So… What About That Crack Pie?

Yes, today was to be The Day: the day I make the Crack Pie. An unabashedly indulgent dessert made of brown sugar (lots of it!), butter (lots of it!), rolled oats. and milk powder. First step: make cookies. Second step: crush cookies into crust and mix with more butter. Last step: fill cookie crust with more butter and brown sugar.

When push came to shove, I couldn’t do it.

I present to you: Reasons I Didn’t Make the Crack Pie
(Astute readers will note I said “didn’t” not “couldn’t.” This was my decision, reached quite easily and without any hand-wringing, not some kind of puritanical food rule I decided I needed to follow.)

1. It was for Dave’s birthday.
And he likes ice cream the very best of anything. I had his favorite brand imported from Ohio, and he’s very happy with that. He was just humoring me with the pie anyway.

2. The recipe makes TWO pies.
If you’re a baker, you know: it can be risky business to cut a baking recipe in half. I was worried about messing with the recipe AND worried about what in the devil I would do with TWO Crack Pies. (I know what you’re thinking: “Give one to me!” Sorry. There’s no way to email a Crack Pie.)

3. The recipe scared me.
I love a good treat as much as the next reformed bad eater. I mean, you know what I did after our 14-mile hike. I can EAT, and when I do indulge, I love it. But I just wasn’t feeling it this week. The idea of eating so much “poison” in the guise of “fun” weirded me out.

4. I’m having some body image issues.
Thanks to my broken-ass thyroid, my weight and body fat haven’t budged in 9 months. I’ve been eating Paleo-Zone and CrossFitting and lifting heavy things and getting 8-9 hours of sleep each night and eating my fish oil. And nothing. Zilch. Nada. Clothes fit the same. Body looks the same. I am stuck as stuck can be. I  know it’s because of my thyroid, and I’m hanging in there – and, frankly, I’m grateful that I’m maintaining my weight because I’ve heard horror stories of people gaining 30 lbs. in a month. THAT would be very difficult.

But here I am, feeling flabby and frustrated and, on bad days, kinda depressed… and on good days, angry and motivated. And it just seemed like throwing a whole bunch of sugar and butter into the mix might not be a good idea. I’m sure that f*cking pie tastes like angels dipped in spun sugar, but here’s the thing: the after-taste might have been more bitter than I can bear right now.

I don’t need a dessert-cudgel with which to beat myself.

5. I will always have access to brown sugar, butter, oats, and milk powder.
This isn’t the time for Crack Pie. I’m not sure that there is a good time for Crack Pie, but there might be a right time for me. Some other time. Just not right now.

Those words come in handy a lot, by the way. You might try them yourself for anything that’s dogging you. Kipping pullup still elusive? You’ll get it… just not right now. Want one of those chocolate chip cookies your co-worker brought to the office? You will have one… just not right now.

Someday, I’ll reach my goal body fat and find the right dose of Synthroid. Just not right now.

By the way, don’t feel too bad for us not eating Crack Pie. We are having this homemade chocolate fudge sauce on top of our ice cream. Not right now… but in about four hours. I’m smart and reasonable, but I’m not a saint.