Pushing Daisies, Grape Pie, and Why My Family Sucks.

The essentials: I burned through S1 of Pushing Daisies with my sister on Friday. I first made grape pie for a friend last November. My family sucks.

Pushing Daisies: I love it. I love Ned. I love Chuck. I love Chuck's dresses. I love Kristin Chenoweth's bosom attempting to make a break for it every episode. I love Ned's hips. (Yes, they really do need to be separate from Ned himself. They're just so wonderfully set off by the little aprons... *ahem*) I love that Emerson gets to say "BITCH!" so often on network television. I love the coroner and his calculating "mhmmm"s. I love the whimsically not-dead people. I guess you could say I love everything about Pushing Daisies, from it's technicolor look to it's brilliant dialogue. That my eleven-year-old sister also likes it just happens to be a giant plus. (Also, how excited are we for the S2 discs today?? I actually yelled at the TV at the end of ep9 and rooted around looking to see if a fourth disc would magically appear. It speaks to how much better my sister knows me now that she did not look perturbed by this in the least.)

Grape pie. Ned is a pie maker. I have made pies. Pushing Daisies makes me want pie. Pushing Daisies makes me want to bake pies even more than Waitress. (And I have seen Waitress six times. What? It kept airing on HBO when I didn't have class...) My mom is having a baking contest at work, but being the organizer, she's not submitting herself. But being who she is, she wants to bring something anyway. Solidarity with the employees and whatnot. But being who she is, she orders me to bake something for her. And here's where the Pushing Daisies influence kicks in.
I have a friend from high school. His name is Donald. He is as weird as I am. Meaning he has spent a great deal of time pondering why his favorite fruit is not found in pie. Meaning he questions virtually everyone he gets to know on this matter. I promised him I'd bake him a grape pie as soon as my skills caught up to my ambition. He came to visit last November and I baked a pie. It was a most excellent pie, perfect filling, nearly perfect crust, and even better served cold. So I figured I'd make a pair of grape pies for mom cos the first one was so great.

I decided to do a test pie yesterday. A slightly smaller seven inch pie. You know, just to show everyone that I can make a pie with grapes and put qualms to rest. As it turns out, my family sucks. My roommates loved my pie last time. My family hates it. I'm pretty sure they cower in fear of it. I had to put it in the garage fridge they hated it so much. Which, fine. Grape pie may not be everyone's thing. But you don't have to tell me there's something wrong with it. It's a perfectly fine pie! Granted, it's a little too sour, but I was being considerate for the sugar conscious among us! (Lookin' at you, dad.)

*grumble* All of this means that this morning, I am going to try a blueberry pie instead. Cos apparently their consensus is that a blueberry pie would be spectacular whereas a grape pie is simply unnatural and must be sent back to the hellhole from whence it crawled. Which, fine. I'll eat my own damn pie.

Although if I'm making a blueberry pie, I'm pretty sure the laws of all that is good and holy and downright American county fair dictate it must be a lattice pie. I've been wanting to try that...