This story begins, as all good stories do, with a pie. A delicious, tender, flavorful, savory tomato pie. I know what you’re thinking. Tomato pie? Those are not words one usually sees together, but oh my… it is out of this world fantastic! My mouth is watering just thinking about it.
I had been staying in various parts of Pennsylvania and Ohio for about 6 days. It was Monday, the last day of my trip and my last meal before heading home.
The adorable waitress in the fedora hat took our orders. “Two tomato pies please.” She smiled knowingly.
A few minutes later this glorious plate was set in front of me. I took the first bite, closed my eyes and sighed.
Please forgive the picture of the half eaten pie. I was already well into eating it when I realized I really needed to document this slice of heaven. If Thelma noticed that I was making little happy moans as I ate, she was too polite to say anything I don’t want to embarrass myself by telling you all how fast I devoured that slice… we’ll just say it didn’t really have a chance to cool off.
Here’s the trouble. I don’t think I can be happy with just the memory of that amazing pie. I want to be able to eat it over and over, but I can’t be flying to Pennsylvania every time I’m hankering for a slice of tomato pie. I have to learn how to make it. Thelma says that the recipe is a closely guarded secret and that the waitresses cannot be bribed. So the quest is on! The perfect tomato pie will be mine if it’s the last thing I do. Thelma and I are putting our heads together to come up with the recipe and all the proper techniques. I will keep you all up to date on our progress (for I am sure you are dying to know).
Now, you may ask “What on earth was a California girl doing in Pennsylvania, on a Monday afternoon, eating tomato pie with two lovely girls?”. Well that’s another good story that begins like this…
Once upon a time, a slightly nervous woman boarded a plane, flew hundreds of miles to meet a bunch of strangers she met on the internet. But the rest of that story will have to wait for another night when I am feeling a little less jet-lagged, and have had a chance to sort out the happy blur of memories that are floating around in my brain.