COLUMN: Bidding adieu to a tasty pie
Just weeks ago, locals, dignitaries and food connoisseurs alike lost a dear friend, one who tragically left the world almost as soon as he entered it. With a quaking wave of poetic centripetal sorrow, we announce that the illusive and jealously guarded Salty Hog Pie has left the earth.
The Salty Hog Pie was born peacefully and with great amounts of hope earlier this past September to loving parents Village Inn and Bakers Square, born into every life a young pie could only dream of experiencing. As an infant, he was beautiful, with flaky crust and an endless future.
As he went on to grow he became a marvel worthy of all admiration. Over time he became mature, learned the facts of life and sprouted layers of salted caramel and roasted almonds, moist chocolate cake, fluffy whipped cream, a salty caramel drizzle, and French silk in a flaky pie crust.
And then, when it seemed he accomplished all a young and ambitious pie could achieve, he was topped, insurmountably, with candied bacon. It most definitely is not a bold statement to claim that our beautiful Hog was born into the world with the greatest of potential of all desserts Not since Mr. Tasty’s Blue Tornado Bar had a sweet smack of something had the expectation to gather a dedicated following.
And gather a dedicated following he did. Flashing evidences of fictional Terrance Mann’s eclectic oratory in “Field of Dreams,” people smoothly flocked to their diner chains, glibly handing over money without thinking of it because, in Mann’s words, “it was money they have and peace they lack.”
Whatever the commercial fee required, it was smile in comparison to the emotional gift so many people received in experiencing the joyous candor encompassed in every morsel of a legendary open-faced pastry.
One of those blessed people was Lance Rasmussen, a close friend a culinary confidant. Just days ago he commented to me that been experiencing an “emotional whirlwind” and needed to temporarily sublimate his sorrows with food.
The evening began rather innocently, a sandwich on English muffin and side salad for me and a short order of cubed potatoes for him. Then, in a moment as miraculous as it was cathartic for someone in personal turmoil, he spotted the pie exuberantly placed inside the display glass. Before I could begin to comment, Lance painstakingly pleaded with the waitress for a slice of this newfound sweet and salty revelation as if it was an ever-needed organ transplant.
We flatly waded through our more savory food until they were both placed in front of us – and by “they” I mean two wedged shaped miracles. My friend side sliced a mouthful of pie to a fork, inserted it into his mouth, and slowly, poetically – I am so far from kidding it is insane – was moved to tears. For a man so drowned in sorrows it took a pie encompassing everything delicious to bring him back to life. We entered the restaurant food seekers and we left better men.
Amid such beautiful snapshots in time experienced the world over much like I witnessed for my comrade, it seemed the world was fully ready to adjust to new and more positive times. Thanks to bacon-topped, cake embossed, field-goal kicking Philadelphia phenomenon, the world was ready to change. This was the hope.
But sadly, just a day after our bomb
astic experience, and mere weeks after he first graced our presence, the beautiful and even philanthropic Salty Hog left us peacefully, surrounded by family, friends, utensils, napkins and juices mixed with lemon-lime soda and far too much ice, victim of the most widespread disease for special restaurant items: lack of market share.
The Salty Hog may be bereft of life, but the legacy lives on. The legacy of almonds and caramel, the legacy of cream from a cow and bacon from a pig, the legacy that neither man nor woman need journey life alone, because love is there, and most importantly, pie is there.
The Salty Hog is survived by his children pecan pie, vanilla pudding fresh-baked pretzel and his dear wife kettle corn.
Laid to rest in stomachs nationwide, we honor his memory today. To the Salty Hog Pie: a friend, a dessert, a message of hope. Rest in slice.
Steve Schwartzman is a senior in communication studies and linguistics. When he isn’t trying too hard to make people laugh he is usually watching sports, watching 90’s cartoons or experiencing all things Aggie Life. Got a good idea for Steve to rant about? Hit him up at steve.schwartzman@aggiemail.usu.edu
@SchwartZteve