A set about making the filling, which was like a custard. We used low glycemic sugar to assuage some of indulgent guilt. I also had a pre-teen parental moment. At some point in the making of the filling, the phone rang and it was A’s buddy, A. Sure enough, she dropped everything and sequestered herself in her bedroom to chat, leaving the guys to finish the job. Parenting, you gotta love it.
A came back down and made the whip cream, and I have to admit, I admire how she approaches things with gusto. Maybe it’s youth, maybe it’s just her personality, but when I’m faced with a new task, I torture myself on how to begin. I’m plagued with doubt and anxiety, so much so that it takes me awhile just to get started. She just goes for it. It’s a better way to go through life, because not only do you try more things and have more experiences (rather than fearfully avoid every new experience) but even when you make mistakes, which are important in a child’s life, you you benefit from the wisdom of these mistakes.
Anyway, she jumped in head first and grabbed the mixer, set it on high, and made whipped cream. Good stuff. She filled the pie, which turned out beautifully (the strawberry was her idea), and we stuck it in the fridge. We ate it after supper.
For the record, it was, without question, the best coconut cream pie I’d ever eaten. I’m not just saying that as a dad, it was good. N said it was the best pie he’d ever eaten, period, and was low glycemic, sort of, so we had extra big pieces.
I think the next time we’ll try chocolate cream pie, with a graham cracker crust, of course. Until then, thanks for reading.