Here's this year's birthday pie for my dad, along with the story that inspired its design. This pie has a lemon-blueberry filling in a cinnamon-almond cookie crust.
For a while, my grandpa raised longhorn cattle in Honduras (among many other undertakings and ventures). One time when my dad was a teenager, my grandpa’s longhorn calves began disappearing from the ranch. About once per week, a calf a would just poof vanish into seemingly thin air. At first, he thought perhaps cattle thieves were to blame, and geared up for a fight (my grandpa was a brawler). Then, because the disappearances were accompanied by strange markings, he decided the culprit must be a wildcat instead. He put together a crew, including several indigenous ranch hands, a couple of vaquero friends, and my dad, sending them out to find the "thieving gato" (or whatever man or creature dared rob him of his property).
My dad dutifully grabbed his rifle and began exploring the nearby terrain for signs of the gato and missing calves. His search eventually brought him to Laguna Ticamaya, a marshy lake surrounded by thick vegetation. He trotted down an embankment towards the lagoon, bursting through the foliage right as he reached the water's edge.
There, coiled in the shallows directly in front of him, lay in wait an ENORMOUS anaconda. The monstrous snake lifted its head and locked eyes with my dad, who had been approaching the lagoon with some momentum. My dad swears he levitated to avoid tumbling directly on top of the serpent. Straight into the air he went and, not even taking time to properly aim, instinctively pulled the trigger. By the time he had plummeted down the rest of the embankment and into the water, the snake was a goner.
Hearing the commotion, the rest of the search party came running and were stunned to lay eyes on the giant, lifeless anaconda. The indigenous ranch hands offered to skin it for my dad if he'd allow them to keep the rest of the snake, which they used for medicinal purposes. It took several grown men to load the carcass into a wagon and haul it back to camp, where they measured it at 27 feet long and found a calf carcass in its belly...
When my dad came to the U.S. several years later, he brought his prized collection of skins and pelts with him, including the anaconda skin.
A little while after settling into his new home country, he began dating my mom (a sheltered and shy girlie-girl). One evening he thought he'd surprise (and impress!) her and, with an eager pep to his step, tucked the giant, rolled-up snake skin under one arm and headed to pick her up for their date. Knock, knock, knock and my mom appeared, all dressed up and ready for a night on the town. But before she could step out the door, my dad bent and, with a flourish, sent the anaconda skin unfurling across the floor. The skin bounced and rolled until it had fully unraveled, hitting the back wall and stretching the full length of her studio apartment.
My mom went BERZERK.
Her jaw dropped and she began SCREAMING her head off. Then she started yelling at him to get rid of the thing. Get rid of it now now NOW!
GET. IT. OUT!!
Sheepishly, my dad scrambled to roll up the skin and shove it out the door. After he'd peeled my mom off the ceiling (his words), he promised he'd get rid of the snakeskin and the rest of his pelts. He made good on his promise and handed off his collection to his younger brother (who we all suspect promptly lost them).
To this day my mom still hates snakes with a passionate fury and my dad has remained vigilant about keeping them away from her.
Happy birthday dad! I hope you enjoy this much friendlier and more palatable take on “The Anaconda” story.
P.S. My mom refused to touch the snake portion of this pie, and instead resigned herself to snacking on the flowers
inspiredtotaste on July 23rd, 2021 at 01:37 UTC »
Here's this year's birthday pie for my dad, along with the story that inspired its design. This pie has a lemon-blueberry filling in a cinnamon-almond cookie crust.
For a while, my grandpa raised longhorn cattle in Honduras (among many other undertakings and ventures). One time when my dad was a teenager, my grandpa’s longhorn calves began disappearing from the ranch. About once per week, a calf a would just poof vanish into seemingly thin air. At first, he thought perhaps cattle thieves were to blame, and geared up for a fight (my grandpa was a brawler). Then, because the disappearances were accompanied by strange markings, he decided the culprit must be a wildcat instead. He put together a crew, including several indigenous ranch hands, a couple of vaquero friends, and my dad, sending them out to find the "thieving gato" (or whatever man or creature dared rob him of his property).
My dad dutifully grabbed his rifle and began exploring the nearby terrain for signs of the gato and missing calves. His search eventually brought him to Laguna Ticamaya, a marshy lake surrounded by thick vegetation. He trotted down an embankment towards the lagoon, bursting through the foliage right as he reached the water's edge.
There, coiled in the shallows directly in front of him, lay in wait an ENORMOUS anaconda. The monstrous snake lifted its head and locked eyes with my dad, who had been approaching the lagoon with some momentum. My dad swears he levitated to avoid tumbling directly on top of the serpent. Straight into the air he went and, not even taking time to properly aim, instinctively pulled the trigger. By the time he had plummeted down the rest of the embankment and into the water, the snake was a goner.
Hearing the commotion, the rest of the search party came running and were stunned to lay eyes on the giant, lifeless anaconda. The indigenous ranch hands offered to skin it for my dad if he'd allow them to keep the rest of the snake, which they used for medicinal purposes. It took several grown men to load the carcass into a wagon and haul it back to camp, where they measured it at 27 feet long and found a calf carcass in its belly...
When my dad came to the U.S. several years later, he brought his prized collection of skins and pelts with him, including the anaconda skin.
A little while after settling into his new home country, he began dating my mom (a sheltered and shy girlie-girl). One evening he thought he'd surprise (and impress!) her and, with an eager pep to his step, tucked the giant, rolled-up snake skin under one arm and headed to pick her up for their date. Knock, knock, knock and my mom appeared, all dressed up and ready for a night on the town. But before she could step out the door, my dad bent and, with a flourish, sent the anaconda skin unfurling across the floor. The skin bounced and rolled until it had fully unraveled, hitting the back wall and stretching the full length of her studio apartment.
My mom went BERZERK.
Her jaw dropped and she began SCREAMING her head off. Then she started yelling at him to get rid of the thing. Get rid of it now now NOW!
GET. IT. OUT!!
Sheepishly, my dad scrambled to roll up the skin and shove it out the door. After he'd peeled my mom off the ceiling (his words), he promised he'd get rid of the snakeskin and the rest of his pelts. He made good on his promise and handed off his collection to his younger brother (who we all suspect promptly lost them).
To this day my mom still hates snakes with a passionate fury and my dad has remained vigilant about keeping them away from her.
Happy birthday dad! I hope you enjoy this much friendlier and more palatable take on “The Anaconda” story.
P.S. My mom refused to touch the snake portion of this pie, and instead resigned herself to snacking on the flowers
gdnoil on July 23rd, 2021 at 01:39 UTC »
Pleaseeee go on Great British Bake Off. This is AMAZING😍😍 I can’t believe you MADE this!!
lowqualredditor on July 23rd, 2021 at 01:51 UTC »
THATS AMAZING!!!!