Well my mom has been asking for a tomato pie all summer and last summer, too. She raves about this tomato pie her friend Tresa makes. So, this year being the dutiful daughter I am, made her one. Yesterday to be exact. I planned to take it to her for supper. First it took a lot longer than I thought it would. After looking for the perfect recipe online for who knows how long I settled on a Paula Deen recipe from recipezaar.com. Now I consider myself a competent cook and felt like I could improvise a little on this, I mean come on how can you screw up tomatoes, cheese and spice? So I got fancy and added sauteed onions that I made from the grease of the bacon I fried up to add to it. I was quite pleased with myself. I let the tomatoes drain in the colanders all in my sink and on plates for a couple hours determined to not have a soggy crust like the others had complained about on the reviews. I even dabbed them with a bunch of paper towels, these were really juicy tomatoes! It just was coming together beautifully. I finally got it in the oven and anxiously awaited. While I could smell the pungent smell of maybe just a little too much italian seasoning I began to let a little doubt creep in. My son, walked in and asked me what I was making and I told him Tomato Pie! He just wrinkled up his 3 year old nose and said “Yucky! I like apple and nanna pie, Mom”. I didn’t let his negativity get to me. But by the time the timer went off and the smell did not get any better, I was wondering if I had just wasted 4 of my prized tomatoes. But oh my! How pretty! I took many pictures. I wanted to be prepared to brag about it here and on facebook, you know. After all this, it was late and I didn’t go to my mom’s with her supper. I thought well, it’ll just be even better tomorrow, all the juices and flavors will meld together and I’ll be a hero on Thursday! So all day I waited until I could take it to her and prove what a fabulous cook I had become. Oh hurray! My uncle was there, I could show off for him too, as I knew he too loved tomatoes. I re-heated the pie for what seemed an eternity and finally after checking umpteen times pulled it out after I thought the crust was starting to burn. My doubts were kicking in again as I smelled burnt crust and the now extremely strong scent of italian seasoning. But… it was a beauty to behold! I sliced into it for the first serving to my uncle. Ok… a little runny, I’ll admit. Then I plate up Mom’s and mine. I’m looking in anticipation at my uncle, awaiting my praise. Well? Do you like it? I got a very un-hyped up “yeah, it’s alright, it’s a little doughy”. Ugh. The “alright” answer. That’s as good as my husband calling my food “filler” when I try a new dish and asked him how he liked it. This was not going as I had envisioned it. My mom was silent in the living room. I couldn’t see her. I start to eat mine… ewwww is all I can say. No wait, I can say ewwww… what nasty foul smelling muck.