I do a lot of cooking but hardly any baking. I prefer simpler desserts at home, especially when they follow moderately complex, multicourse meals. My go-to is warmed fruit with soft cheese: grilled peaches with a slice of Brie, strawberries macerated in balsamic reduction with a dollop of ricotta, honey-stewed figs with a scoop of mascarpone.

As for pies, I’ve only baked two varieties in my life. (I don’t count the three-ingredient key lime pie, which is too easy to consider “baking.”) One is this apple cider cream pie, which I loved but was time-consuming to the point that I’ll probably never bother with it again. The other is a pie my parents have made for years and that I’ve attempted a few times: a barely sweet, ricotta-barley concoction with a hand-rolled crust that until recently I thought was the best pie in the world. But the effort that goes into that pie is also off-putting. This is a once-a-year pie.

I’ve now discovered a once-a-week pie. If I’m not careful, it could turn into a twice-a-week-or-more pie. The best part is that I don’t have to lift a finger. I only have to walk a few blocks and hand over $5 for a supernaturally good slice.