Frankly Speaking: The Boston cream pie conspiracy

I think we take too many things for granted: the fact that our representatives in Washington are following the dictates of our will; that all the citizens of Naples pick up after their dogs; that gasoline prices are developed accurately considering daily changes in supply and demand; and sometimes we also take our spouses, and significant others for granted. I’d like us to be more vigilant in monitoring things that are important in our lives.

Along those lines, I’m sure that everyone has eaten Boston cream pie at one time or another. It’s great, isn’t it? Sure is!

But where did it come from, and is it truly pie or is it really cake? And if it is cake, why do they want us to believe that it’s pie. You see, people take these kind of things for granted. I do, too, and it bothers me.

We’ll just go out and say, “Oh, look, there’s a Boston cream pie, I’m going to buy it.”

You’re going to buy it without knowing exactly what it is and what goes into it. We’ve got to be lemmings, or something.

You wouldn’t pick a spouse without checking them out. You know: Where did you come from? Are your mother and father refugees from a foreign country? Do you have money? What kind of a kisser are you?

You wouldn’t bring a car in for service without asking: Are you going to use new or reconditioned parts? What kind of oil are you going to use? Is it 20 or 30 weight? Does your mechanic smoke? These are all important things.

But, oh yeah, “There’s a Boston cream pie. I’m going to buy it.”

That’s just silly!

For example, let me give you a little bit of information about Boston cream pie. First of all, it wasn’t even invented by some one from Beantown. The guy was French, for God’s sake! His name was Monsieur Sanzian.

Now, I’ve been told that the French don’t shower every day, and they think “deodorant” is the name of a foreign car. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to demean the French, but there could be something dripping from the chef that’s actually getting into the Boston cream pie. You know what I mean. Of course, we don’t know in every case. But, oh, of course, we’ll blithely say, “Let’s buy it!”

We’re all crazy!

While we’re at it, let’s look at this Monsieur Sanzian. He’s nothing more than a common plagiarist, or I guess, in this case, a pie-agerist. It’s a matter of recorded history that this type of pie goes back to early American days. It was originally called “pudding cake pie,” and when Martha Washington added a raspberry jelly filling, they called it “Mrs. Washington’s pie.” This is a matter of record.

This Frenchman should be put in jail!

As a matter of fact, it wasn’t formally named “Boston cream pie” until the New York Herald gave it the name in 1855 — not even a Boston newspaper.

What gall this Monsieur Sanzian had! Forget jail for this guy, he should get the electric chair or, at the very least, be baked!

And, finally, and this is most serious, when you talk about the health issues in our current society, consider the ingredients in Boston cream pie. By the way, the word “ingredients” is also derived from the French language.

I’m telling you, this is a global scandal!

Getting back to the ingredients. And, I hate that word now! Here we go, and I’m thinking health issues. In each pie filling, you have butter, whole milk (not skim or 2 percent), heavy cream, sugar, six (count ‘em... six) eggs, and rum. This would cause Jenny Craig to regurgitate!

But then, let’s move to the icing. Oops, we have some more sugar. Oh, boy, we need that extra sugar! Oh, and we have some chocolate, too.

No wonder dentists endorse Boston cream pie!

And how about two extra tablespoons of butter to finish it off. And, get this, the recipe serves 10, soon to be dead, “I’m going to buy it!” type people.

You might as well shoot the cholesterol directly into your veins!

Now you know the rest of the story! Nevertheless, I’m going to let you in on a secret. Don’t tell anyone! I’m going to wait until I get a little older and someone finally says to me, “Frank, you’ve had a full life.” At that point, I’m going to scoff up as much pie I can get my hands on; perspiration, body odor, and all; and then die with a smile on my face. Mrs. Washington’s pie is that good!

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Frank is an international speechwriter (, and a member of the Naples Writers Forum. You can reach Frank at For past columns, type Frank Forker into the upper right search bar at

© 2010 All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

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