Or at least, my roommate sure liked it.
A little background: my father makes the best apple pies. Honestly. I’ve never had one as good, though once I did have one which came really close. However, it’s been a few years since he’s made them, and since I’m living away right now, even if he did I wouldn’t get any. In other words, I miss them.
So I swiped Dad’s recipe and made my own
I made two pies–one for me and my roommate Mary, and one for her BF Jay and his roommate John. Although she’s been spending a lot of time with Jay lately (I hardly ever see her anymore), so I wound up eating most of our pie while she was away.
She’s been home twice since I brought the pie over to Jay’s place, and both times she mentioned that the pie was really good. The first time I was kinda skeptical because at first I didn’t think it turned out that well. The second time I believed her, partly because she sounded convinced and partly because I had decided since then that the pies turned out fine.
Well, Jay was over this morning, and I was talking to him for a bit after Mary left for work. Here’s what happened to his pie:
He got two pieces, one the night I brought it over and one the next morning.
I had one piece the night I brought it over.
Mary ate the rest–John didn’t get a bite.
Now I don’t feel so guilty about eating most of the pie that was left here. Munches on the last piece of apple pie