1 . I will never forget the first dessert class at a cooking school in France, where a group of anxious dessert students (myself included) were tasked with preparing an apple pie. It looked simple enough, but I soon realized that it was as far from simple as it could be. However, my knife and I mastered this French classic, as well as dozens of others.

After graduating, I found a job at a modern American restaurant in Florida. Despite the restaurant’s tiny kitchen, I was excited to work under Sylvia, the executive chef (主厨). The first job she gave me was to make apple pies. I couldn’t have been more excited — until I realized these pies were actually in the form of a dumpling. But my education had made me stick to French tradition. It took me a minute to get comfortable with this way of cooking again. Slowly, I was forgetting my French tradition, and beginning to go with the flow more. The response from diners was good. Our desserts were sold out on most days.

Then one day, chef Sylvia gave me the chance to make a new dessert and planned to add it to the menu for a week. Surprised and touched by the chance, I decided to go all out. I created a seasonal citrus mousse (柑橘慕斯) made with Florida oranges and pistachio croquant (a crisp, delicate cookie). But after a week, the apple pie dumplings continued to far outsell my special dessert. A sense of frustration went inside of me.

It finally made me aware that there isn’t one “right” way to understand a cuisine, or set of ingredients (配料). Where one chef can look at apples, butter, and flour and see a French apple pie, another might see baked apple dumplings. Even though each person’s translation may be different, I think they all deserve a spot on the table. And that was the most important lesson I discovered, through something as seemingly simple as fruit and dough (生面团).