I had big plans for today. It is, after all, Pi Day (the 14th day of the 3rd month of the year, or 3.14, get it?), the day on which the food blogosphere celebrates a mathematical concept with the copious baking of pies. I've always wanted to participate, but I'm not much of a pie baker in the conventional double-crusted dessert sense, and last year I was otherwise occupied. This year, I was finally going to get in on the celebration by preparing a savory Spanish chicken pie based loosely on the Moroccan delicacy pastilla. I made it several years ago for a fancy New Year's Eve dinner, and it seemed like an appropriately festive dish for Pi Day.
But then, last night, I started feeling an ominous tickle in the back of my throat, and by this morning, I was wallowing in the full-blown misery of an epic cold. Any kind of elaborate meal preparation was off the table, but I still wanted to acknowledge the passing of Pi Day in some way. My only recourse was to bake up some spanakopita that I had made quite some time ago and stashed in the freezer. Although I make my spanakopita appetizer-sized, the full-pan version is usually described as a Greek spinach pie, so I'd still be fulfilling my pie agenda, if only on a technicality.
I actually make fantastic spanakopita, from a recipe that Mom found when I was in middle school and had to make a Greek dish for a class party when we were studying ancient Greece. I think it was the first time I ever enjoyed eating spinach, and even though the recipe requires a colossal output of time and energy, I added it to my own cooking repertoire when it came time for me to learn how to cook for myself. It's so much work, in fact, that I'm not going to bother typing the recipe here, because I can't fathom that anyone reading this would be willing to take on the project.
I'm afraid, dear readers, that you're going to have to wait another year for a proper celebration of Pi Day, and as for me, I can only hope that the virus that ruined this year's observance doesn't last nearly that long.