Pie Mischief

“Mom” I called as I wandered though the house. I finished cleaning my room and it was impossible to keep up with where she was as she scrambled. I finally found her in the kitchen frantically trying to sync four different kitchen timers as smoke steamed from the oven. 

“Oh hi, honey!” She looked up. “How long have you been standing there?” 

“Can you please peel those potatoes?” I found the cutting board through the pile of cooking utensils and began peeling. 

“Is there anything else I can do?” I asked as I glanced at the clock. “Everyone will be here in 15 minutes” My mom jolted up from the oven. Her eyes bugged out as she looked at the clock. 

“FIFTEEN MINUTES!!!” She cried as she went into turbo mode. “I haven’t cut the squash, and the corn is half shucked, and the cranberry roast isn’t even halfway cooked!” 

I surveyed the kitchen. It was bad, but at least the squash came pre-cooked, and the corn was already in the crockpot. Not much could be done to help the roast cook quicker, but I was pretty sure I could stall everybody with the olives and green beans until it was ready. I explained this and she seemed to calm down slightly as her shoulders relaxed.

Until that is, I made the mistake of asking about dessert. “The pie!!!!” She wailed, “I completely forgot! How are we going to do it? You know your aunts always want dinner served promptly!!” And at that moment, I heard the doorbell ring, and my mom quickly tore off her apron and pulled her hair down, in order to make it look like she hadn’t  been running around the house like a neat-freak maniac. 

“Don’t worry about it!” I shouted. “There’s a pie crust in the pantry from last year, I’ll make the pie! How hard could it be?” She hugged me as the doorbell rang again, this time accompanied by an impatient knock. 

“Thank you honey!” She called as she ran out of the kitchen. “Just remember to use…” her voice trailed off as I heard the door open and my Aunt Rosa’s voice boom through the house. 

I frantically gathered all the ingredients and followed the recipe on the box. I cracked the three eggs perfectly, with only a little bit of the cool slime from the yolks on my fingers, and slid them into the big mixing bowl. Then I poured a few cups of milk, a tablespoon of oil, and - of course- a can of mashed pumpkin. I found a fork to scoop the last of the pumpkin out of the can, before taking out a separate bowl for the dry items. I then poured some salt, sugar, and a whole lot of flour! But where was the yeast? I looked around and found a purple can of white powder on the floor. It must have rolled off the table! I leaned down to pick it up and then I mixed the soft fluffy powders around a bit until it was time for the pie tin. I went to the pantry and dug around for a while until I found last year’s extra crust. It looked a little dusty and tinted, so I pulled it out to check the expiration date. Not until next month! Phew! I went back to the kitchen, pie tin in hand, to mix the liquids, before carefully stirring them into the dry bowl. I plugged in the electric mixer and watched as the loud rumble moved the ingredients around at lightening speed. I poured the mix into the tin, and put it in the oven. I heard a little hiss of smoke. The box said to cook it for 15 minutes, so I set the timer and went to the living room to greet everyone. 

As I walked in, I saw crowds of people. While I had been baking, my grandma had arrived, her dog in tow, at least five more aunts, and seven uncles, three grandpas, and more cousins than I could count. I suddenly regretted only making a single pie. I went around saying hello and giving hugs, and pretending to remember people I had only met as a baby. I was right in the middle of a conversation with my third cousin Olivia about her new baby, when a shrill “BEEEEEEEEEEEP” pierced the air. Everyone was looking around in confusion and I realized that the smoke alarm had gone off! People were looking for an exit now, and I knew I had to somehow convince them it wasn’t a fire, without letting on that the pie was burning. I ran to my trumpet. If you’ve ever heard or seen any instrument, you know they are loud. I blew into it and played as loud as I’ve ever played. And people started looking at me. I was doing it! I saw my mom slip into the kitchen to fan out the smoke, and after a while, there were no more beeps to cover up. I took a deep breath and placed my trumpet back on the table relieved, and everyone applauded. Looks like they were properly distracted!

After all that commotion, my mother came back out and called “Lets eat!” Everyone found a seat in something that resembled one of the biggest musical chair games you’ve ever seen but soon we were all settled at a table. I helped my mom get ready to cut the pie and distribute it to all of the folding tables squeezed in our living room. It was a family tradition to serve pie first, so everyone eyed it greedily. We said a Thanksgiving Land Acknowledgement, and the food smelled delicious! I raised the cutting knife to slice the pie, but just as I was about to slice it, the pie crust shook a little bit, and expanded! Everyone gasped, and backed away a little. I was freaking out! I stood there stunned for a moment until the pie shook, and expanded again until it almost fell off the table. 

I saw a look of shock on everyone’s faces, as I scanned the table. My grandma then looked into her purse for a moment and when she looked back up, a look of nervousness passed on her face. “Has anyone seen my purple jar?!” She asked frantically. Everyone shook their heads, and I started to as well, until I remembered. 

“Oh, you mean the yeast?” I asked her and her eyes began to grow wide. “I found it on the floor.” I told her. “Don’t worry, as soon as I finished baking, I put it back in the spice cabinet.” I still wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about a yeast jar, when the pie rose again jolting me back to the present. What was happening?! This time it kept rising until it was about to hit the ceiling fan high above the table. While I was preoccupied with the rapidly growing pie, everyone else started to run around in panic. My grandma, however, sat frozen in place.  “YOU PUT THE POWDER FROM MY JAR IN THE PIE?!” She cried. 

“Yeah,” I rolled my eyes. “Pies need yeast, what are you so worked up about?” I said this while backing away from the table, as the pie had now touched the ceiling.

“That was not yeast.” She said in a scarily level headed tone. “That was my growing powder.” I stood in shock, not even noticing for a moment that the ceiling was beginning to crack. 

“YOUR GROWING POWDER?!” Now it was my turn to freak out. ‘WHAT ARE YOU? SOME KIND OF WITCH?!” She stared at me for a second and then nodded. 

I then watched, not even bothering to close my jaw as she took her glass of water from the table and poured it on the pie. The pie slowly began to shrink, but then stopped. She went to get more water but I stopped her. “This is crazy and all, but now that the pie is back halfway to the table, it is the perfect size for our family. Let's just leave it” I said, and we called everyone back in from outside. 

“What was that about?“ My mom asked along with the rest of my family. “I uh… put in too much yeast?” And my grandma winked at me as we all dug in. Needless to say,  that was the first and last time I have ever baked a pie.