Even though it happens constantly, I’m still always amazed whenever I stumble across the interconnected web of existence in small town living. On Saturday I hurried off after work to Colleen’s 9-year-old All-Star game — she’s the only girl, like I was once upon a time — and ran into Carla Rose, former owner of the Rosewood on Main.
Ultimately, I realized that the issue wasn’t how ferocious they were, but how well trained. Carla sets strict boundaries for hers: She refuses to acknowledge it unless she’s within 3 pounds of what she considers her ideal weight, and it’s not allowed to eat when she’s cooking.
She also bakes the most magnificent chocolate pie I’ve ever tasted. And so after we compared notes on our respective ballplayers — turns out her grandson Hunter is Colleen’s teammate on Standard Plastics — I inquired where I could get her pie these days, now that she’s sold her restaurant.
“Well, I’m still figuring that out,” she said, explaining that she’s waitressing at Pizza Hut in Decatur while deciding what to do with her catering business. She’s thinking about exploring whether she could get her desserts into a high-end restaurant in Fort Wayne.
That would be awesome. Though I’ve edited an awful lot of sweets and desserts out of my diet, I’d prefer to keep Carla’s chocolate pie on my roster — as an occasional reward for my inner cookie monster’s good behavior.