Have Some Pie

Dear friends and family,

I’m making you a pie. I’m going to eat it, but I’ll think of you the whole time.

After two weeks of being in travel limbo between Chicago, Sophia, and Belgrade, here I am at last in Vidin, Bulgaria, where I will be stationed for the next 10 months. More precisely, I’m sitting on the floor of my living room, next to my fridge (yes, still in the living room), waiting for my pie to come out of the oven (which is in the kitchen, next to the washing machine). While twiddling away my first night of solitude, I have chosen butter and sugar as the lights of my life.

Technically, I’m sitting on the floor waiting for my pie, but in spirit I’m back in my parents’ kitchen, where they will soon scold me for leaving flour on the countertop but thank me for dessert; I’m in my grandmother’s kitchen, where she is crumbling butter and sugar over her Dutch apple pie; I’m in my college apartment, where my roommate is making her signature blueberry pie with the intended recipient’s initials cut into the crust. From her baking high horse, she is elaborating on the importance of high-quality fruit. Her pie has a small mountain of fresh blueberries oozing juice through cracks in the pastry. My plum and nectarine pie is oozing its own fresh fruit juices, with nectarines from the market and plums from my friendly neighbors one floor down.

(If we’re being picky, it’s not actually a pie. It’s a crostata. But pie is so much more welcoming and homey and, well, American, than crostata. All my applicable memories have to do with pie, not crostata.)

As I’m sure I will say about so many other things this year, this is the first time I have ever baked a pie myself. With it, I’ve learned a few things, most importantly that my oven has a hot spot in the back and that the “4” on the dial is roughly 350 degrees Fahrenheit. And that food can fill you with cheer and warmth and memories of friendship, but I already knew that one. Thank you for being with me as I have prepared to come here for the year and for being with me tonight as I remembered all your encouragements and advice, pie-related and otherwise. Hopefully I will be able to restrain myself and share the pie and count it as a step toward making new friendships and new memories, but I’ve already eaten half of it while composing the last paragraph, and breakfast is only eight hours away.

Love, Aubrey

P.S. I know you’re probably far more interested in details about where my town and where I’m living than what I’m baking, and those will come. But pie requires far less unscrambling of emotions. Plus it tasted like the perfect end of summer.

(Pie inspired by this recipe, which was inspired by this recipe. I didn’t have the luxuries of whole wheat flour or a food processor, but I did slip some ginger and cinnamon into the fruit mix, mainly to show off my new spice collection to myself.)

This entry was posted in Bulgarian living, What's cooking. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Have Some Pie

  1. Kiernan says:

    Yay, welcome to European living. So glad to hear you have safely made it and pray you enjoy your time there. Barb and I both enjoyed reading your post!

  2. arielb90 says:

    I just really really like this post. And since the button above says “like” instead of “really really like” I thought I would let you know down here in the comments. :)

  3. Frank R says:

    Your Mom just sent me the link to your blog. So I started at the beginning, and pie is always a good beginning for ANYTHING. We’ll have a bake-off when you get home. I’ll set aside some rhubarb. :-)

    I can’t wait to hear about breakfast (pie is the best)!

    I hope everything about your experience will come out as well as the pie.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s