My Little Chef

Our mission today was to make a pumpkin pie. Cody asked if he could help, and I told him to go for it.

So with minimal supervision and a bit of instruction, my little chef made his first pumpkin pie.

Cody isn't much for cooking, but he does like to bake. He was mighty proud of this pie. Looks good, doesn't it?

Buck paid me the nicest compliment on his blog today. He said,

I strongly suspect Becky is one of those women near and dear to my heart: a Southern cook...and most likely a great Southern cook, from the look of things.

Aww, thanks, Buck. Not to sound braggadocious, but I do a fairly decent job of following a recipe. I've even been known to make up stuff from time to time. I sometimes season meat with the "sniff and dump" method. That is where I take the spices off my shelf, sniff them, and if I think the smell like what I want, I dump some on the meat. (Long years ago, when B was out of town, J came over to my house and asked what I was fixing for lunch. I was making Manwiches, and he started dumping spices and stuff into the meat. It ended up being the awfullest tasting stuff I ever put into my mouth. It was so bad, the dog wouldn't even eat it. J ate a whole plate and didn't complain, but neither did he ask for seconds. He's never helped me cook since.)

Funny thing is, my mother was not a good cook. She cooked everything...well...well done. Hamburgers like hockey pucks. Cookies that had to be soaked in milk to make them soft enough to eat. Roast beef like boot leather. Moreover, she did not want me to help her cook. Not only could I not help, I was not even allowed in the kitchen while she was cooking. She always said it was more work to try to get me to do anything right than to just do it herself. As a result, I didn't learn to cook until I was grown.

I remember having a conversation with my Mammaw when I was about 12. She was appalled that I didn't know how to cook yet. She informed me that her daughters could cook entire meals by that age. What could I tell her?

So I didn't learn to cook until I was grown. I sort of taught myself out of necessity, but I just seem to have a knack for it.

I'm a good cook, like football, and hate to shop--especially for clothes. Who'da thunk I'd still be single after all that?

As you may remember, yesterday I made my first pecan pies. This is the recipe I used. It was printed in the Dear Abby column of the local newspaper some 10 years ago. I've kept it all these years, and finally got around to making it:

Abby's Famous Pecan Pie

9 inch unbaked pie shell

1 cup light corn syrup

1 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

3 eggs, slightly beaten

1/3 cup butter, melted

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

1 heaping cup pecan halves

Heat oven to 350'.

In a large bowl, combine corn syrup, sugar, eggs, butter, salt, and vanilla; mix well. Pour filling into pie crusts sprinkle with pecan halves. Bake at 350' for 45-50 minutes or until center is set.

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