Whenever pie was served in our house, my father would say “Why don’t you just cut it in quarters like they used to do at the Post Office Café in Anderson, Indiana?”
My dad grew up in Anderson, and he still has fond memories of going to the Post Office Café and having pie the way it should be served—a great big slab on a plate.
Once in a while we indulged him with a quarter of a pie, particularly on his birthday, when his “cake” of choice was Lemon Meringue Pie.