California governor Gavin Newsom answers your questions about Thanksgiving safety guidelines

Dear Gov. Newsom:

I plan to comply with the safety guidelines you issued for Thanksgiving celebrations — the event should be held outside and last two hours or less, no more than three families can attend, no singing, six feet of distance between guests, and bathrooms must be sanitized between each use — but have a dilemma. My four children are married and all have children. Are they considered four families or are we one family?

JR in San Jose

Dear JR:  If they live with you, you are one family. If not, they comprise four separate families and don’t forget that you and those who reside under your roof are also considered a family unit by the State of California, so we’re actually talking about five families here. Tell the two children you are least thankful for that, under normal circumstances, they and their families are welcome but not this year. 

Dear Gov. Newsom:

I am confined to a wheelchair and unable to sanitize my bathroom between uses. If I rent a port-a-potty for my outdoor celebration, must it also be sanitized after each visit or does your edict apply only to indoor bathrooms?

Barbara in Santa Barbara:

Dear Barbara:

Thank you for pointing out this critically important omission my health experts somehow missed. I have extended the guidelines to require sanitizing port-a-potties and outhouses after each use.

Dear Gov. Newsom:

I’m planning a quiet Thanksgiving — only myself and my 99-year-old mother. We live in a cabin high in the Sierras where the average temperature in late November is near zero. Must we a) celebrate outside and b) sit six feet apart?

Mountain Man 

Dear MM:

Yes. Rules are rules.

Dear Gov. Newsom:

Months ago I invited 18 guests for Thanksgiving but the balcony of my condo is only 80 square feet so it will be impossible to seat them six feet apart. What can you suggest?

Beverly in Beverly Hills

Dear Beverly: Move your celebration to one of California’s beautiful open spaces, like Death Valley, where there is plenty of room. Be sure to provide each guest with a cloth mask and a bottle of hand sanitizer.

Dear Gov. Newsom:

If a wildfire is raging near my home on Thanksgiving, must we still hold our celebration outside?

Nadine in Napa

Dear Nadine: Yes, but look on the bright side. You won’t have to turn on the oven to roast the turkey.

Dear Gov. Newsom:

My family traditionally sings “We Gather Together” before we sit down to dinner. Is it permissible to hum it if everyone is wearing a mask?

The Osmonds

Dear Osmonds: No. Humming would violate the spirit of my guidelines which are intended to protect all Californians. Planes equipped with listening devices will be circling our state's major cities and if we detect humming, you will be subject to arrest and/or fines. 

Dear Gov. Newsom:

I no longer want to live in a state in which my every move is controlled by despots like you. I am planning on jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge at noon on Thanksgiving Day. Any final advice for me?

GG in SF

Dear GG: Make sure you stand at least six feet away from any other Californian who is doing the same thing. 

Four intelligent TV series to stream on Netflix

My wife and I have spent almost every night for the past seven months of COVID-induced isolation watching streaming video. We’ve binge-watched TV series on Netflix, Amazon Prime, Showtime, Acorn, Apple TV, HBO, PBS and Starz, even though we don’t like the same types of shows. 

She loves murder dramas. I hate them. If I want to watch victims being chopped up into little pieces by insane people, I could tune into the nightly talk shows on CNN or Fox News. 

I love WWII series. She detests them. 

We could, I suppose, watch the shows we each prefer in separate rooms, but we like to watch together with our dachshund and Jack Russell terrier curled between us. So we compromise about the types of TV series we watch. 

We are picky. We research shows that sound promising on the internet and are constantly asking friends whose judgment we trust for recommendations. Having been disappointed often, we tend to avoid much of the drek that comes out of Hollywood. For instance, we watched the first two episodes of the much-balleyhooed “Morning Show” on Apple TV before pulling the plug. Starring Jenifer Aniston, Reese Witherspoon and Steve Carell, the 10-episode series purportedly cost $300 million to produce. Our dachshund could have written a script with fewer holes in it. We turned off “Ozark” on Netflix after a few episodes for the same reason. Though some of our friends say otherwise, we found it unbelievable and unwatchable.

