I made a peach pie, a glorious pie. Rolling the crust as thin as possible, I draped it over the glass pie plate. Then, I peeled and sliced a dozen juicy peaches. Sweet juices dripped off my fingers and I popped an occasional slice into my mouth and savored it. I topped off the peaches with a medley of sugar, flour and cinnamon then added another this crust and pinched it close. After I slid it into the oven, I put a sheet of foil under the plate to catch any drippings.
I watched it closely as the fruit began to bubble so the crust would not burn. When it was just perfect, I grabbed two potholders to lift it from the oven. Then, just as easily, that gorgeous pie slipped from my fingers and turned upside down inside the oven. Nooooo! My pie!
Fortunately, half of it landed on the sheet of foil and was salvageable. I poured it back into the empty pie plate and called it peach scramble. The rest of the pie was splattered all over the oven. Steve got home from a funeral just in time to help me scrub out the inside. Mushy peaches dripped from the racks and oozed out from between the door and base of the oven. Slices burned on to the bottom. It took us an hour to clean up.
We served the "scramble" and our guests ate every bit!
Peach scramble
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