At the wedding of the faithful there is brought forth one pie, stretched and sauced, and divided by no line – let the rubric be trumpeted: no fence of crust, no border drawn in cheese. And each of the two sets upon it the toppings of their household, the olives of one grandmother and the mushrooms of another; and the sides are not marked, save by the toppings themselves.
And the Ovenkeeper says over it the word every marriage should frame: the half-and-half was never about the line. It was about the one crust under both, as it is written in the Rites, 7:9. This is the sign of the married estate: two families sharing one Slice while remaining themselves. The olive is not asked to become a mushroom. The anchovy is not asked to apologise. Each keepeth its savour, and the pie is one, and where the toppings meet in the middle, there is the marriage.
Beloved, whether thy household joins two faiths, two countries, two accents or merely two opinions about pineapple, the doctrine holds: love does not require thy flavour surrendered, only thy crust shared. And mark that the vows are said while the pie is baking – for the greater part of marriage is spoken while something else is in the oven.
Marriage, saith the rite, is a pie ordered together for the rest of the ride: the last slice offered first; the crust of the years, which is not the exciting part, and is the part that holdeth all the rest. And when thou knowest not what to do – put the oven on. Amen – and pass the pizza.