No matter how you slice it, my buddy Herb loves pie. I don’t mean to say he likes pie… a lot. No, he LOVES pie. He loves dessert in general but he adores pie in particular. It could be rhubarb, cherry, apple (in its many guises), chocolate cream, mud, etc.,… I think you get the picture. As a matter of fact about the only kind of pie he probably — and this is only “probably” — wouldn’t eat is cow. Yeah, cow pie is most likely not gonna happen.
Herb once put on a Nightmare race (see previous post) where all the finishers got chocolate cream pies. Not a slice mind you. A whole pie. Did I mention there was no entry fee to this race? The tab for the sugary velvety smooth chocolatey confection perfection came right out of Herb’s pocket. I secretly believe he only did this thinking he’d get any unclaimed pies for himself. Whatever the reason you gotta give him some love for his sharing the wealth and introducing vast hordes of hungry runners to the wonders of this dessert’s glommy gooey goodness.
Herb’s dessert devouring prowess is legendary. Back in the 1980’s I took a mid-winter cross-country road trip back to the Midwest with my friends Lynn and Rick. We stopped in Madison, WI and went out to supper (hey, this is the Midwest) with Herb and Rick’s brother Dave, who lived in Madison. At supper/dinner we stuffed ourselves to the gills on salad, pepsi and pizza. Little did I know that according to Herb these constituted only three out of the four major food groups.
The fourth, of course, was dessert. This particular night pie was not on offer so we sought solace by visiting a local supermarket on our way back to Dave’s place. Lynn had gone to visit friends so it was just us guys. We strolled down the grocer’s aisle of frozen dairy delights and each selected our own half gallon of Breyer’s ice cream. Until I actually saw it I thought Breyer’s didn’t really exist. It was something akin to Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. Breyer’s was spoken of in hushed tones of reverence and awe and at that time was unavailable in San Diego so I was keen to indulge in it’s foresworn multitudinous wonders.
We made our way back to Dave’s and retired to his living room, spoon and open container in hand. A contest was announced, to see who could finish their dessert first. Someone, I forget who, yelled “go” and we started shoveling. Feeing the effects of our recent feast I made it about two minutes before I hit my wall. Rick and Dave were soon to follow. But not Herb. Not only did he finish his ice cream but he was generously offering aid to anyone who couldn’t also eat their weight in marvelous milky magnificence.
It was on that night that I learned that this was not a man to be trifled with. He’d earned my respect and that’s one of a whole host of reasons he’s being
mocked honored in this post.
I love ya man.