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In praise of the bar

The bar cookie, that is.

Courtesy Mel's Kitchen Cafe. Click photo for recipe!

If you have kids, there are two words that  immediately kill the pleasant glow you experience from the magical combination of your pre-dinner drink, a glass or three of wine and the after-dinner brandy. And no, since you asked, I do not generally imbibe to this extent on a daily basis, but I have dreams just like everyone else. Anyway, the two words that strike fear into the heart of any parent are, as you might have guessed, BAKE SALE, quite often accompanied by that third horseman of the apocalypse, TOMORROW.

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Better pies are a snap, not that I’d know anything about THAT

So easy even a monkey could do it!

I’m visiting my sister, who does everything better than I do, not that I hold it against her or resent it in any way, even though our parents clearly loved her more and gave her better presents at every goddamned Christmas and birthday of our lives. So today she made a pie in the time it takes me to floss my teeth and even cleaned up after it on the same day, but again, no resentment here. I am big enough to share her triumphs, rather than being embittered by them, no matter how much I have suffered at her hands over the years.

So, pies. She uses one of these groovy plastic mats to roll out the dough. Not only does it tell you exactly how big the crust should be for every conceivable size pie plate, but it also saves you from cleaning up a big sticky, floury mess afterward. Or scraping the dried dough gobs and petrified flour remains off the counter with a butter knife once you emerge from the sugar coma eight hours after consuming the entire pie, a la mode, straight from the dish with a spoon. Not that Miss Perfect would ever do anything like that.

I’m going to get one. And I am NOT copying her!

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