"Don't get fancy. Have you cooked an apple pie? You don't know what you did wrong? Do this: Take two or three apples. Put them on a table. Study them"
About this Quote
“Don’t get fancy” lands like a scolding, but it’s really an antidote to performance cooking. Prudhomme was a celebrity chef in an era when television was turning the kitchen into a stage: louder flavors, bigger gestures, shortcuts sold as secrets. His advice cuts against that current. The apple pie problem isn’t solved by another trick or a pricier ingredient; it’s solved by attention.
The genius is in the pivot from recipe to looking. “Take two or three apples. Put them on a table. Study them.” That’s not rustic poetry, it’s technique disguised as humility. Apples aren’t interchangeable units. They carry different water content, sweetness, acidity, firmness, peel thickness. A pie fails because someone treated “apples” as an abstract category instead of a real, specific thing that will behave a certain way under heat. Prudhomme’s command is a reset: get out of your head, stop shopping for hacks, and interrogate the ingredient in front of you.
There’s also a quiet critique of modern insecurity. “You don’t know what you did wrong?” is the familiar panic of the home cook who followed instructions and still lost. Prudhomme offers a more demanding comfort: the answer isn’t hidden, it’s visible - if you slow down enough to notice. “Study” suggests craft, not vibes. It’s permission to be unfancy because you’re being serious. The subtext is that mastery isn’t a flair move; it’s a relationship with materials, built one apple at a time.
The genius is in the pivot from recipe to looking. “Take two or three apples. Put them on a table. Study them.” That’s not rustic poetry, it’s technique disguised as humility. Apples aren’t interchangeable units. They carry different water content, sweetness, acidity, firmness, peel thickness. A pie fails because someone treated “apples” as an abstract category instead of a real, specific thing that will behave a certain way under heat. Prudhomme’s command is a reset: get out of your head, stop shopping for hacks, and interrogate the ingredient in front of you.
There’s also a quiet critique of modern insecurity. “You don’t know what you did wrong?” is the familiar panic of the home cook who followed instructions and still lost. Prudhomme offers a more demanding comfort: the answer isn’t hidden, it’s visible - if you slow down enough to notice. “Study” suggests craft, not vibes. It’s permission to be unfancy because you’re being serious. The subtext is that mastery isn’t a flair move; it’s a relationship with materials, built one apple at a time.
Quote Details
| Topic | Cooking |
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