And so, as a result, we watch lots of foreign series. Over the last few months, we’ve been fortunate enough to find not just one but four extraordinary foreign series on Netflix, all of them written for viewers with triple-digit IQs who eschew the sci-fi, teenage and/or vampire series that dominate streaming media. 

If the experts are correct, the second wave of the Coronavirus is going to be hitting soon and we’ll all be stuck at home again. So here is something to help you pass the upcoming lockdown — four outstanding series vetted by yours truly, his wife and, of course, our dogs, who can now bark in four new languages. 

Borgen 

Denmark 

Drama 

3 seasons, 30 episodes

Birgitte Nyborg, the leader of a minor political party, unexpectedly becomes Prime Minister. She knows little about governance or behind the scenes political machinations, but episode by episode, becomes accomplished, confident and, at times, ruthless. As her career flourishes, her family falls apart — her husband leaves, her teenager has a breakdown. How she balances all these demands is the core premise of the show and it doesn’t necessarily end the way you think it will. Borgen’s secondary characters are also well developed. Kasper is the party’s spin doctor, who always knows what to do except when it comes to his own life. Catrina is a workaholic TV anchor, who, like Birgitte, wants it all — love, kids and a high-powered career — but keeps making questionable choices. Many cast members portray journalists and you’ll learn how the Danish media covers politics. For instance, when an issue arises, politicians representing all sides of it gather on a TV soundstage and debate. That’s an idea American politicians and networks should adopt. Borgen, by the way, means “the Castle,” a nickname for Christiansborg Palace, the house of Denmark's three powers: Parliament, the Prime Minister's Office and the Supreme Court. 

Fauda 

Israel 

Drama 

3 seasons, 36 episodes 

Fauda is Arabic for “chaos" which ensues in every episode of this taut thriller. A below-the-radar team of the Israeli Defense Force is assigned to infiltrate the West Bank. Their job: To identify and stop terrorists before they can strike. Like the ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Fauda is violent — characters are blown to bits by bombs, stabbed, tortured, mowed down by Uzis and beheaded. There’s fanaticism on both sides of the fence and this series helps American viewers understand why. Filmed in Israel and its occupied territories, Fauda is, at once, fascinating, disturbing, thrilling and enlightening. If you liked “Homeland” on Showtime, you will love Fauda. It’s twice as intelligent, better written and the acting is superb. Lior Raz, who plays Doron, the protagonist, is a master actor. You feel his pain, rage, sorrow and loss. Another standout is Shadi Mar’i who plays Walid, a batshit crazy terrorist whose star is ascending until … well, you’ll have to see for yourself what happens. 

Call My Agent 

France 

Comedy 

3 seasons, 18 episodes 

Four self-absorbed, ultra-competitive Paris talent agents learn that the owner of their agency, who kept them all in line, has dropped dead, leaving the firm and their futures in “fauda” (See? You’re already learning something new.) Each episode features a bona fide French celebrity who plays himself or herself as one of the agency's clients. The agents work to extract themselves and their entitled clients from difficult and often compromising positions while trying to balance relationships with spouses, co-workers who are current lovers, co-workers who were former lovers, potential clients, the French version of the IRS,  and a wealthy new boss who bought the agency on a lark, knows nothing about the business, and wears a man bun. The dialogue is witty and smart, and the characters are likable — even the ones you shouldn’t like, like Mathias who refuses to acknowledge the daughter he fathered during a one-night stand and is now diddling his spinster secretary while his wife tries to extract money from her wealthy father to buy him controlling interest in the agency. As someone who spent his career in creative (advertising) agency environments, I loved this show. Bet you will too. 

Bonus Family 

Sweden 

Dramedy 

3 seasons, 30 episodes 

Mattress salesman Martin is bitter because his ditzy artist wife, Lisa, has left him and moved in with schoolteacher Patrik, who several years ago divorced his humorless architect wife, Katja. Between them, the four principal characters have three children including two boys the same age, one a Goofus, one a Gallant, and a rebellious teenage daughter. Martin has moved in with his widowed mother who, it turns out, has had a lesbian lover for the last 20 years. Lisa forgets to take her birth control pill and becomes pregnant while still married to Martin; she keeps forgetting to sign the divorce papers. Katja appears to be a cold fish but is having torrid nooners with her married boss. In short, everyone in this bonus family — the term Swedes call it when two families become one --  has issues. The characters navigate parenting, finances, housing, pregnancy, jobs, eldercare, medical care, marriages, divorces, new loves and former spouses, as American viewers get insight into Sweden and its unique brand of socialism. For instance, when Lisa and Patrik’s baby arrives, he has the luxury of leaving his job to stay home for 18 months because he’s being paid by the state to take paternity leave. You’ll care about these characters and, when the series ends, you’ll miss them because, like your family, they’re dysfunctional but good people muddling through, trying to do the best they can. 

