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There are some smells that belong to starships: antiseptic, overheated circuitry, replicated coffee all hours of the day.
And then there was the smell of Doctor McCoy's pecan pie.
The first time I smelled it, I was in the tenth hour of a fourteen-hour shift in sickbay and entirely convinced that I was imagining things.
The Enterprise was many things - flagship, protector, host to several alien visitors, some more hostile than others - but a bakery was not one of them.
So there I was, feeling bone tired and looking closer to a ghoul than a nurse, and there was Doctor McCoy, who was supposed to have left for a well-deserved break after his second surgery in not so many hours.
I must admit I was a bit irritated at first to see him standing in the middle of the room when all he should be doing was to rest. Really, it is ridiculous to see him scold the Captain and Mr. Spock for not taking enough care of themselves and then turn around and work three shifts without breaking.
I was about to scold him - I wasn't the only one either, us nurses are of one mind in this matter - when that heavenly smell interrupted me.
Had I not been so exhausted, I might have taken notice of the Doctor's leisure dress and the still slightly steaming tray in his hands earlier.
Quite embarrassing, I must say.
Luckily, though, the Doctor understands the plight of his nurses. I can't remember the last time he was truly cross with us.
As such, he simply smiled that grumpy half-smile of his and ordered us to sit. In a way to show his appreciation- though he certainly did not word it that way - he had made us a pie.
A pecan pie.
And what a pie it was; I feel my mouth watering just thinking of it.
Really, it was only a matter of time until word of his fancy southern cooking spread over the ship.
I, as a nurse and someone close to McCoy, could count myself among the lucky few to be served that lovely pie after some of our most stressful days. Quite frankly, some days that pie was all I'd look forward to.
Now, let us get to the main reason I am writing this: the recipe.
One thing that I'd learn over the years with the Enterprise was that Doctor McCoy would guard whatever or whomever he considered his as fiercely as a dragon would its hoard.
Amongst those were, first and foremost, his patients, of course his nurses and apparently his recipes.
"You're not getting the recipe, Christine."
That is what he said the first seven times I asked him. By the eighth, I was offended on principle. By the tenth, I was determined to win.
"No."
Christine pouts. "You haven't even heard the question."
"You want the recipe."
"Yes!"
"No."
Looking back, I might've pestered him too much those days. Still, I stand by my decision. As an avid collector of recipes and a rather big fan of McCoy's cooking, I simply could not let it escape my grasp.
"Leonard."
"No."
"Doctor McCoy."
"Still no."
"Please?"
"Nope."
"Bones."
"Absolutely not."
I believe it was around my twentieth time asking, or perhaps the twenty-fifth, when he finally surrendered.
He let out a big sigh when he did and looked at me with the most exasperated face I'd seen him make to date - the expressions Mr. Spock manages to wring from him not included, of course.
"More persistent than a mischief of magpies", that's what he called me. Though, seeing as he invited me to the ship's kitchen in the same breath, I decided to count it as a win.
"Tomorrow," he said. "Eighteen hundred hours. Cafeteria kitchen."
"You'll teach me?"
"I already regret agreeing, but if teaching you means no more of that pestering, then I'll be content."
What a funny man.
The cafeteria kitchen looked very different when it was empty. Usually there was at least one or two crewmates who preferred the taste of self-made meals over replicated grub, but this time it was quiet.
Leonard had already assembled the ingredients by the time I arrived. Like a gentleman, he'd also set aside a notebook and pen for me to jot down the recipe while we worked.
Three centuries of technological progress had changed humanity in indescribable ways, yet here we were, preparing food like it was 2017. Funny thing that is.
With this, I now present to you: Doctor McCoy's Pecan Pie.
For the crust:
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
¼ cup milk or water
½ cup cooking oil
3-quart mixing bowl
Rolling pin and waxed paper
Mix the flour and salt together in the bowl. Measure the milk and oil in the same cup and add them to the flour and salt. Stir with a fork, then gather it all together with your hands and make a ball of the dough.
Divide dough into two equal parts; make a ball of each part and flatten it slightly. Place one of the balls on a square of waxed paper (11 to 12 inches square) and cover it with another such square. Roll it out between the sheets of waxed paper until it is _ about 2 inches larger in diameter than your pie pan.
Remove one sheet of waxed paper, put the pastry in the pan, paper side up, and carefully remove the remaining waxed paper. Trim the edges close to the pan with a knife. Pinch the dough around the edges to form a wavy or fluted edge. The crust is now ready to be used.
Repeat for the other ball of dough, adding to it any trimmings you had left from the first one. The trimmings left over from the second crust may be flattened into a cookie shape, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon and baked in a small pan, along with the pies, until they are lightly browned.
"My grandmother used to make this every autumn," he said.
"For special occasions?"
"For Tuesdays, if she felt like it."
"I think I would've liked her."
"You would've."
He smiled then, though only for a moment.
"Mean woman, stubborn as a mule."
To my surprise, Doctor McCoy's pie crust recipe is remarkably similar to the one used for Prusah Kisan, a type of Vulcan dish. When I remarked upon it, he brushed it off, saying his grandmother - whom he'd acquired the recipe from - must've known one of them then.
I believe he's simply too embarrassed to say that he and Mr. Spock have found a common interest in the creation and consumption of meals, but I shan't bother him about it further.
Now the Pie itself, that was an entirely human creation.
Ingredients:
Piecrust for 1 (9-inch) pie
1 cup sugar
4 tablespoons soft butter or margarine (warm enough to be soft)
4 eggs
½ teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup dark corn syrup
1½ cups pecan halves, or 1 cup broken pecans and ½ cup halves
Utensils:
Mixing bowl (3-quart size is ample)
9-inch pie pan
Electric beater (optional)
Roll out the piecrust and line the pan with it. Trim off excess around the edges and make a decorative edge (by pinching between the fingers, or pressing with the tines of a fork). Set it aside.
If you are planning to use an electric mixer, you can put all the ingredients for the filling, except the pecans, into the mixing bowl and let the mixer go to work on them.
When you have a smooth mixture, add the pecan halves and pour into the pie shell. The nuts will float to the top.
If you are not going to use an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar together, add the eggs, 1 at a time and beat into the sugar-butter mixture. Then add the salt, vanilla and corn syrup.
Mix well, add the pecans and pour into the pie shell. If you have chosen to use 1 cup broken pecans and ½ cup pecan halves, add the broken nuts to the filling mixture. Reserve the halves to make a decorative ring of nuts near the edge of the pie after you have poured in the filling.
Bake at 375°F. for 20 minutes and then for 30 minutes more at 300°F. The center of the pie may still appear to quiver a bit when moved, though not much. It will firm up in cooling.
Pecan pie may be served with very slightly sweetened whipped cream.
It really took me a ridiculous amount of time to weasel that recipe from Doctor McCoy. After the first few times of people asking for his pie, he'd already added the recipe to the synthesizer’s memory banks, but it really does taste better if it is made by hand.
Perhaps the doctor is right about replicated food missing the love of someone making the food.
Baking that pie should not have taken longer than 75 minutes; the doctor remarked that he'd done it in an hour once, but my inexperience had slowed us down quite a bit. A whole 90 minutes after he'd invited me to the kitchen, we finally had a serviceable pie.
Just in time, too, for our sickbays monthly game night was just about to begin.
Next time I'll have to ask him about that wonderful spicy chicken dish. Or perhaps I'll ask Nyota for one of her recipes instead; I still dream of that Jollof Rice she'd made a while ago.