A chicken head in a Happy Meal, a finger in Wendy’s Chili, a tooth in a Milky Way; we all love a good disgusting urban legend about the gross stuff people find in their food.
I’m on a getaway in Wisconsin with my husband Eric, and we discover a nearby gem. This delicious grocer with every kind of pie you can think of apple, rhubarb, turkey, and my all-time favorite chicken pot pie.
The moment we get home, I toss it in the oven, ready to share a slice of our trip with our daughter. My love for chicken pot pie runs deep. I’m so excited to try it. I cut myself a piece.
See, at the Farmer’s Gourmet Grocer in East Troy, they bake their pies in a brown paper bag, and it’s not some sort of tourist gimmick. It’s the real deal. The crust is all caramelly and flaky at the same time.
I take a bite. I close my eyes, and the pie is creamy and homey. And I’m transported into a Norman Rockwell painting, and Auntie Bee is smiling at me while she pours me a glass of milk.
Suddenly, I’m jolted out of this fake food memory when I bite down into something hard. I spit it out. It ping pongs around the plate. I think to myself -- It must be a chicken bone.
I squint my eyes. And there it is—a tooth. A real human tooth baked into my pie. My body goes all sweaty and clammy. My head spins—all those stories come rushing back.
Who puts a tooth in a pot pie? Now, I’m woozy like I’m going to pass out right at the table.
I go to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. When my tongue lands on an empty crevice in my mouth, I look in the mirror, open wide, and realize that was my crown, my tooth in that pie.