressing task I have before me is deciding which apron I want to wear. During the past decade that I lived in New York City， when it felt like my life was consumed by my work， I treasured those afternoons ? the special playlist （heavy with Ryan Adams） that I’d only play on those days； the ritual gathering and arrangement of flour， butter， eggs， salt and sugar on my kitchen countertop； dusting my hands with a light coating of flour and kneading dough； watching a cake softly and slowly rising in the oven， and knowing that the worst thing that could happen if I screwed up was that my dog would have a feast that evening. I’m a little ashamed to admit that， over the years， much of my identity and my ego has been built around my reputation as a baker of delicious little things. I often think that if baking were a religion and Martha Stewart my messiah， I would be the Paul to her Jesus， spreading the gospel of crumbly？pate brisée？throughout the Crisco-eating world. What I love about baking is that you don’t actually need any inherent talent to be a good baker. All you need is a tried-and-true recipe， the right ingredients and tools， and a somewhat anal retentive nature. That’s it. There’s no magic to it at all ? it’s just basic science. Essentially， I take a lot of pride in doing something that requires absolutely no skill. This is the quicksand upon which my little shack of an ego is built. It’s like complimenting your friend’s baby on their ability to crawl， or being impressed by a politician’s lack of ex- tramarital affairs ? the bar is set rather