I’ve discovered something about myself that I hope I never lose, I love to cook for others. In prison “nothing is free”, which isn’t true, but I seriously love to cook. Today I made a pot pie for someone the size of a 5.5 cup Tupperware bowl.

First I crushed up 4 sleeves of crackers, added melted butter and warm water and made a dough. The process of kneeding dough with my hands, the very act of incorporating my muscles into something felt therapeutic, it felt right. It also, for me, feels feminine. Then I pressed most of it into a bowl to make a pot pie crust (I save a portion to make the crust’s top.

Then I melted cheese, jalapeño provolone and bacon chedder, into a thin sauce in 2.5 cups hot water and added 2 pouches of country gravy mix.

I used pepperoni, salami, and chorizo as the meat. I cooked each one, saving the grease to coat the pie crust and use as a frying agent in the microwave. Then I cooked the crust.

In another bowl I thickened the country cheese gravy.

Once that was done I mixed the ingredients inside my pie crust, added my top and cooked it in the microwave until the top was firm.

While the whole thing was delicious for the person I made it for, the real joy was in the preparation. For me, it wasn’t a pot pie at all, it was a creation. I know that pot pie will have been the first one that man has eaten in prison, I made something humane.

That is therapeutic. Maybe not for everyone, certainly for me though.

I also like to clean. Especially when I am stressed. Lol.

Whatev’s. Not sorry.

With Love