Imagine this: You are hungry. Not ravenously in need of food, but you feel as though you have just eaten a decent dinner. You still have room, though. Room for…dessert.
In front of you are two tables. On one table sits a cake, pristene in its delicate beauty. It is your classic birthday cake: fluffy, slightly moist, one half vanilla and one half chocolate. It is decorated with a thick layer of airy, sugar-filled frosting. It even has those little gobs of frosting made to look like flowers.
On the other table sits cake’s mortal enemy: the pie. A generous helping of fruit filling (what kind of fruit is your choice), made up of the sweetest (but not too sweet) syrup is encased in a crust of pure perfection. It is browned by baking, but not brittle; it still yields flexibly to your fork. The top of the crust is sprinkled with sugar crystals, and the smell wafts towards you.
Both of these desserts can be heated at will, for however long you prefer. Ice cream is, of course, offered generously.
The question is: Which will you choose?
I say pie. Zoggie, the ignorant fool, says cake. Which side are YOU on?
Is this like the philosophy thing? The dog in front of two equally alike bowls, and it will ultimately (Supposedly) starve to death rather than choose?
You’re all sick, y’know that? I hate fluffy icing. Makes me want to gag.
But, I feel it necessary to clear some things up for the sake of debate. When I say “cake” and “pie” I mean the strict definitions. Cheesecake, Ice Cream Cake, Pumpkin Pie, and other ambiguous desserts will not be included in this argument.
And I repeat once again, all you cake-lovers are what’s wrong with America. Yeah.
Cake, definitely cake. With half the icing scraped off, and the crusty flowers flung across the room.
You know, I read somewhere that Back In The Day, pie was the world’s most ordinary dessert. Boring old pie, a staple on the American table, tasty but nothing special. But then times changed and even though pillsbury & pet ritz made it easier with their ready-made pastry, people just stopped making pie so often. Pie became some sort of “wow, you baked!” sort of down-home delicacy.
But if you have a wedge of some stinky, sharp, corrupted cheese back there in the kitchen, I’ll take a sliver of that. With some nice crusty bread. And could I have another glass of the red wine?
– Uke, sans sweet tooth