Behind the Ironic Column

How many times have you said to a teenager (your own or someone else’s) “Don’t just stand there with the refrigerator door open.”  It’s one of those reflexive kinds of things – our mothers said it and so do we.  It’s as if the teenager is hoping, against all expectation, that there will be some unexpected food substance in the refrigerator that will satisfy those hunger pangs.  Not just the usual yogurt and milk and juice and whatever else is standard in your home fridge.  But you and I know that no matter how many times he opens the door or how long he ponders the contents, the menu will not change.  We bought those things and put them in the fridge – nothing unexpected is getting by us. 

Or maybe at least nothing unexpected is getting by you.  Somewhere along the line I turned off that hope that a UFO would land in my refrigerator or that some spiritual being would choose to communicate through designs embossed on sticks of butter.   I open the door and see what I expect to see.  Which is the previously mentioned yogurt, etc., and the occasional dish of leftovers.  I don’t expect to find things that aren’t on my standard menu.

So it was with great amazement, and just a dash of joy, that I opened the door tonight and spotted a carton of heavy whipping cream.  Not that it’s that strange to find cream in my refrigerator, but that carton brought back the realization that somewhere in the fridge were slices of an excellent chocolate chess pie.  In a fit of total aberration, I made a pie for New Year’s dinner.  I’m not a pie kind of person.  I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of pies I’ve made in the past 5 years – and I’d still have fingers left over.  And I’m well aware of the tradition/superstition that whatever you do on New Year’s Day may be what you do all year so we’ll see how that plays out.

In any event,  my subconscious is not accustomed to the idea of  pie in the refrigerator.  Once the dinner was over and the leftovers stashed away, I forgot about it.   I didn’t forget about the leftover ham, or any regular food.  Just the pie.  It was if it had only been a dream. 

It was a nice surprise – almost as good as if someone else had secretly slipped a pie into my kitchen when I wasn’t looking.  And I’m happy to say that the leftover pie, with whipped cream, was delicious.   Happy New Year indeed!

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