Note: Netflix gives the viewers of many of its foreign series the option of listening to voices dubbed in English over the original actors’ voices. Don’t choose that option. Choose the audio in the language in which the original was shot, then select “English subtitles.” You’ll be surprised at how many words in, say, Danish are the same as they are in English. And you won’t be distracted by characters whose lips aren’t in synch with what they are saying. 

Funny, but my wife sometimes asks me to turn up the volume. I tell her she doesn’t speak the language anyway so what's the point? But she’s right. It’s great to hear the actors’ authentic voices, even if you can’t understand 99 percent of what they are saying.

First day of first grade

Grandson Teddy's first day of first grade. At home. 

My grandson, Theodore, started first grade this morning. 

I remember the day in September 1957 I started first grade. It was raining, so my mother drove me in her tank-size Chrysler sedan. Cars didn’t have bucket seats then. The Chrysler had an armrest that folded down from the center of the bench seat, and I sat on top of it, trying to stay as close to mom as possible. I was excited as all get-out -- I had looked forward to the big day for months --- but nervous. Our tiny farm town didn’t have a kindergarten, so the first day of first grade marked the first time I’d be away from home for anything other than a playdate or birthday party. 

Upon arrival I met my classmates. I can still name at least 90 percent of them  — Mark Penn, Jane Mills, Kenny Smithee, Debbie Montcalm, Jerry Wyss, Connie Sue Knipp, Billy Welch, Patty Jensen, Jerry Senevey, Lana Foster, and Sheila Rountree.* To this day I stay in touch with many of them by Facebook.

Our teacher, Mrs. McCune, was approximately five hundred years old. She wore wire-rim glasses and, once the weather turned cool, a red, orange and gray checkered wool jacket like the one every teacher in the Auxvasse Public School seemed to have. 

Over the next nine months she taught us to read from a series of Dick & Jane primers. The first word of the first primer was, “Look” followed by “Look, look, look.” Dick was pointing out something to Jane that their dog, Spot, was doing. Sally, their younger sister (who, for some reason, never earned title status), was introduced a few pages later as was Puff, their cat.  

Mrs. McCune taught us numbers and how to add and subtract them. To this day, addition and subtraction are all I am able to handle math-wise, which is why I became a writer instead of, say, a rocket scientist — and to painstakingly copy block letters from the alphabet posters taped above the blackboard. She spent what seemed like hours trying to get me to hold my pencil the way the other kids in the class held theirs. I never understood what the fuss was about — I held my pencil just fine —  but for some reason she was convinced the odd way I held it (and still do) would prevent me from a normal education. I loved the weekly spelling bee competitions and usually made it to the Final Four but Lana invariably won. 

 

Mark and I were the only kids whose parents hadn’t taught us to tie our shoelaces, and for months we drove Mrs. McCune crazy, asking her three or four times a day to bend down and tie ours. Finally, she offered a silver dollar to whichever one of us learned to do it first. I still have it, proof positive that those who accuse me of being tight-fisted and having the first dollar I ever earned are right.

Our school didn’t have a library — it didn’t even have a cafeteria for the first few years — but the Daniel Boone Regional Library bookmobile came around every few weeks and our first grade class was allowed inside for ten minutes to look for the few books for beginning readers that we could check out. Mrs. McCune told us that those who read ten books and gave oral book reports would, at the end of the school year, receive certificates signed by the State Education Commissioner.  I read nine, which I figured would be enough to earn me the certificate, but it wasn’t. I was the only kid in the class whose name wasn’t announced as a recipient during the all-school assembly in May.  From that experience I learned A) if you want something badly enough, you need to work for it because close isn't good enough and B) to read constantly. I still read two or three books a week.

