Jarrett and I made a pumpkin pie on Sunday night, even though I have all the finesse of a muppet when it comes to baking. We have pumpkin puree on the ceiling to prove it and everything.
I was nervous about making this recipe, because I could not, for the life of me, figure out how we were supposed to time it so that the filling would be freshly pureed and still warm at the exact moment that the crust would emerge from the oven, also still warm. I don’t blame the recipe—I blame myself.
Just kidding. I totally blame the recipe. I’m not going to say what cookbook it was, because I’ll end up with a pitchfork-wielding mob at my front door. But honestly, it shouldn’t take mental acrobatics and five re-readings to figure out how to time the prep and cooking of different components. This is exactly why I hate baking—every little step or misstep makes me paranoid that we’re headed straight for Doomsville. And even worse, so many recipe writers wipe their hands clean of sad sacks like me, who can’t unravel the mysteries of how to soften butter in the microwave without melting it. (I’ve decided I’m going to commission an entire book on this. Who wants a copy!?)
If you like to cook (and even if you don’t), you’ve probably read dozens of recipes in your lifetime. Hand-scrawled recipes, Googled recipes, carefully copyedited cookbook recipes, no-recipe recipes, lost-and-found recipes, recipes that don’t make any sense but that you’re going to try anyway, so help you god.
So, how should recipes be written? Is there a style guide? An editor-and-agent preferred format? A strict sequence of ingredient-listing and step-taking?
