He Gets Me, He Gets Me Not...

Deep-fried strawberry pies from Town Line BBQ in the Hamptons

Being the young girly-girl I was ten years ago, I thought I had discovered a crafty way to find out how my then-boyfriend perceived me. So, I asked him: "If I were a food, what would I be?" I was hoping that he'd tell me that I was a decadent Viennese chocolate torte. Layers upon layers of cake and hazelnut buttercream... Covered with a glossy coat of dark chocolate... And topped with a gold-leaf garnish! You know, an exquisite creation of that sort.

To my dismay, he replied: "You'd be a chicken pot pie."  

A chicken pot pie? A chicken pot pie??? Excuse me? I couldn't believe that he thought of me as something so ordinary and pedestrian and... Blah. Gee, thanks. I crossed my arms and waited for an explanation. 

"You're a chicken pot pie because you look like any other sweet pie on the outside," he said, "But, on the inside, it gets more complicated. You're not one of those sweet pies. You have chunks of chicken, potatoes, peas, carrots... And gravy."

I was taken aback. He nailed it. I don't think I could've done a better job summing my own self up into a nutshell. (Or, a pie shell, rather.) It was incredibly flattering. The thing about chicken pot pies is this: They have substance.