Every summer, we head north to New Hampshire. Each year unfolds with expected tradition and unanticipated surprises. The crisp summer evenings linger with outdoor meals lit by wavering candles as the last of the sun’s glow surrenders to starry skies. This year was no different in its festivities. From the dock to the barn, we had quite a few merry moments with friends and family, in addition to the delicious feasts.
But lest anyone wax poetic over these Martha-esque images, we did have our challenges. And this was one: pie splat. The moment after the blueberry pie caved under the weight of that juicy berry filling and hit the open oven door, there was a split second of decision. Mourn the vision of perfectly plated pie or laugh and create a memory. My mother-in-law chose the latter and scooped up the remnants, and as we enjoyed our broken pie pieces, the little foodies suggested doing pie splats every year as our new family tradition. I love those little spin doctors.