Pie Fest

Today is the 16th annual Pie Fest, a Wanczyk/Miller family tradition that began the year my grandpa died as a way to honor him with our gorging. At first, we celebrated the fest on his birthday, December 26th, but the eating-event migrated to the day after Thanksgiving, where it's remained for the last decade.

We usually have about 20 pies, and I like to name mine carefully. When I moved from New England to the Rust Belt, I came back with "O-pie-o." Another year, I had "Pa-pie-ya," with the corresponding main ingredient. This year, Megan and I have collaborated on "Pie Do" in commemoration of our slice of marital bliss.

We have tarts, crumbles, crisps, puddings, and pot-pies. The ratio of sweet to savory is carefully maintained: 5 to 1.

Each year, my cousin Katelyn and I are Grand Marshalls of the pastries table and look over the offerings with our keen pie-eyes. Here is the progression of those moments.

(Troubling Hair; delicious pie)

(Covered the hair; troubling beard [perhaps Amish])

(Customary)

(Pies on the table, pies on the wall)

(More of the delicious same)

(Almost normal-looking)

(Not at all normal-looking; post eye-exam, pre pie-exam)

(Note the left picture on the wall. We love ourselves)

The fact that you read this piessay means you are perpetually-invited to Pie Fest. Now I'm off to make my official offering.