Cooking for ego

A most triumphant of tarts.

A most triumphant of tarts. Photo: Stephanie Wood

It is, I think, the Ebenezer Scrooge of fruits. The most miserly, intractable and inhospitable of fruits. About once a year, as I curse and bah-humbug my way through peeling, quartering and coring a pile of rock-hard quinces, I wonder why I bother. When finally the pale, gritty results of my work are simmering in sugar syrup, with vanilla bean and lemon juice, maybe cloves, a cinnamon stick and allspice, I’m inevitably left to consider my wounds. Raw hands, a cut or three.

And the transformation from miser to munificence is a slow one — two, three, four hours of low oven heat, before the quince shows its worth and generosity. But such generosity — it’s why I persist. That jewelled colour, that sheen, that voluptuousness, that scent, that textural eccentricity … yes, clearly I’m getting carried away.

I should really reserve my adjectives and enthusiasm for the next step in this process. I make a quince tart. In The Cook’s Companion, Stephanie Alexander devotes a chapter to quinces, with recipes for quince paste, orange and quince jelly, poached quince, quince custard, Maggie’s pot-roasted quinces, Maggie’s pickled quinces, Stephanie’s Quince Tart ... Stop right there. Stephanie’s Quince Tart is the thing.

I’ve been making Stephanie’s Quince Tart — how convenient that I can claim it as my own! — every autumn/early winter for a few years now. It’s quite a commitment: First, you must poach your quinces (which requires the making of a light sugar syrup, that dreadful process of breaching the quince’s defences, the tying in muslin of the quince core to cook with the quinces). Then, you must prepare your shortcrust pastry. Pastry! I’ve always been terrified of it — my hands are too warm, my technique too slow, too clumsy, too incompetent. Yet when I follow Stephanie Alexander’s shortcrust recipe (in the book’s “basics section”) my true nature emerges: I’m a pâtisserie genius, I’m Marie-Antoine Carême, I’m walking on cloud nine.


So you have poached your quinces, you have blind-baked your pastry case. It is time to beat your eggs and sugar (possibly, as I do, in an ancient Sunbeam Mixmaster) until light and frothy, add a spoon of flour and then finally more melted butter than is decent. Arrange quinces in tart shell. Gently spoon over the egg-sugar mix (chefs, does that particular concoction have a name?). Bake. (Drink leftover egg-sugar mix.) Watch quince tart cook. Celebrate.

Stephanie’s Quince Tart is always a triumph for me. But last week as I made it (am I allowed to boast about my miraculous short crust pastry?) I started to wonder whether my motivations for cooking for others are always pure. I have written about the times I have cooked with love, but could it be true that on many more occasions I cook for adulation, for ego? How hungrily I watch the faces of my guests as they taste my food, how greedily I soak up their praise.

It’s that word “triumph”. It’s a word laced with a degree of self-satisfaction and smugness. Just look at Harriet Beecher Stowe’s character of Aunt Chloe in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a cook of corn cakes and chicken pie:

“The arrival of company at the house, the arrangement of dinners and suppers in ‘style’, awoke all the energies of her soul; and no sight was more welcome to her than a pile of travelling trunks launch on the verandah, for then she foresaw fresh efforts and fresh triumphs …”

As I worried over my impure motives for cooking quince tart, I spotted a long-forgotten book on my shelves, an undistinguished title from the 1950s called Cooking for Compliments. The cover photograph — a retro roast duckling with orange sauce — was stylistically alarming but still, as did Aunt Chloe, the book gave me some reassurance. I’m not the only woman in history to have cooked, well, needily.

Those generations of women before me whose achievements were so miserably restricted to the domestic realm might well have had few other sources of pride and affirmation and so a right to take all the credit they could get for their cooking. But even in the 21st century, the act of cooking for others is not a pure and simple thing: it's a tangle of selflessness, love, pride, ego, validation, neediness, selfishness. Is that such a bad thing? Besides, what else could explain my annual battle with a pile of inhospitable quinces?


  • Lovely article! You needn't confine credit to your cookery skills; your writing skills also bring pleasure to others. I have not been persuaded, however, to tackle a pile of quinces, no matter what the rewards.

    Date and time
    June 25, 2012, 10:55AM
    • Thank you! Very kind of you to say so.

      Stephanie W
      Date and time
      June 25, 2012, 1:43PM
  • I cook for love ALL THE TIME! I am a big fan of baking and have found that nothing beats the Australian Women's Weekly recipe for chocolate chip cookies. I have a lot of fun tweaking the process to make the cookies with various add-ins, like peanut m&ms, or making the cookies particularly chewy or firm.

    I work as a temp, and whenever I finish up a great placement, or I want to share the love with a great group of people, I take along a batch or two of these cookies. I gave two jars full of them to friends as a house warming present. I'll even credit them with helping me to woo my last boyfriend!

    I also have a great recipe for sugar cookies, which I also vary according to what's on hand. They are designed to be iced, but I haven't iced any of them yet. I cut them out in various shapes, brush the top with milk and then go crazy with sprinkles or silvery cauchous.

    I think cooking for triumph is great. The sense of achievement is wonderful, and people get fed. I remember the scene in Bridesmaids, when Annie makes a cupcake, topped with a gorgeous lily just for herself to eat. No-one else sees it, she doesn't take a photo, she just makes it, admires it for a moment, then eats it. That is a triumph.

    Date and time
    June 25, 2012, 12:28PM
    • I always cook for ego, but I look at it as a two sided transaction, I get praise, feelings of achievement and my loved ones get to enjoy fantastic food. It would only be a bad thing you let that triumph go to your head too much.

      Date and time
      June 25, 2012, 2:11PM
      • What kind of tart is that in the picture? anyone know a recipe? PLEASE?!!?!?!

        MUST HAVE
        Date and time
        June 25, 2012, 3:35PM
        • That's the quince tart I refer to in the article above. The recipe is in The Cook's Companion by Stephanie Alexander.

          Date and time
          June 25, 2012, 5:07PM
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