Election Dessert

Come what may I expect the Republicans are eating humble pie. The red wave turned into a blood pudding. Democrats, with our big tent, must be feasting on everything from baklava to apple strudel to our very berry pie. Make it a la mode.

This being said, my thoughts have turned naturally from pies in the sky to berries.

It is possible I could go through a day without starting with a bowl of nearly frozen blueberries enhancing the bland granola. Possible but not probable. I may never know because my pallet would overthrow my gullet and cause my tongue to wag against my gums. Oral anarchy. Look how the skin of a berry clings to this tooth and that. The bigger the berry the better to roll around half bitten, silently squirting its cargo, juicing me to meet life’s daily misdemeanors.

Strawberries have their own distinctive place in the kingdom of berries. My problem with these sweet red seeded berries is they seldom live up to my expectations. In my nearly nine-decade search for the perfect strawberry I’ve only been blessed with a half-dozen. Just enough to ruin it for all the rest.    

Blackberries grow on prickly stalks. I remember vaguely picking some but I can’t recall where that would have been. They feel good on the tongue, dwarfing the blueberry in size with a promise of the elixir of life sloshing within. Yet when my molar pierces the epithelium of this oversized berry, I can hear the buds in my oral cavity sigh and shrug with indifference. The blackberry claims no place in the olfactory vault.

Huckleberries seem to grow in Montana in the area around Glacier National Park. They impersonate blueberries but taste as unspectacular as blackberries. I suppose tart is the adjective I am looking for. Who wants a sour squinch when visions of tangy bliss await? Yet I do have a memory of huckleberry ice cream. Of course, sugared in the syrupy compote of a pie any berry sings arias on the tongue.

Cambria, south of Big Sur is the habitat of olallieberry. It found its way onto menus on the pie page. This is another offspring of father blackberry, less sour than the huckle and once again redeemed within a flaky crust of a sugared pie, certain to raise blood glucose, cause cavities and possible zits at a certain age. But we only go around once and there are worse ways to die.

I know I’ve ignored gooseberries, marionberries and elderberries only because I have nothing to say about either one. However high on my bucket list is the experience of having a pie thrown in my face. In that case any berry will do though I expect a lemon meringue might cause less damage in the rearrangement of my nose. 

Returning to the pi r squared Republicans, we must not gloat. Even as they are eating crow for their wet dreams which went  down the drain, the fact remains that half this pie of a country seems to regard being vacuous as a virtue. The prospect of a Repugnant takeover of both Houses still looms as a possibility while the monarch has an appetite to reign. One can almost hear him saying, Let them eat cake (or pie).