My Julia Moment

So tonight is the eve of REAP's Pie Palooza, a benefit at which we are going to serve 1200 slices of pie. Or so. We got the pie through generous donations from local restaurants and chefs. For the last three weeks or so, I have been scrounging for some of the additional foodstuffs needed - coffee, salad greens, ice cream, cider. I did pretty well by dint of persistent phone calling; I spent a bunch of time today picking up - stops at the farmers' market and the co-op for greens and 30 gallons of cider.

Then I came home to bake my own pies - roasted squash with goat cheese [and I used my "new" crust] - and had my Julia moment. "You're alone in the kitchen", and damn good thing, too, because damn is about the mildest word I uttered. I filled the 6 pies with cheese, squash, and onions, and then poured in the custard. Started loading them into the oven and realized I meant to sprinkle Parmesan on the tops. And that was the proverbial straw that broke the camels back - they all started overflowing and had to be cooked on trays. At one point I had trails of custard from the oven to the counter, and from the counter to the sink, puddles on a chair, splatters on the cabinets, and sponges and towels on the floor. I even got some custard in my hair, by banging my head on the "cat-proof" shelf above the oven, that had a drooling pie on it. And one cat shut in the bathroom, frantically pawing the door, and the other one piteously mewing from my bedroom - they do love eggs and cream. Oh, well. everything's baked now and cooling, and I've showered. Even most of the dishes are washed - just 3 of the cooked on egg-y trays soaking in the sink.

But the labels worked on the first try - go figure.