[Switching to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge, Pie, for today’s entry]
“Would you like some pie?” Standing behind the green tablechothed table, the black man in the gray cook’s jacket lifted a round metal lid, revealing its contents to Butch on the other side of the table.
Butch looked down at the revealed serving plate, then looked up at the man, catching the name, JIMMY, inscribed on a patch sew on to his left breast. “Where’s the pie?”
Jimmy smiled. “It’s pizza.” Butch glanced down again and saw the tomato sauce, oozing white cheese, green sprinkles of spices, and a thick roll of crust along the perimeter.
“It’s Chicago style.” Butch recognized the voice of Paul Barnes, Rune’s father. “Deep dish, sometimes called it stuffed pizza back in college. Squisito’s the only place I know around here that makes it. You should try it — ” Paul tapped Butch’s amble belly — “looks like you’d appreciate it.”
“Oh!” Butch blinked, looked back at Jimmy. “So why’d you call it a pie?”
Jimmy raised his eyebrows and slowly opened his mouth, but Paul spoke first. “Doesn’t matter what the hell you call it, so long as it tastes good.”
“But it does matter.” The rotund teen glared back at the equally out-of-shape middle-aged man with uncharacteristic indignation. “You’re supposed to call things what they are, not like something else.”
“It’s just what they call it in Chicago.” Butch responded to Jimmy’s gentle explanation with a look of wild confusion.
“But we’re not in Chicago.”
“OK.” There was only a hint of humor in Paul’s indignant response, as he jerked his thumb without looking over at Jimmy. “So tell the man you’d like some PIZZA, and I’m sure he’ll know what you mean.”
“But it’s not pizza, it’s pie.”
“Then have some f– ” Paul swallowed — “PIE!”
Jimmy watched the argument with confusion on his face, his eyes darting between Butch and Paul like he was watching a tennis match between scuba divers.
Butch frowned. “I don’t want any pizza.” He looked back at Jimmy. “Is there any pie?”
Jimmy nearly dropped the metal cover on the table, then quickly escorted Butch to the dessert table.