The Worst Pumpkin Pie in the History of Thanksgiving

One of the relationships in my life that I still give thanks for is my friendship with Chris Jackson. We spent several holidays together before his untimely death and I still miss him enormously. I do not however miss the contribution he made to my Thanksgiving meal one year.

I have rarely had to cook on Thanksgiving because if a recipe doesn't involve cookie dough I have very little interest in it or faith in myself to bake it. Still, a few years ago I decided to cook Thanksgiving dinner for myself and my daughters. Knowing they didn't have Thanksgiving plans, I invited Chris and his mother, Chrystal over as well.

Chris insisted in helping out with the meal so we decided he could bring the pumpkin pies. It was a small gathering so I was only cooking a turkey breast. Even so, with that and the few other dishes I was preparing I was having a difficult time getting everything to come out of the oven at the same time.

Chris and Chrystal arrived about an hour before the meal was to be served with the pies. They were still frozen! Well, partially frozen anyway. He had had the pies in the trunk of his car awhile and they had thawed.

Just as I was reaching the higest point of my stress level, trying to juggle turkey breast, sweet potatoes, stuffing and dinner rolls in the oven, all of which required a various temperature settings, Chris announced he needed to bake the pies for forty-five minutes or so at yet another temperature, or course.

I thought I had been saved any further confusion when we discovered the pies had partially leaked out of their containers. I assumed we would just give up on the project and pick up a couple of Twinkies or whatever Hostess products we could find at the local convenience store down the block for dessert. But Chris insisted on baking them anyway.

He poured the contents of one pie tin into the other to make one complete pie and put it in the oven while we put the finishing touches on the meal and ate.

By the time we finished eating the pies weren't done but the crust had burnt so that it was about the color of potting soil. I tried to decline the piece of pie Chris spooned up for me, burnt on the edges, raw in the center. Thankfully he turned his head just long enough for me to hide most of my piece in my napkin and mutter, "That didn't turn out to badly," before I headed to the kitchen to hide the evidence of the uneaten pie deep in depths of my trash can.

Amazingly this was not the last Thanksgiving we spent together but from then on he was assigned to only bring the wine, something we could have used a heck of a lot more of that Thanksgiving.