When I was a child, I didn’t do much with my mom; different interests, I guess. She was more of an indoor person, someone who would rather stay in the house and read a book on a sunny day then play outside. Me? I was the complete opposite. Though we did have one thing in common, we both enjoyed cooking. My mom rarely went in the kitchen but when she did she would make the most wacky but delicious food. The best dish she made in my opinion was Tomato Pie. When she first made it for dinner I thought it­ was odd that she would put tomato and pie together. “Isn’t pie supposed to be sweet? Not savory,” I thought in my head. My mom asked me if I wanted to taste it. I politely passed. I wasn’t the kind of person who would willingly try new dishes, but when I said “no” she looked sad for a minute. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings but I didn’t want to try her tomato pie either. After hearing my dad and sisters complementing the pie and going for seconds I decided to suck it up and try it. I put some onto my plate, along with some steak and salad. I obviously ate the steak and salad first purposely leaving the tomato pie last on my plate. I poked at it first then filled up my fork one eight full of the tomato pie. I held my breath and slowly placed it into my mouth. As soon as I put the pie into my mouth my eyes opened wide, it was the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. The burst of the juicy tomato’s flavor and how well it complemented the cheese and mayo topping was surprising. I must have had about five more pieces of pie after that. A month had passed since I had tried my mom’s tomato pie and she promised to make it with me. We went to the grocery store and picked up all the necessary ingredients. It must have taken about an hour trying to find the perfect tomato. The perfect tomato would be dark red with a vibrant green stem. The tomato would also need to be big and round and have no bruises. These kinds of