Pie

I am beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that, when we die, the Lord will greet us all with one question: "How did you like my cooking?"

Then we will realize, some of us too late, that we weren't here to complain: we were here to eat. And share the meal.

We were here to chew and savor every flavor and aroma of the Lord's table, from the hors d'oevres to the pasta dish, main course to dessert, each with its own wine. God is especially proud of vineyards.

The irony is, those of us who thought it was hip to renounce the Ten Commandments of the Bible, proceeded to invent a thousand far more puritanical commandments about food. Then we packaged our gastronomical neuroses in politics.

Most of the world's poor are happier than we are. They're not burdened with the luxury of inventing another Thou-Shalt-Not for every mouthful of precious food. They feel infinite gratitude for a morsel of bread or a single berry. That kind of gratitude is the magic that multiplies loaves and feeds multitudes. Jesus knew all about it.

Now eat my blueberry pie, home made for you on the fourth of July. Don't ask whether it was made with gluten-free flour, GMO's, butter, ghee, or organic fruit. Just eat it and say thank you. God gave me this recipe as a secret mantra. It is one of her old favorites.