This weekend I sat at my dining room table and consumed a pie recipe. It was almost a poem. Especially when I reached this line: Tumble in the cranberries. That is what cranberries do, as anyone who made sauce this weekend knows. They tumble. They are so fat and firm at the same time, they have no choice. They are berries packed so full of themselves in their tight little red skins, that they bounce off each other into the pot, or the pie.
I loved this recipe that I will never, ever make. I can’t imagine ever having the time or the patience to individually rub each pea-sized piece of butter between my thumb and finger, flattening them into little discs that will help make the best pastry ever.
My pie, I know, would not turn out as if it had been made by poem. But just being reminded of the richness of words, and how with just the smallest of efforts you can make cranberries tumble, instead of plain old pour, or stir, or the boring everydayness of just adding them into the pie filling, made me smile.