I’m just looking at the calendar and noticing that Thanksgiving is creeping up on me again. For me, this means one thing: friends and loved ones will soon be gagging on my overwrought, undercooked chocolate-pecan pie.
Every year I screw it up in a different way. One year I burned it so badly that the outside was black as pitch, and yet it was raw and glutinous in the middle. No one wants to hurt my feelings, so everybody ends up choking down one piece — and in some cases, more than one piece — of my mucilaginous, viscid baked product.
Another time it was so hard that you could barely pry the pieces apart, even when you used a sharp knife and hit the handle as hard as you could with your fist. Last year it came out OK, but for some reason I accidentally added mint flavor so it had this disgusting menthol aftertaste like Listerine.
Anyhow, if anyone has any advice on baking these pies, send in (but I have a feeling you won’t. You’re all a bunch of lookie-loos. No offense.)
By the way, this stupendously disgusting pie is something I found online on a blog. I can’t claim credit for baking that one.