It was a chocolate and peanut butter pudding pie. The epitome of excess, it weighed nearly eight pounds, was 3 inches thick and 14 inches in diameter. I saw it in the refrigerator, and I knew that I would not be able to resist its temptation.
It was prepared by the finest of craftsmen. The crust was moist, but strong enough to hold its contents. The peanut butter had been mixed directly with the chocolate pudding, giving it shape even after it was sliced. Atop the pudding, the whipped cream was lightly covered with latticed chocolate and peanut butter syrups, playfully interweaving beneath chocolate shavings. I imagined how the man who crafted this pie must live for his work.
Its taste was more wonderful than I had imagined. As my lips closed around the fork, my tongue touched the first piece, and my eyes closed softly. As I gently pulled the fork away, I succumbed to the rapture of chocolate and peanut butter. It was nothing short of a culinary masterpiece and I took my time with each bite, relishing in its richness, textures and flavor. I would remember this pie.
I just wish, now, that I had eaten a smaller piece. Maybe then, I would not have been woken at three o’clock this morning with an odd feeling deep within my abdomen and no means of falling back to sleep.