A long time ago in a stunningly (ahem) appointed Wedgewood blue dining room far away, my ex and I—along with my visiting parents—used to host an annual pie party for 50+ Chicago friends to help kick off everyone’s holiday waistlines. We (mostly meaning my mom) would make (the oddly specific number) 17 from-scratch pies in about 10 assorted flavors and spend the next five hours gasping in horror as people tore into our beautiful culinary creations and ate them. But it was an awesome reason to haul out all the Christmas decorations in a timely manner, dust the expertly (ahem) installed frame moldings, remember where we’d been hiding the tablecloth and actually use the nice dishes. It was always nice to see our friends too, I guess. Especially the ones who stayed so long they felt compelled to help vacuum crumbs of perfectly (ahem) flaky pie crust out of the rugs.
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