Pie.

I like pie.

I how I do like to eat pie.

Romans used to like their pie so much, they’d eat pie if there was a chicken leg sticking out of said pie. Just wrap their hand around that chicken leg and eat that pie.

I ain’t never ate no pie like that, but I would.

Therefore, yesterday I made and I ate pie.

It was alright. Lamb pie. Moroccan lamb pie. I’d make it again, but it wasn’t all that. At least not on a hot, typical day in Iraq. Maybe if it were cold out, and drizzling. Maybe if I was all homesick and in a fetal position. Then, I would eat up that pie and ask for more. But as were the conditions yesterday, it was just alright.

The crust was real good though, courtesy of Hilary and Crisco. Everyone else really liked it.

I’d write more about it, but I’m not feeling it.

My head is elsewhere anyways. Just got news that I’m headed to Amman, Jordan. 4am on Wednesday. 1 and a half days from now. The close down and file tracking has hit a few road bumps and the staff there are swamped. So off I go. Hil and I start packing tonight because we’re not coming back - no more Iraq. No more cooking.

Instead, I am going to go have someone buy some Scotch on my behalf. Glenfiddich 30 Year Reserve. US$150 a bottle. I might do myself up a whole case and never worry about buying Scotch again.