All of which brings me back to Teddy.

  

Teddy’s memory of his first day of first grade will be that he sat at his laptop computer in his family room. He lives in the District of Columbia where the schools — if they convene at all this school year— won’t begin until at least November due to the Covid pandemic. Until the powers that be deem it safe for D.C. schools to open, he will have two hours of online instruction every day. I’ve never heard of first graders having homework but hopefully he will be assigned some, so his bright mind will be engaged in schoolwork for more than two hours a day.

I assume Teddy will meet his classmates for the first time online. Surely they will be able to see each other. But, he won’t be able to play Red Rover or kickball with them at recess, to chat with them at lunch, or interact with them in any manner other than remotely. He won’t be asking new friends over to play after school, or attending classmates’ birthday parties. He will not learn to sit as quietly as possible for seven or eight hours a day. He won’t be raising his hand to ask to go to the bathroom, or to get a drink of water from the fountain in the hall. There will be no school assemblies. His teacher won’t be standing over him to see how he holds his pencil (if first graders even use pencils in our digital age. Teddy's parents bought him a laptop). He and millions of other kids who are starting virtual first grade will miss the social interaction which is every bit important to a first grader as the three Rs. 

A friend recently posted a photo of his twin grandchildren on their first day of first grade. Unlike Teddy, the twins will physically be attending school, but the photo shows them in masks, which they will have to wear at all times, as if they are hostages, which, in a way, they are. It is impossible to tell if those adorable kids are smiling under those masks — I hope they are — but who would know? 

The idea of bright eyed, vivacious first graders starting school in their home by computer, or sitting in a room full of other children whose sweet voices are muzzled by masks, breaks my heart. 

It will be interesting to see how the class of 2032 fares over the coming years compared to children who had conventional first day of first grade experiences. 

Maybe they’ll do just fine.  

This old grandpa sure hopes so. 

*Note to anyone in my class reading this: No, I didn’t forget Betty Sue Hudnut. She didn’t join our class until second grade. Don’t ask me why I remember stuff like that, I just do. And here's an odd coincidence. As I was writing this, I got a call from the younger brother and cousin of two of my first grade classmates. He lives on the Atlantic side of Florida but is coming over to the Gulf side in a few days. I haven't seen or talked with him in more than 40 years. We're getting together this weekend. 

Ghost reveals headlines for remainder of 2020

Like Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, I had a dream last night in which the future was revealed to me. Think things can’t possibly get worse? You ain’t seen nothing yet. Here are some of the upcoming headlines and stories the Ghost of the Rest of 2020 told me to pass along to my readers.

Category 8 hurricane splits Florida in two

August 29 — A Navy plane has spotted the southern half of the severed peninsula containing Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Palm Beach, Ft. Myers and Sarasota, approximately 20 miles off the coast of Cuba. Reporting from the White House, CNN’s Jim Acosta says that, because President Trump recently changed his official domicile from New York to Palm Beach, which is no longer a part of the United States, he is an illegitimate president and must resign.

Coronavirus vaccine withdrawn after trial

September 27— Placed by the Trump administration on a fast track for approval, the vaccine, which was administered to 5,000 volunteers earlier this week, was withdrawn after it was discovered that all 5,000 indicated they plan to vote for Trump and, when questioned, were unable to name a single Democratic candidate for any office. “We’d rather spend the rest of our lives in our basements than submit ourselves to a brain-washing vaccine that has obviously been developed by pharmaceutical companies trying to win favor with Trump,” CNN’s Chris Cuomo told CNN’s Chief Washington correspondent Jake Tapper.

CNN: Even Melania isn’t voting for Trump

October 14 —CNN last night reported 43 times between 7 pm and 8 pm that First Lady Melania Trump told one of the network’s interns she has no intention of voting for her husband in the upcoming election. CNN later withdrew the story after Mrs. Trump called the news desk to complain. Anchor Anderson Cooper said Mrs. Trump told him the story was a “big fat lie, just like that orange orangutang’s life has been.”

