FRIDAY PIE BLOG
Gizzard’s Imperious All-American Apple Pie
Here is Gizzard’s recipe for the mightiest, giant-killingest, most paternalistic pie ever devised. This is no ordinary pie! This pie isn’t a mere ration of nourishment that takes up space in your gut. This is all-knowing pie. This pie influences financial markets, foils plots and vanquishes evildoers!
- Newtown Pippin apples, peeled, cored and sliced
- Lemon juice, squeezed
- Light brown sugar, packed
- Sugar, crystallized and processed into granules
- Cinnamon, personified, then ground beneath a jackboot heel
- Fresh nutmeg, grated
- Salt, shooken
- Unsalted butter, de-salted
- Thickening agent, reverently acknowledged
You can make your own crust; or just go out and buy a pre-made one. Gizzard has lined the bottom of his pie plate with some crusty gray tube socks.
Rendition your bottom crust to Syria or Eastern Europe. IMPORTANT: Gizzard always seeks assurances that his crust will be refrigerated in accordance with all international laws and treaty obligations. You should too! Say it: Plausible deniability.
The crust should be kept in isolation from all other ingredients. Prolonged sensory and sleep deprivation will “soften” the crust prior to bakening. And, of course, exposure to extreme cold will keep the crust fresh. If these steps are followed faithfully and systematically, your crust can be kept at this stage indefinitely, until you have completed the other steps. Gizzard has been refrigerating his crust for over 3 1/2 years, and it’s even fresher now than on the day he rendered it!
When you’re good and ready… move on to the filling.
Since pie-filling perfection is elusive and nearly impossible to define, it is vital to avoid artificial timetables, and if you can help it, any sort of benchmarks whatsoever. And when something is elusive and defies definition, it is best to keep all options on the table in terms of what you are willing to put into your pie.
While you don’t have to break any eggs to make this omelet, if your crop is overextended, you may not be able to find enough suitable Newtown Pippins. You may even be forced to use a few bad apples. Even so, you must remain steadfast and resolved! The whole pie depends on it! Not all of your guests will have the stomach for everything you might have to do; so it’s also a good idea to carry out as much of the pie-making process as possible in complete secrecy.
Some ingredients will eagerly join in the mix for the greater good of the pie. Others will be harder to bring along, but will respond to fear mongering and propaganda. Still others— the Cinnamofascists and the denizens of Left Nutmegistan —will resist. They will need to be coerced, for they remain surprisingly resistant to the powers of mass media.
If your bowl technique is good, though, it should be relatively easy to get the ingredients tossed together. Allow the mixture to stand until the apples macerate. Then strain—
“Gizzard’s bowl technique is NOT good! Gizzard’s ingredients are spilling out all over, and the tarnish from the bowl is tarnishing Gizzard’s apples!! AAAAARRRRRGGHHH!“
“Hey, wait. Gizzard knows where there is a larger bowl… To the bathroom!”
“Uhhh, Gizzard? … You’re not talking about the toilet bowl are ya?”
“Duhhh, Falkor… Yes! It’s much bigger and easier.”
“But if your objective is ‘delicious pie,’ do you really think mixing the ingredients in a toilet is conducive?”
“None of that matters, Falkor. I’m The Maker; and I’m making the bathroom the main front in the War On Not Pie. Let’s go.”
“Easy there, Gizzard. You splashed me when you dumped the apples in.”
“Just shut up and pass me the rest of the stuff.”
“Gizzard, the Cinnamofascists and the denizens of Left Nutmegistan are revolting!”
“Indeed. Tell them Gizzard demands tribute! Gizzard declares martial law on their sorry souls! Set Tasers to ‘kill’!!”
[AFTER A FEW MINUTES OF MARTIAL LAW]
“They’re acquiescing to your demands, Gizzard. … I’m a little surprised that worked, actually.”
“Of course it worked, Falkor!”
“How do we mix all this stuff together now?”
“Couple of flushes ought to do it. You might have to jiggle the handle.”
“Won’t we lose some a the ingredients that way, Gizzard?”
“The pie, Falkor. It’s a small sacrifice for heavenly pie. … OK, I think it’s ready. Bring me my crust.”
“Wait, don’t we have to strain and cook some a the liquid off to make the syrup first?”
“Trifle. Just bring the crust.”
“OK, Gizzard, here’s your crust. It’s a broken crust; barely a pale shadow a what it once was, though. I’m not sure we can even use it in our pie anymore.”
“Nonsense. It’s perfect. Bring it in here so I can slop the filling into it.”
“Oh, Gizzard! [Cough.] When you leave and come back— boy, is the smell pungent!”
“I see you’ve got just about everything pretty well into the crust now. What’s that you’re using for the top crust, Gizzard?”
“That? I braided some strips of wet toilet paper while you were in Eastern Europe.”
“Aaaahhh, I see. So what next?”
“You mean cook it in the microwave?”
“Does this broadcast even reach out beyond the blast radius, Gizzard?”
“Shut up, we’re almost on.”
[IN 3… 2… 1…]
GIZZARD: “And we’re back. So, tell me what you think, Falkor.”
FALKOR: “Gizzard, this pie is terrible! It’s a preposterous, ponderous pie!”
GIZ: “How can you say that, Falkor? How can you belittle the solemn sacrifice and selfless toil we put into it?”
FAL: “Apple pie is supposed to taste like summer, innocence, and unbridled enthusiasm. Instead it tastes like road salt and car exhaust; and smells like that strip a material around the inside a some oily fraternity brother’s decrepit baseball cap.”
GIZ: “I followed the recipe precisely, Falkor. It’s not my fault you hate the taste of America.”
FAL: “But Apple Pie is supposed to be made a freedom, pride, hospitality and unconditional love!”
GIZ: “That’s nostalgia’s quaint, old-timey recipe! We can’t afford to just keep— uh —baking pies as if 9-11 never happened, Falkor.”
FAL: “Well… I guess you’re probably right… bein’ you’re the Gizzard’s Imperious All-American Apple Pie expert and all.”
GIZ: “Of course Gizzard is right!”
FAL: “Mmmmmm. Pie.”
GIZ: “Fantastic. Well, folks, that’s all we have time for tonight. I’m Gizzard, here with Falkor, signing off.”
[CUE THEME MUSIC.]
FAL: [Off mic.] “Do I hafta eat it?”
GIZ: [Also off mic.] “Naaah. Let them eat it.”
FAL: [Still off mic.] “Whew! Ok. Good.”
Allow pie to cool before cutting. Best served cold.
The events and characters depicted in this bloggoplay are fictitious. Any similarity to actual persons, living, dead or bloginary, is purely coincidental… Or is it intentional? I always forget how that goes.