I strongly dislike when a detailed life story precedes the recipe I'm looking for. However, with my first ever blog post, I find myself doing a bit of the same. If your name is not Sarah, then feel free to skip all this and move to the recipe portion.
I don't think of myself as a baker. That title, and the namesake of this whole thing, Meltdown Baker, belongs to my other half. I'm not even quite sure where the name Meltdown Baker comes from. All I know is that it's her instagram alter ego where she posts her incredible baked goods. If there's a story behind it Sar, I'd be keen to hear it
I do find that I really enjoy baking, and that it brings me closer to those I bake with and bake for. This is something that started for me at the beginning of the pandemic, when I met my now girlfriend, Sarah. It may or may not be true, but she claims I didn't know how to make pasta before we met. Not like the homemade kind, but the store-bought kind...With her help, I'd like to think I've come a long way since then, however, not without the mishaps. The good thing is that mishaps make the best stories.
This mishap started with Thanksgiving day. It was our first Thanksgiving together, yet we were apart. I with my family in MA, her with hers in CT. It really isn't the type of drive you could do for a day trip (though 5 years later, I suppose I have many a time). Her family always has a ton of company and makes an amazing Thanksgiving day spread, complete with multiple (like, 5) pies. All homemade. Sometimes even using homemade crust, though that's a debate for another time and for another person. On the contrary, my family's Thanksgiving meal is simple. Simple but always great. Greasy gravy, relatively dry turkey, buttery mashed, and peas. Always effective.
Throughout that day, Sarah was sending me pics of her Thanksgiving day pies.
Seeing those pies, feeling like I wanted to contribute to the Thanksgiving meal, and maybe missing her just a bit on this day of love and family, I asked her for her Pecan Pie recipe. The text came through with the ingredients and steps, and I went for it. Chaos in our too-small kitchen ensued, as I struggled to find half the ingredients I was looking for. As an engineer, I'm used to fixing complex problems like this. We had no caro syrup, so I figured Mrs. Buttersworth syrup would be close enough, and threw a cup of that in the mix instead. We had no pie crust, so in a rush, I figured I would just use chocolate chip cookie batter as the crust. We had no pecans, so I decided to crust up a bunch of walnuts and use those instead. I ran around the overfull kitchen and made it happen. Once the turkey was pulled out of the oven for the meal, I tossed my concoction in.
Most of the recipe blogs I've read (which are honestly few and far between) have a happy ending. Typically ending with something like a minor tweak made resulting in the "best chocolate chip cookies I've ever had" or details of how a missing ingredient led to a secret family recipe. I wish I could tell you that is how this story ends. Unfortunately, I cannot.
My "pecan" pie came out of the oven pink. Legitimately pink. Not even like a colorful pretty pink. This was a pale, sickly pink. It was the color of the inside of a medium well steak. The cookie was overcooked, and the inside was soggy and wet. Proof lives below.
Out of the 10 or so people at the house, the pie had three slices taken. One by me, one by my dad (who will eat anything from Sarah or Sarah-inspired), and one by my younger brother. The slices were not finished, and the pie was thrown in the garbage. Luckily, we were all so full from the meal that the pie, or lack thereof, made little impact.
Though the pie was supremely unsuccessful, I learned a lot about baking that day and I created a deeper connection with Sarah. She laughed hysterically when she saw the pink pie picture come over the phone. We discussed what went wrong and how, against my instinct, you can't just replace ingredients with one another in baking. That it's all about precision, ingredients, and care.
I found that baking is not something we do. It's something that we do together. Her and I. It's something we can do together, even when separated by hundreds of miles. We have that shared experience of making the same thing on the same day, just in different kitchens and for different people. When I was baking that pie, I was thinking of her in her kitchen doing the same, and I felt closer to her. Especially when we debriefed in laughter afterwards. It was by no means a replacement of being together during that day, but it was a deep connection nonetheless. It's why I'm always cooking or baking during big family holidays when we're separated - I get comfort and love from that shared experience miles apart.
Future pecan pies of mine were much more successful and have become a staple at the Thanksgiving meal at my household, and it's something Sarah and I have cooked together separately on Thanksgiving day each of these past five years.
I'm hoping she will share her side of the story, and many of her stories, in the future.
Merry Christmas Sarah.
This is Sarah's recipe, enjoy
Recipe here:
Prep Time: 20 minutes
Total Time: 1 hour 10 minutes
Ingredients:
1 stick of unsalted butter
1 cup of white sugar
3/4 cup of dark caro syrup
1/4 cup of white caro syrup
3 eggs, beaten
2 cups chopped pecans (roasted before hand)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 unbaked 9 inch pie shell
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees
In a saucepan, melt butter but don't let it brown. Mix in the sugar, corn syrup, and cook. Stirring over medium heat until the sugar dissolves.
Stir in the eggs, vanilla, and salt. Mix well.
Drain any scrambled eggs if needed.
Stir in the chopped, roasted pecans.
Pour mixture into the unbaked pie shell
Bake for 1 hour, or until firm when shaken.
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