How did we miss it? Sunday was National Pie Day!

Pie Day.

“If pie making is not in your schedule, stop by your favorite pie shop or grocery store and bring home a gift of love and enjoyment for the whole family.”

Or as Weebl would say, “When come back, bring pie.”

brings the pie to all

Sunday was also FairyChatMom’s bday. It woulda been the perfect day to eat pie and have birthday wishes. Instead, I made a peach cobbler. This stuff needs more national press attention.

The following is an excerpt from Wholecloth Publishing’s forthcoming expose, Beneath the Crust: the APC Nobody Knows, the story of an intrepid reporter’s dangerous double life infiltrating one of America’s most insidious secret societies:

Deep beneath the carefully tended lawns and flower gardens of Lake Forest, Illinois, in a reinforced concrete bunker the grim military starkness of which is relieved only by copious amounts of chintz and potpourri, a secret meeting is taking place. It is the semiannual convocation of a group that publicly shows a bland, unthreatening face to the citizens of this nation: it is only here, hidden from the scrutiny of honest eyes and patriotic ears, that their nefarious agenda can be openly discussed. They are the American Pie Council.

They sit in a room artfully lit so that their faces may stay in the shadows, at a round table draped with a red-and-green checked cloth. They do not call each other by their real names. Their leader, whose well-manicured hands are resting on the tablecloth, speaks first.

“We begin by recognizing the achievement of a long-anticipated goal: the elimination of the anti-pie counteragent Robert C. Atkins. Felicitations are due our operative, Mrs. Smith.” There is polite applause and the person referred to puts down her china cup of hot postum to reply. “Thank you, Leader. This is a triumph, not for myself, but for the entire organization. I’d like to commend our hired assassins, code-named “Weebl” and “Bob,” and suggest that their ingenuity and devotion to our cause makes them suitable candidates for inclusion in the Council.”

“It shall be considered,” the Leader says, his hands idly toying with a Hummel figurine. “We now turn to our efforts to subvert the educational system.” Operative Jack Horner, your report, please?"

In an atmosphere redolent of menace and dread, and a hint of cinnamon and nutmeg, a massive ugly scheme is revealed. It involves pie charts, nursery rhymes, the intentional and fraudulent historical tarnishing of the phrase “let them eat cake,” and the formula pi-r-squared perversely distorted in the service of things that are round…round like…pies! The report goes on and on, each paragraph a testament to a vast conspiracy unhampered by law or morality. Against the wall, in a series of steel cages tastefully decorated with little lace curtains, four and twenty blackbirds, selected and trained like carrier pigeons for the Council’s most secret communications, cackle softly.

At the end, the Leader thanks “Jack Horner” and in his pleasant, reedy yet sinister voice, issues an instruction: “It is time. January twenty-third is the prescribed date, and noon the appointed hour. Let Operation Meringue begin.” At these last chilling words, the Leader leans forward just enough for his features to be revealed. It is the face of a zealot, a face of malignant hatred for all things not dedicated to a totalitarian American Pie Agenda. It is the face of – Don McLean.


King of Soup: I got shivers.

Man, and all I did was bake brownies.

This sucks.

I am SO going to buy some pie crust tomorrow and make peach tarts. This is the perfect excuse.

(I know, I could actually, y’know, MAKE crust, but there are some things I’d best not attempt.)

Thank you, RTFirefly. You’re my favoritest Doper ever.


Rocky: The formula is pi r squared.

Bullwinkle: No Rocky, pie are round.

I, despite my ignorance, managed to celebrate this auspicious occasion. At 4 pm Sunday I received a last minute invitation for dinner. The main course? Homemade chicken pot pie.

King of Soup: I was just starting to hear the song in my head when I got to the end of your last paragraph. Freaky.

And to think I passed up the opportunity to have pie for lunch today; had bread pudding instead.


I made pissaladiere for dinner Sunday. That’s an onion and tomato pie.


bodypoet, being told I’m your favoritest Doper ever - that’s even better than pie!!

“the anti-pie counteragent Robert C. Atkins”. I love it! King of Soup, that was terrific!

From Beneath the Crust, pp. 367-8:

…but Her Majesty’s demonstration of the connection between custard and heroin trafficking, though impeccably documented and superbly choreographed by the late Twyla Tharp, was ignored by the Committee, with disastrous results.

 By 1971, however, an informal underground resistance to the APC's attempt to extend its influence across the Atlantic (the so-called "Pie Pan-Demic") had formed.  One P. McCartney began inserting subtle messages into otherwise incomprehensible lyrics, hinting at the unwholesome, unnatural ingredients beneath the pie culture's bland facade: "The butter wouldn't melt so I put it in the pie."  This subversive manuver was brilliant.  It "spread the word" among young people and by its very nature left the APC powerless to contest it in courts of law or public opinion: any song lyrics that were not overtly political back then were simply assumed to be the result of the spotty quality of the drugs available to creatively withered pop stars at that time.

 The real heroes of the resistance, however, were the very people the APC had naively or arrogantly assumed would be its strongest allies:  U.K. bakers.  It was they who stymied the pan-pieists' North Atlantic strategy by simply "...putting all kinds of offal into them, giving them the texture of a Nerf ball, and generally making them taste like Farmer John's unwashed ass."(unpublished diary entry by Patricia Nixon, 1972)  It is unclear whether this was an intentional, coordinated strategy or simply the result of combining U.K. cooks with foodstuffs; anyway, it worked.