An ode to the pecan: No taste like home

Contributing editor Amy Alexander writes, “When she moved to Colorado from Texas, my grandmother was okay with leaving behind the sandblasted prairies and oven heat. But one thing she could never quit was baking. And the thing she baked best was pecan pie. She would begin with the most buttered nuts on the planet, then slather them with dark Karo syrup cooked down. You can keep your milk and honey. I’ll take my Grandma’s pecan pie.

“When I came to Louisiana for graduate school, I felt dislocated. August whacked me in the face pretty good, with its fecund, woody scents, its deep shadows and platinum heat. Throughout September and October, I kept trying to find my way in this new home. Then, finally, with November came a true fall. It brought with it wind and a sudden ping-pong pellet-gun attack of pecans that dropped from the sky with each breeze.” Click here to read the full essay.