The man on his left turned to a stern woman wearing an apron at his side. “Now Martha, I already told you, I have no desire to be a judge this year. You were mad at me for three months last time.”
She put her hands on her hips and glared. “You'll judge, and maybe choose the right pie as the winner this time, or you’ll have no pie for the rest of the year.” She scowled and left to join the rows of folded chairs.
“Blasted woman, this is a trap if there ever was one.” Doug pulled his hat over his eyes.
Hmm, this might be tricky.
A few teenagers with 4H leadership shirts began bringing out plate after plate of pie and sat them on a table. Cream pies, fruit pies, ones piled with meringue, and others covered with intricate dough . . . art? The room was packed with about thirty pie bakers. Each sat on the edge of their seats and stared at me and the fellow judges. Poised, ready for an attack.
Ashley stood up from her chair in the front and cleared her throat. “I think it would be easiest if we start with the same varieties of pie, then narrow it from there.” She chirped. “Let’s do pumpkin first.”
A gray haired woman from the back jumped to her feet. “You are trying to cheat again. Hoping the judges will get bored before they make it to the cream pies!”
Ashley smirked. “Now, Marie, no one can know who made what pie. That’s confidential.”
Marie scoffed. “Ashley, with you, nothing is confidential.”
“What does that mean?” She raised her hand over her heart.
There were cheers as some women stood and shuffledaround each other, forming groups. They all began yelling, and I was sure I saw dentures hit the ground.
This was escalating into a full-on pie brawl. I stood and held both hands in front of me. “Excuse me.” I waved my arms and looked at my fellow judges. They offered no help, only pulled their hats lower over their eyes. I put my fingers into my mouth and whistled.
Everyone stopped and looked at me. I gazed over the stunned faces and met Marissa’s kind eyes. She gave me a wink and a nod of encouragement.
I exhaled. I had seen some disorderly courtrooms, but this might take the prize.
“Excuse me, ladies,” I nodded at them. “If you'll all please take your seats.” I knew how to use my voice to make a suggestion feel like a command. They all glared but accommodated. “Now there seems to be a debate on where to start.”
The uproar began again, but I raised my hand, silencing it before it got out of control. “I believe I have a solution.” I moved over to Doug on my right and reached for his hat. “May I?” The man shrugged and handed me his hat. I took it and asked one teenager if they could find me some paper and a pencil. After I had all the needed supplies, I wrote the different pies on paper and put them in the hat.
“Ok, we’ll draw out the order for pie tasting. It will be impartial.” I walked back to Doug. “Would you mind pulling a name out of the hat?” He looked up at me in fear, his eyes glancing toward the women. It was obvious he had no wish to be part of the choosing. “Very well, both of you judges mix up the names and hold them up high above my head and I’ll reach up and draw the order.” I turned to the room of women. “Any objections to this plan?”
“I still think we should start with pumpkin,” Ashley grumbled.
“Draw the order,” shouted someone from the back. I nodded and pulled out a slip of paper, unfolding it. “The first type of piejudged will be . . .” I unfolded the paper. “Cream. Followed by . . .” I reached back into the hat. “Fruit.” I heard a cheer from the back. I continued the process. “Next meringues.” I reached up for the last. “Which leaves,” I unfolded the paper, “pumpkin.”
“That’s not fair,” Ashley whined.
“I assure you, it’s as fair as I could make it on the spot.” I gestured at the teens caught in the cross hairs. “Now, if you'll please bring out the pies in that order.”
“Which one is first in each category?” The teen whispered, afraid to start another riot.
“This year, we will have each category brought out in alphabetical order. I believe first will be,” I searched the table of pies, “banana cream. I suggest next year you set up a rotation on which you all vote and agree.”
I sat back down in my chair. It felt good to solve a problem with words instead of fists. Words could do damage, but they could also heal and diffuse.
For the next forty-five minutes, I tried pie after pie, making notes in my phone notepad, being meticulous and fair. I praised something specific about each bite, which was difficult with the mustard banana cream pie. I noted textures, colors, and overall taste.
We needed to come up with a winner, runner-up, best crust, and filling. The other two judges were happy to let me take the lead. If I had a guess, it was because both of their wives were somewhere in that crowd. We needed to collaborate without witnesses.
“Ladies. Thank you so much for your pies and the time you spent making these masterpieces. I cannot speak to other years, but these are some of the best pies I've tasted, other than my mother’s.” I smiled, and they all chuckled. “Now, please excuse us. We’ll be back with the results in fifteen minutes.” I nodded to the other two judges. “Gentlemen, let’s go for a drive.”
I stepped over to Marissa, giving her a quick kiss. “Be right back.”
“Good luck,” she whispered. I grinned back at her, fighting the urge to kiss her again.
Both judges followed me out of the room, doing their best to dodge their wives’ glares. Once we sat in my car, the two men livened up a bit. After being sworn to secrecy, they had great insights to offer with the pies.
