I went nuts. When I had my autumn potluck my good friend brought Her Pecan Pie. She kindly gave me leftovers to keep. I savored slivers of that thing for days. And every time I would take a bite, I was transported back to the South and memories of long ago. Her Pecan Pie was the very best I had ever had. This coming from a person who LOATHED pecan pie when I lived in the South. Isn’t it funny when that sort of thing happens? After you move away, you suddenly want it. And then it comes to pass: YOU CAN’T FIND IT ANYWHERE.
And I TRIED. For a period of weeks I went nuts. Or should I say more specifically, pecans. I heard tell that Whole Foods made a good store pecan pie. Sadly, I discovered they only make it for the holidays, as in right at the holidays and not in between the holidays. Well, crap. They did have a pecan bar with shortbread crust though. I carved off of it for some days, as if expecting to find some magic pecan pie in there, like a statue carved from rough rock. No such luck.
I wandered to chow. I went to a certain pie shop not far from here, one dedicated to pie. Did they have pecan pie? Yes, they did. I bought a slice promptly, sat and looked out the window, took a bite. And nearly wept. It was not Her Pecan Pie. In fact it made me angry. I had just spent nearly $4 on sub-par from what I thought was a great pie shop. How dare they? How dare they not give ME the perfect slice of pecan pie for four of my dwindling supply of dollars? Well, there was only one answer: they had never tasted Her Pecan Pie and I venture to guess had never tasted a Southern pecan pie at all.
Smell and memory are intimately linked. So after I pondered why I wanted that pie and thought about the proxy-travel of taking a bite and being beamed to the South (Scotty), it dawned on me why I was so reminded by something I never used to like. I remembered candy making. When I was a tween, I made candy in the winter. Every candy recipe I could get my hands on that my parents were bravely willing to try. And one “candy” I made was spiced pecans. Old-school, you can find that old not-chestnut anywhere. There it was. THAT was the memory.
I realized finally that Seattle was not going to give me the perfect pecan pie. It’s not meant to. And I would not ask my friend to make it for me since she already had; and those things are expensive to make. So I went hunting online for The Best Pecan Pie Recipe Ever. And then I found this: Perfect Pecan Pie by The Traveler’s Lunchbox (clearly a kindred spirit). And then things got even more intriguing (don’t fall asleep now!). This individual thought to make pecan pie not with Karo Syrup but with the UK’s Lyle’s Golden Syrup instead. Since the blogger gave locations to find this syrup in Seattle, I hopped in my car and went hunting. And I bought it at the first place I looked, although I found it at two other stores. I brought home some bulk pecans, toasted them per the recipe (what a scent!), and set about making the pie.
I enjoyed making the pie. It gave me a certain glee to watch that absolutely gorgeous syrup slowly approach the mixing bowl. The stuff is pure magic! No wonder Harry Potter’s favorite treat is treacle tart. Anyway, the pie baked, and I tried it warm and burnt my tongue, but that’s okay. Then I let it cool and tried it again. It’s great, a very delicious pie, better than anything you can buy in Seattle as far as I can afford.
But it’s not Her Pecan Pie.