One of the things I like about cooking is the sense of connectedness it gives to my life. In fiction, we find all the little parts fitting together in the plot leading to some larger denouement, all the little puzzle pieces joining up with the corner piece and the audience saying, "Oh, wow" or "I totally saw it coming." Life doesn't quite fit so well together, so when I can, I like to draw the connections between things out to myself, so that I have a little map of sorts to remember and to follow.
So the chocolate pecan pie begins with my grandmother, whose pecan pies I rarely ate because for a long time I did not care for nuts in baked goods (I know, I was a silly thing). But she always turned up the pecans on top of her pies to face upwards, so it looked cohesive and pretty. I've always done that with my pies.
The next step, of course, is Karo syrup. I used the recipe on the label and have no idea how to make pecan pie without it, although there's definitely a part of me that feels somehow that using the Karo is betraying some sort of no corn syrup ideal.
Probably the next most important step is Nabil, for whom I started making pecan pies in the first place. He really likes them, and after a month of worrying about him during his first Ramadan with me, I made him one for Eid. As long as I lived in Boston, I continued the tradition (as he continued the tradition of going for a long run after not eating since 5 in the morning). I can't make pecan pie without thinking of him.
Pie crust is an essential step here. For a long time, I relied on my mom's crust recipe, and only switched when a much more fattening version appeared in the Cook's Illustrated one month. My pie crust is often a subject of marvel to my husband's family - it is one of the ways in which I have made myself indispensable to them. Its not that I have any special gift with it, its that I actually take the time to make it.
The next piece in the chocolate pecan pie puzzle is the first such pie I had, at Union Street Public House that I shared with Louise, Sarah, and Rachel. It was the first night I met Rachel, whom I adore, and the pie was great too. Plus, the pecans were chopped, which helped with the runniness that so often plagues pecan pies.
Finally, the inspiration for trying this pie recipe was Samia, another new friend, who mentioned her love for it over Bar-b-que last Saturday. She and her boyfriend came over to dye eggs, a first for Samia, last night, and I made the pie for her (and the rest of us) to enjoy. A new pie muse is always fun.
Really, all I did was melt two ounces of bittersweet chocolate (any sweeter and the sugar in the pie would make it just too much) and stir it in with the pie filling. I chopped the pecans to stop the runniness, which worked well, and I topped the pie with whole pecans, like my grandmother used to. I thought of all these things, these little pieces of plot as I made the pie, and of the little trails they make through my life. Cooking's like a constant scrapbook, or a kind of journaling, the most faithful kind I do. Maybe that's why I like to do it, and like to do it well. It's not just about feeding myself - its a much more complex kind of nourishment.
