Hazelnut is a pretty word, and pies are beautiful. Have I ever eaten, smelled, or beheld a hazelnut pie? No, and I would probably only be inclined to bake or eat one if chocolate were also a main ingredient. But hazelnut is a pretty word, and pies are beautiful.
Inevitably, I will sometimes write about the topic of witches in European history, because I love superstitious hysteria as well as anecdotes that feature conniving pricks. I most certainly do not approve of witch trials or torture, and I feel sorry for all those who suffered; but these kinds of stories are warmly intoxicating. My choice of “warmly intoxicating” is somewhat a reference to the carbon-monoxide poisoning that sometimes brought the victims of bonfire executions to their ends. All this is to say that when I think of the word “hazel,” I subsequently think about witch-hazel. Due to my fixation with the history of society and witches, I am all the more fond of the word hazelnut.
The cancellation of Pushing Daisies, the most magical show to grace television, was a tragedy; whoever was responsible should have been placed on trial and burned directly after judgment. As the enlightened ones know, the male protagonist not only is able to bring the dead back to life, he can also make phenomenal pies. Being a perfect exemplar of all things sexy, he works at a pie shop when he is not occupied with macabre affairs. The rare times at which I have walked by a real pie shop have put me in a fleeting state of sensuous euphoria.
I have never had a voracious appetite for pies, but I enjoy the occasional slice here and there and I like the idea of pie. When I first read Shakespeare’s account of how Titus Andronicus baked the Queen of the Goths’ sons in a pie (and then fed the pie to her!), I realized that pies are beautiful. To those who are desperately looking for flirting tips, tell your object of infatuation that you would like to bake him or her in a pie; then watch the person fall madly in love with you. Pie-making is a fairly soothing activity, and many people feel comforted by a nice warm piece of apple, cherry, or blackberry pie. Pie is a simple word and it rhymes with many other simple words (like die).
Personally, even if I were surrounded by dozens of pies, I would still terribly need the comforting presence of my best friend. On October 10th-11th three years ago, he and I became a happy pair. The informal ceremony took place in his car around midnight, and I was wearing a purple sweater. When the clock struck twelve, the car turned into a hollowed pumpkin. Nearby, random people who had nothing to do with the situation turned into mice. If you ever come upon the opportunity to sit in a real, giant pumpkin with your truelove, I would recommend you do so.