132 million mail-in ballots marked “Biden” received by Alabama Election Commission

October 19 — Joe Scarborough, co-host of CNN’s “Morning Joe,” insists that the ballots, which were delivered yesterday afternoon by the United States Postal Service, are most likely on the up and up. “The population of Sunbelt states like Alabama is growing at an unprecedented rate,” Scarborough told his co-host, Mika Brzezenski.  “Alabama’s Election Commissioner should consider them legitimate until and unless proven otherwise."

Manhattan buried by volcano

October 21 — The 433 residents remaining in Manhattan who refused to flee due to the Coronavirus are assumed dead from the volcano, which emerged without warning from the ground beneath the Central Park Zoo, burying what was once America’s largest city beneath a mountain of bubbling lava. CNN reports that President Donald Trump laughed when told the news, saying "They weren't going to vote for me anyway" and "Now I can collect the insurance payout on Trump Tower."

Biden replaced after debate gaffe: “Who are you people and what country did you say this was again?” 

October 23 — The Democratic National Committee, meeting in emergency session last night following the debate, named Hillary Clinton to replace Biden as the party’s candidate for president. CNN News President Jeff  Zucker praised the committee’s selection of Mrs. Clinton whom, he said, actually won the 2016 election but "Trump and the Russians stole it from her."

Kanye wins presidency

Nov. 4 — The world was in shock this morning after a record voter turnout in the United States which saw incumbent Donald Trump win Alaska, challenger Hillary Clinton win California, and Kayne West sweep the rest of country’s electoral votes. West’s wife, Kim Kardashian, announced at the victory party that she is introducing a new line of lipsticks named after former first ladies, including Betty Ford Fuchsia and Michelle Obama Opalescence, which will be released in time for the inauguration. 

Canada and Mexico station troops along borders to prevent Americans from claiming political asylum

Nov. 5 — CNN reports a line of cars containing panicked Americans bound for Mexico reportedly extends from Tijuana to Seattle. The line waiting to cross into Ontario from Detroit extends 725 miles all the way down I-75 to Atlanta. 

Thanksgiving canceled after Coronavirus infects turkeys, pumpkins and potatoes

Nov. 22 — Anthony Fauci, former director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, told CNN that Stovetop Stuffing and Heinz Gravy are the only staples of America’s national holiday deemed safe for human consumption. The Trump administration issued a press release insisting the food chain is safe, which was reported by all news media except CNN which, Trump told Fox News' Sean Hannity, is a “very, very bad company.”

Bleakest Christmas ever after Coronavirus claims lives of Santa, reindeer and elves

December 15 — Mrs. Karen Claus, in an exclusive interview with CNN, told the network that she is holding up well, despite the loss of her husband and his co-workers, whose deaths, she said, “are directly attributable to Donald Trump.” 

Chocolate pie like mom used to make

My mother bequeathed to me many things including shares of Apple I foolishly sold a couple of months after I received them, thinking the stock couldn’t possibly go up another penny. It has more than quadrupled since then. 

She also left me a huge secretary. No, not an overfed Girl Friday, a seven-foot-tall piece of burled walnut furniture consisting of glass-enclosed bookcases atop a pull-down desk atop a chest of drawers. I tell visitors it has been in the family for generations.The truth is, mom bought it at an antique store sometime in the 1960s and I remember sitting in the car for hours listening to the radio as she was inside the shop, haggling with the dealer. Having come of age during the Depression, Mom never paid the asking price for anything. By the time she was finished negotiating, anyone unfortunate enough to think he could earn a profit on anything he sold Ruby Dryden was more than happy to sell it to her for a pittance so he could get rid of her and take a couple of aspirins and/or stiff drinks and lie down. But I digress.

Of all the things mom left me, perhaps the rarest and most valuable is her chocolate pie recipe which I insisted she write down as she made one for my birthday — I always chose pie over cake — during a visit to our Connecticut home twenty-some years ago. Mom was an old-fashioned cook. She didn’t use written recipes, she kept them in her head. I knew that, someday, when she was gone, my all-time favorite chocolate pie recipe would be too, which is why I had her write it down.

