Last Piece Of Pie Lament

It was a fine Thanksgiving holiday, marked by good food, good company, and another glorious win over That Team Up North.  But as the weekend drew to a close, one last piece of culinary temptation remained, to remind me of one of my weaknesses:  I’m helpless in the presence of pumpkin pie.

Last Piece Of Pie Lament

O get thee gone, last piece of pie!

I can’t resist you and I don’t know why!

I’ve gobbled taters, stuffing and turkey

So much the details seem quite murky.

Yet still with you temptation remains

And once more my willpower strains.

Is it the spice, or the moistened crust

That reduces my resolve to dust?

Or the sweet memory of pies gone by

That causes the impulse I can’t deny?

Whate’er it is, I know I’ll succumb

And have to finish every crumb.

You’ve won again, and your crusty ilk

So now I’ll eat you with a glass of milk. 

 

Pie-Eyed

Our Thanksgiving meal was a great success.  The turkey and turducken were succulent.  The stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy were excellent.  The butternut squash soup was tasty, too.

And now, belts have been loosened, the second football game is on the air, and any normal male’s thoughts inevitably turn to . . . pie.  Pumpkin, or pecan?  Or maybe both.

Helplessly In Thrall To Pumpkin Pie

As usual, I ate too much on Thanksgiving.  As I sat, groaning and belt loosened, on the sofa, I also realized that– among my many other significant personal issues — I am helpless in the presence of pumpkin pie.

Usually my self-discipline when it comes to food is pretty strong.  I’m not much of a snacker.  Typically, I eat a satisfying meal and I am done until the time for the next meal has come.  There are certain foods, however, that completely overwhelm my feeble resistance, and pumpkin pie is one of them.  If it is in the house, I am going to eat it, no matter how uncomfortably full I am and how embarrassed I am at my cursed weakness.

Why is this?  Is it the firm yet squishy, mildly spicy goodness of the filling?  Is it the crisp, flaky exposed crust, or the moist, chewy crust under the filling?  Is it the delicate dollop of whipped cream framed against the brown skin of the wedge of pie?  Or is it that, deep down, the familiar taste of pumpkin pie brings back warm memories of childhood, of eating pumpkin pie for dessert at gatherings of extended family on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and other occasions — and then sneaking an extra piece late at night, when no one is looking?

Whatever the reason, the piece of pumpkin pie is like the Borg, and I am about to be assimilated.  Resistance is futile!