There in a cart by the front door sat the "Rejects of the Aisles".
The foodstuff version of those sale bins at record stores where CDs go to die.
Huh.
"No Bake Lemon Pie" for only $2. All the directions were in 4 panels on the skinny side of the box.
How hard can it be?
And the picture looks delicious.
Sold.
Later that night, the Friday Night Pizza Tradition was followed by the disappointing realization that there was nothing on the Basic Cable channels worth watching.
But wait...
I had "No Bake Lemon Pie".
I migrated to the kitchen and got some bowls, a measuring cup, and a wire whisk set up on the counter.
Piece of cake.
Well, okay...pie.
The graham cracker crust went okay, bringing flashbacks of playing in the sandbox with the Tonka toys.
The spoon became my rusted little bulldozer as I pushed the graham cracker "sand" into a crust.
I didn't realize I was making the 'dozer noises until I caught a movement by the coffee pot.
I glanced over to see the Wife staring at me.
Shaking her head, she went back to the Dining/Living/Computer/Family Room, muttering something about my side of the family.
I went back to 'dozin' the crust.
According to the instructions, the lemon filling required the use of a mixer to frappe the lumps out of it.
That would require getting a chair to reach over the top of the refrigerator to carefully move the Fostoria glassware to get to the mixer.
Then I would have to excavate the silverware drawer to find the beaters.
And when it was all done I'd have to wash the beaters and reverse the whole process.
Or...
I could just use the whisk, rinse it when done, wiggle it through a dishtowel, and put it back in the little "Kitchen Tool" bucket on the counter.
Yeah. There we go.
I start to whisk.
Powder and water become a bowlful of yellow stuff disturbingly reminiscent of "Slime" - the green stuff from Mattel that came in its own little trash can.
(Another toy flashback...
should I be getting concerned?)
I was supposed to mix the yellow ooze until there were no lumps. After two minutes, I began to mentally debate the difference between lumps and spots.
The box says no lumps.
Nothin' about spots.
Another minute whisking.
Hey, spots are our friends.
They add interesting texture.
Hello, spots.
Get in the pan.
I grabbed the topping packet and emptied it into a bowl of water.
I was supposed to mix it until peaks formed and then gently "fold" it on top of the yellow stuff.
I whisked with renewed fervor.
It looked like milk in the bowl.
Whisking. Whisking.
It started to slightly thicken, like fresh-melted ice cream on a summer sidewalk.
Whisk. Whisk. Whisk.
The swirls started to hang around a moment before morphing into smoothness.
My fingers started to cramp.
My wrist began to ache.
I reached deep and hit the next gear, roaring defiantly in my head - but nothing out loud, of course.
No sense having the Wife call 9-1-1 for a sedated ride with the white coats.
There!
I saw a small peak before it slid into the whiteness.
Come back!
Please!
And then there was another one.
And it brought a friend!
Close enough.
I dumped the white stuff onto the yellow stuff and smeared it around.
Stepping back, I looked at the pie.
I looked at the box.
Then at the pie.
Huh.
The box had a beautiful, white-peaked mountain range of deliciousness atop the glowing yellow filling.
My pie looked like a freak snowfall had hit the Le Brea tar pits.
I fought the urge to add a little plastic mastodon and half-way submerge it a short distance from the edge.
Thaaaat would get the Wife dialin' numbers.
Oh well. "Le Brea Lemon Pie" went into the fridge.
After a short nap in the Chair, I tried to serve it up.
Grabbing plates, forks, and a knife, I tried to get the "No Bake Lemon Pie" out of its sanctuary.
It wouldn't slice.
It wouldn't move.
It came out in small, defiant clumps - the crust refusing to leave the pie pan without a fight.
It resembled lemon pudding, cream topping, and graham crackers after a one-pulse get-together in a blender.
I put the plates away, got three bowls, swapping out the forks for spoons.
I gave a bowl to the Wife who looked at it, smiled, and put it on the end table.
It was still there this morning.
TechnoBoy took his bowl while making a pithy observation.
"Wow, Dad -
You made Lemon Flop Pie!"
And he thought he was going to sleep inside.
Foolish lad.
As I threw the box away, I glanced at the final panel of instruction.
If I had just set the pie plate in hot water for 30 seconds, the crust would've loosened up to allow true "No Bake Lemon Pie" servings.
Instead of piles of Lemon Flop.
Sigh.
I studied a spoonful of Flop.
Heckuva thing to do to a pie.
Huh.
Like a gastronomical version of Uzzah's demise.
You know the story - when King David tried to move the Ark of the Covenant on an ox cart and Uzzah tried to keep it from falling off.
Zapperino. Good-bye Uzzah.
Yeah.
Uzzah and Lemon Flop Pie.
That's what happens when the instructions are ignored.
Two really good reasons to read the box...and the Book.
And to follow the instructions thereon and therein.