I’ve been thinking about that recipe all week. Last weekend I attended a cookout at my niece Marilyn’s house in Ohio, where I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law who live nearby. Marilyn asked her mother, Nancy, to bring a pie. Knowing I love chocolate pie, Nancy ordered one from a local gourmet market. A few hours later Marilyn called back and said she wanted a peach pie, so Nancy called a Dayton pie shop to order a second pie. The bakery informed her they didn’t take orders but assured her there would be a peach pie if someone showed up at 7 a.m. the next morning when they opened, but warned that, if we got there a few minutes after 7, it would likely be gone. Because we Drydens take our pie seriously,  I set my alarm for 6:30 and was standing outside the door by 6:55.  I was the only customer in sight. “You must love peach pie,” the clerk said, as she placed the pie in a box and sealed it with a sticker with the bakery’s logo. “I hate peach pie,”I told her truthfully. The only fruit I’ve ever consumed has been served in the form of a pie and peach ranks right down near the bottom of the pie spectrum in my book, just above pumpkin, rhubarb and gooseberry. 

When dessert time rolled around, I ignored the peach pie but cut myself a generous slab of the chocolate which, I had to admit, was darn near as good as mom’s, but not quite. For starters, it was a chocolate cream pie. Mom never topped her pies with whipped cream. She always topped the pies I preferred — lemon, chocolate and butterscotch — with meringue.  I consider a golden brown sky-high meringue as essential to a perfect pie as the filling and the crust.

This morning, I dug out mom’s recipe and decided to give it a go.

This is the first time I’ve tried to make it and I’m going to a) give it my best shot and b) hope mom remembered to write down the recipe correctly.  If mine turns out the way I hope it will, you can feel confident following the step-by-step instructions from the woman whom God in heaven has no doubt conscripted as his personal pie maker. 

And if I screw it up? ?

I’m going to call the Dorothy Lane Market in Dayton, Ohio, and see if they will FedEx me one of their chocolate cream pies, but I somehow doubt the whipped cream topping would survive the trip.

Step 1: Prepare the crust

(Note: I took photos of each step in case you’re one of those visual persons who, in our digital age, is no longer capable of reading text unless it is accompanied by a picture.)

Mom didn’t bother writing down her recipe for piecrust because she knew I couldn’t have come even close to making one like hers. She advised that I should buy a frozen crust, which I did.

For years, mom used lard— rendered pig fat— to make her crusts.  Once my father started carrying Crisco in his grocery store, she began using that. She said a Crisco crust wasn’t as good as a lard crust but that nobody born after the Harding administration would know the difference.

I bought a frozen pie crust from my local Publix. According to the ingredients on the wrapper, Publix uses palm oil and soybean oil rather than lard or Crisco. 

Publix’ instructions say to remove the foil pie pan containing the crust from the plastic wrapper (duh) and allow it to thaw for 15 minutes, after which you should “thoroughly prick crust” (unless you’re a thorough prick in which case you probably refuse to follow instructions anyway).  After pricking, “place on baking sheet and bake on middle rack for 12 to 15 minutes until piecrust is golden brown, and cool completely before pouring desired filling into crust.”  Why would anybody pour their undesired filling into the crust? 

At the risk of sounding like former Congressman Anthony Weiner, here is a close-up of my pricks. I didn’t know how thoroughly I should “thoroughly prick crust” so I used a fork to prick it all over as shown. A question for you pie cooks reading this: Are these pricks "thorough" enough? Please advise.

Here’s the Publix frozen crust just out of the oven. Damn! The crust fell while it was baking and no longer comes up to the top of the foil pie pan which means that, once I prepare my “desired filling,” I won’t be able to pour it up to the top of the pan because it will ooze back behind the crust. I guess I will have to eat any unused filling out of the pan it cooked in because mom always told me I shouldn’t waste food. 

Make the filling

Measure and pour the following into a large bowl:

1/2 tsp salt...

3/4 cup of sugar...

1/3 cup of flour …

... to which you add cornstarch, filling the measuring cup up to 1/2 cup. In other words, add enough cornstarch to make a total of 1/2 cup of combined flour and cornstarch. (There will be a pop quiz after you have completed reading this post so make sure you understand this perfectly before proceeding.)

Add 3 heaping tablespoons of cocoa. 

Mix all the dry ingredients thoroughly with a fork and place in a large saucepan.

