Benchmarks are often relative. Having said that, my Aunt Joe sent the standard for cornbread as well as two types of pie. By any measure I have used, professional versus home cook, expensive versus a gift of love, formal versus comfort food, her three dishes were a cut above the others. In every case, as an informed critic, I thought knowing the ingredients and replicating the technique would be enough. It wasn’t.
Recently, I got close. My pecan pie was intense but not overwhelming. It was sweet but not sickeningly sweet. It was filled with nuts, yet also had the slightly chewy centre I have come to love. If I had one issue, the crust combo was very good but just not the same as my aunt’s.
I have a fresh appreciation for the reality that exists between an informed critic and the person in the kitchen doing the stuff. One thinks s/he knows. The other is working with what they know. One is a spiritual foodie, “a connoisseur of the best things of God, informed on the latest doctrines!” (Romans 2.18). The other is the man in the arena, doing what is required to fight true and through to the end.
My pie was always more than the sum of its parts, though each ingredient mattered. With my best pie, I think the secret rested in the quality of the pecans. They tasted so fresh. It almost seemed like I was reliving a childhood memory of thin-shell pecans on a sultry day in Georgia with moss hanging from the nearby trees.
Technique makes a difference. As I consider the way I took each step, reflecting on each move, the pans, and other tools, I think there are areas where I could make better choices. While I am happy with the result, I am also thinking of ways I can learn from the past and apply it to the future. The kitchen is open and silent. The oven is clean and ready for action. I can be a critic or a chef. I know my choice.
