Pot Pies

Have you ever hated something so much the mere mention of it makes  you want to throw up?  Well, I feel that way about pot pies.  It actually hurts my fingertips to type those words but I’m hoping this works as therapy.  I also hope that I can type this story without actually throwing up.  You know, face your fears, right?

This complete hatred began when I was a child.  We used to have pot pies pretty often.  Now, once a month would have been often to me but it seems like we had them ALL the time.   I can never remember a time, not even the first time, that I actually liked the taste, the look or the feel of a pot pie.  I’m fairly sure the first time I poked through that crust and unveiled the sea of gravy with meat (I use that term loosely) and vegetables this lifelong hate began.  I’m not sure if it’s because of this I don’t eat gravy, cooked peas or cooked carrots.  I don’t even put gravy on my mashed potatoes.  But I digress.

Mom would send me down to the freezer to pick my poison and one was no better than the other.  I remember the nightmare of opening the freezer and seeing those square red boxes staring at me.  I feel like that was all that was in the freezer.  Even when I had to go get something else from the freezer I had to rifle through the layer of pot pies to get to it, nothing like ruining an appetite.

When the pot pie was finally baked I would stare at it, poke at it and swirl it around while eating very little of it.  Like most parents mine wanted me to finish my plate, or in this case my crust filled disaster, because there were starving children all over the world.  Well, more than once I volunteered to send my pot pies to those poor starving children, even though I knew in my heart of hearts they wouldn’t eat them either.   That never went over well.

When I didn’t eat my entire pot pie, the rest of it was saved for the next time I said I was hungry.   I’m not sure how any of you feel about pot pies but the only thing worse than a freshly baked pot pie is a heated up half eaten pot pie.  The chunks of crust laying soggy in the juice some would call gravy.  I just threw up in my mouth a little while I typed that.  I believe there were times that a pot pie lasted me several snacks/meals.

Jump ahead to 2005 on a Sunday afternoon, my hatred for pot pies still alive and well.  A friend and I would grocery shop together every week.  Whoever was done first would wait for the other one and help her bag her groceries and homeward bound we would go.  This particular day we were in the checkout at about the same time, her slightly ahead of me a few lanes down.  I was paying no attention to anything other than my groceries and getting them bagged, until…………I spotted the groceries of the man behind me coming down the adjacent conveyor belt.  Every single item on that belt was a pot pie.  My knee-jerk reaction was to  turn around and I saw he had an entire basket full of pot pies.

Panic ensued.  And I mean PANIC.  The pot pies were coming toward me like a marching army of soldiers with their guns drawn.   I began to sweat, first my palms, then my forehead, it started slowly and then quickly sped up.  I started shoving groceries into bags at lightening speed, my friend coming to help asking what I was doing putting eggs on top of bread.  With crazy eyes I looked at her and said “we need to get the hell out of here”.  At this point the pot pies were stacking up at the end of the belt and the man buying them was paying.  I couldn’t even look at him as I didn’t want to know what sort of animal was buying that many pot pies.

I was literally running out of the store with my cart and my half-assed bagged groceries to try to get some fresh air as my mouth had that watery ‘I’m going to throw up’ feeling.   My friend was completely confused as to what my problem had been.   We loaded our groceries and she continued to look at me like I was crazy.  Finally in the car she asked what had happened.  When I told her of my intense hatred of pot pies and the horrible situation that had just happened in the check out lane she about doubled over with laughter.

Writing this story did not work as therapy, in fact, I may hate them more now than I did before.  I did manage to write this without throwing up though which I would consider a major breakthrough.