Add 2 cups evaporated milk …and 1/2 cup water.  But don’t turn on the stove yet. (Note: There are more than 2 cups of milk in these cans. Throw away the unused milk unless you are one of those people who actually put canned milk in your coffee like mom and her friends used to do. )

Separate two eggs. No dummy, I don’t mean put them side by side, 

as if you’re separating two fighting children. 

Crack each open carefully, hold over a cup and gently toss the yolk back and forth in the two halves of the shell as the white part of the egg falls into the cup. Once all the white has fallen into the cup, drop the yolk into a bowl. Throw away the shell unless you’re one of those people who “thinks organically” and keeps a compost pile by the side of your house in which case you can throw the shell onto that, which will attract rats, raccoons, ants and other pests you don’t want while emitting an odor that will make your neighbors think you have an outhouse instead of an inside bathroom. 

If you see a red speck in one of the egg yolks that looks like this, congratulations — a chick is (make that was) on the way. You murdered it when you cracked the shell. It will never breathe life, never bring pleasure to little children at Easter. Throw that egg away and crack open another and repeat the “back and forth” separation process.

Beat the two yolks with a hand mixer and set aside. 

Place the cup with the egg whites in the fridge — you will need them later. 

Cook chocolate mixture over medium heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. I don’t understand why you can’t use any old spoon but I did what mom said and looked high and low for a wooden spoon, which I finally found in a little-used drawer.

Uhh, this wasn’t looking right. As I was cooking, I was seeing clumps of cocoa and/or flour and/or corn starch in the liquid mixture, so I got out our trusty vintage GE hand mixer and beat the clumps away. Presto, within a minute or two it was smooth as silk. 

When the chocolate mixture is thick (mom didn’t define "thick" but I think she meant about as thick as ketchup), take two tablespoons of it and add to the bowl containing the beaten egg yolks. This is called tempering. If you would have added the yolks directly to the pan containing the hot chocolate, you would have had scrambled eggs. Beat two tablespoons of chocolate mixture into the yolks.

Add the contents of the yolk and chocolate bowl gradually into the saucepan with the rest of the chocolate mixture.

Stir until mixture reaches the boiling point. (Spoiler alert: This is where I think I went wrong. I stirred that mixture until it was as thick as concrete  but it never did boil. The good news: I don’t have to lift weights for a month. I got a great upper body workout stirring and stirring and stirring, waiting for the mixture to boil. Finally, I couldn’t stir it any more because it was so thick, so I took it off the stove.)

Add 1 tablespoon vanilla extract to mixture. (I forgot to take a picture of this step but if you can't envision it you have no business being near a stove, much less in a kitchen.)

Pour mixture into cooled, thoroughly pricked pie shell.

Make meringue

Pour reserved egg whites into a bowl and beat with mixer, gradually adding three or four tablespoons of sugar. 

Beat until meringue holds up in peaks.

Spread on pie and brown in medium oven (mom didn’t define “medium” so I set it on 350 degrees) until meringue is flecked with brown.

The result?

The pie, to my amazement, looked perfect — every bit as authentic as mom’s (sans the homemade crust). And it was all for me. My wife doesn't like chocolate pie any more than I like peach pie. 

Alas, it was inedible. The filling was way, way too thick -- "gummy" is the word that comes to mind -- and generally flavorless. It wasn’t burnt but I perceived the presence of flour and/or cornstarch. I couldn’t finish my first piece. The meringue, however, was excellent. 

An earnest plea

Has anyone reading this ever made a successful (e.g. not only edible but delicious) chocolate pie using the same basic recipe as mom’s? 

Some recipes I’ve found call for chocolate bars or chocolate chips but mom always used cocoa — Hershey’s to be specific, nothing fancy like Ghirardelli. Her plain-old Hershey cocoa chocolate pies were incredible, so I’m looking for help from someone who has made cocoa-based chocolate pies. 

Otherwise, I’ll be calling that gourmet market in Dayton, Ohio, first thing tomorrow to see if they can ship me one of their cream-topped pies and if they can’t, I’ll be moving there permanently.

Life is short and then you die. And until I do, I don’t want to live in a world without chocolate pie like mom used to make.