So, the pie. I spent the whole day skirting back to the kitchen for pie. Rhubarb washed and cut. Strawberries uncovered. Dough in the stand mixer, the little one on my hip in awe of flour, fat, and liquid coming together in a solid ball. Divided in half, wrapped, then left in the freezer to firm up. Off to shoot, then picked up L and stopped by the café for a cookie and coffee before his doctor’s appointment. Back home, L and his friend ran through the house, dough rolled, filled, covered, and baked. The room was a sweat box by the time I made dinner: cheeseburgers, chips, and broccoli (for the win) then served it on the small picnic table outside. Delivered the right way, all of it would be charming.