We went apple picking this weekend.
By that I mean, we went to a local orchard and I took pictures and Toddler ate any apple he could get his hands on (which, naturally, were the ones he shouldn't eat, the mushy disgusting ones off the ground) while Sam scaled a ladder, risking life and limb, in search of the PERFECT fruit.
We were there FOREVER.
When we went into the orchard market to pay, my nose reached nirvana with the smell of freshly made caramel apples, apple cider, apple donuts and the mother-of-apple-docious treats, apple pies.
Instead of just buying a pie (like my instinct urged me to), I decided to try to make one myself. Why? Because, I've never actually baked an apple pie before. As in EVER.
No, I can't believe it either. I'm first finding my kitchen mojo now at age 34. I think.
In my previous life, I used to work with π on a regular basis, so I'm thinking apple π can't be THAT difficult. Right? Stay tuned to see if a mathlete can make a pie - that is actually edible; it could go either way.