It's Pie Time

For years I avoided attempting certain staples for the simple reason that I was convinced I would mess them up. Meringue intimidated me, the thought of poaching an egg gave me shivers and I swore off caramel after a burnt and sticky mishap I had with Paula Dean’s flan recipe (I don’t want to go there). But finally boredom and a dash of spontaneity enticed me to face my trepidation and tackle two of my greatest culinary fears at once--and enter the finished products in a competition at the farmers market the next afternoon.

Admittedly not the best idea, as I am a poor multi-tasker and get easily distracted. But I was determined to crank out two award-winning pies that would shock and awe the judges. I firmly believed the only way to do this was to master difficult techniques that required practice, experience and numerous attempts. And I firmly believed that I could do it in a day. I don’t know anything about meringue but I’ve heard rumors that they disintegrate, weep and do all sorts of unbecoming things when it’s humid outside. It just so happened that I chose to do this on one of the most rainy and humid days of the summer. Excellent.

Sometimes the best motivation is insanity. That and pressure. I had 2 hours to produce two of the most iconic American treats: apple pie and lemon meringue.

It turns out that meringue is really not that difficult to make. I know somebody somewhere is going to disagree with that statement so I can’t (and won’t) claim any sort of expertise on the topic. I’ve only made it once (well, twice now) and I have never had lemon meringue pie before today so I’m not even sure if it tasted normal but it tasted pretty darn good to me—sort of like an extra soft marshmallow. I’m a fan.

Against all odds, I ended up with a beautiful, glistening, white, pillowy, sweet, mile-high (okay, you get the picture) meringue to top my tangy lemon curd, which topped my slightly under-cooked pie crust. This was after screwing up the order of ingredients and dropping not one but three egg shells in the bowl, which I immediately chased and wasted precious time digging out of the slippery whites. I hate egg shells.

The caramel, which was initially destined to become part of a salted caramel apple pie but turned out to miraculously switch destinies when I discovered how delicious it was and how marvelously well it paired with apple slices at the precise moment that my stomach was grumbling from hunger, was not the disaster I pictured it would be. I was skeptical to say the least, especially when the sugar-water-butter mixture did nothing but foam obnoxiously for ten minutes. I stood there, uncomfortably glancing at the clock and back at the caramel and back at the clock. I checked and re-checked the recipe, which, as usual, proved no help in the lack-of-patience department. ‘This step may take a while’ was all it said. Wow, thanks.

As promised, the caramel did eventually turn ‘the color of copper’, at which point I added some cream and almost burnt myself numerous times as I whisked it to death, terrified that it would seize up on me like so many caramels in my unwritten nightmares. It didn’t. Instead, it turned into a velvety sauce that tasted deeply of, well, caramel.

Long story short, I suffered from a severe case of fate or dumb luck or perhaps both. Here are the finished products:

A Tale of Two Breakfasts

People have forgotten what good food tastes like.

A common modern-day breakfast is a cloying, crimson paste surrounded by a dry crust, adorned with sprinkles of various neon colors that pops, steamy and gooey from a toaster. We scarf it down without a second thought and enjoy every sweet, sticky bit.

Consider the alternative to this processed, nutrient-lacking nightmare. Two farm-fresh eggs, over-easy, their plump golden yolks oozing a thick, nutritious blend of essential amino acids, vitamins and minerals; their glistening whites packing sustainable energy in the form of protein. A handful of plump tomatoes accompany the eggs, adorned with pungent basil leaves, a drizzle of olive oil and a dusting of sea salt. A blood orange sits opposite the tomatoes, its four perfect quadrants displaying countless perfect little pouches, each holding a precious cargo of rich juice.

The former was painstakingly synthesized from wheat and corn plants to produce a product virtually void of nutrients. It was carefully engineered to satiate our instinctual human appetites for fat and sugar, decorated with unique colors not found in nature and conveniently packaged in a cute little box adorned with eye-catching shapes and colors.

The latter had a simple, pure start. It began with the ground, which grew the plants that fed the chicken who laid the eggs the morning prior to our feast and grew the tomato plant that produced bright red nutrient-rich orbs, bursting with juicy seeds. The steps from ground to plate are minimal: the eggs were gathered from the chicken, cleaned and cooked; the fruits were plucked from the vine, rinsed and sliced.

Presented with this alternative, this cacophony of aroma, flavor and visual allure, I am willing to bet that anyone would prefer the latter.

To many, food comes in cardboard boxes and plastic packages, not in recycled cartons or baskets filled from the garden.

What a sad thought, to know that we have become so far removed from our food that we no longer know what real food is.

This tale of two breakfasts is not meant to discourage but to inspire. Despite enormously influential food companies who utilize clever advertising and “science” to further the deception that food should be engineered rather than grown and meals designed rather than assembled; despite the way these products appeal to our senses and despite the length of time this has been allowed to continue, there is something innate that tells us this is not the way it should be.

When we look at a Pop Tart versus a pair of free-range eggs, we can immediately sense which is better. Our eyes see the diversity in color—-real colors-—on the second plate, our mouths taste a deeply layered, wholesome flavor that cannot be manufactured in a lab and our bodies welcome a flood of nutrients that feed our cells and give us lasting energy for the day ahead. The Pop Tart meets its demise the minute it enters the mouth. The few nutrients it does contain will cause a sugar spike and eventually a crash and its eater will soon be asleep at his desk.

If we stop to examine our food, we realize what we are doing and we will immediately see our error. Food was originally derived from the soil and we now know, through decades of painful and costly mistakes, that we cause a chain reaction of problems when we take it too far from its source.

As the whole food movement continues to take hold, we are discovering food all over again. Slowly but surely, we are transitioning from synthetic to simple food. Once we experience the taste of real food, we will never go back.