And, in the End, The Cake You Take . . .

A classmate from college days frequently posts on Facebook these beautiful pictures of homemade challah he makes with his daughter. The secret ingredient, he always says, is love. Which, Ok, is nice. It’s a bit corny to my taste, because I’d rather infuse the proof of love in the actual cooking than in the writing about the cooking. But these day, it’s a whole mashup. And he is right. Love for what you are doing, love for the ingredients and the history behind the ingredients you are using, love for the people you are cooking with and cooking for: that is what it’s all about.

Now Southerners, as opposed to their hipper California-based classmates, tend to drink their love laced with some finely-aged irony. It takes a bit of the cloying sweetness out, replacing it with a nice slap of reality check. So here goes:

I get a fair amount of “love” from my guests, in the form of what they consider to be helpful criticism. Tough love we call it. Something is too salty, or not salty enough. Something is too spicy or (infrequently) not spicy enough. I need to add more of something, always: more barbequed tofu to the baked beans, more cajun shrimp, a bigger vegan quiche, a greater quantity of brisket: the list of items on our soul food menu that could be improved by making a mountain out of a soul-hole is staggering. And, frankly, from time to time, this feedback does annoy the shit out of me. I’m no saint, like my California classmate.

But I do get the love beneath the lowdown. The cake pictured here (actually a pie), was developed after a guest said she really didn’t care for my key lime pie, because I use an Israeli condensed milk in the recipe, which is vastly inferior to the American one. After playing for a while in my test kitchen, this frozen lime meringue was developed, with major guidance from the baking guru Rose Levy Beranbaum. It rocks.

Thank you querulous guests. You really do give me so much.