Blueberry or Apple Pie?

I gave this some serious contemplation last night when visiting the grocery. I didn’t want to get fat, so I was going to buy a HALF pie, one of those neatly cut pies in the plastic bins. Then it dawned on me. My whole life I’ve pretended to be an apple pie guy, an old fruit and cinnamon fellow. But as I looked at the blueberry pie glisten steadfastly in its plastic bin, I knew then I was and always have been a blueberry man.

Going far back to the sewers of Brooklyn, where I grew up, I always ate fruit, but none as voraciously and with energy than the blueberry. Perhaps on occasion, I’d eat three plums in a row, if ripened to an agreeable softness. But last I checked, there aren’t many plum pies in plastic bins lining the aisles of my grocery.

Early this morning, I got up and made myself a cappuccino and looked forward to the blueberry pie, sitting shiny and delicious on my kitchen counter. But I’d be lying if I wasn’t a little disappointed. See, my wife left it on the kitchen counter. Any blueberry man worth his salt knows it should be served cold, this way the gelatin of the blueberry sugar concoction properly gels. I was going to say “coagulates”, but that’s not a very agreeable term when discussing food. I was somewhat relieved by the fact that I had also bought a giant can of whipped cream and it was cold, as cold as could be.

So here I am now, not having been to the gym since March — sitting here typing into my computer with a cappuccino in front of me and a moderately sized slice of blueberry pie topped with as cold as can be whipped cream.

I will, however, hedge this with 1 hr of tennis tonight.