Taking a shot at a Southern classic

"There is no such thing as a bad pecan pie," says Neal Fisher. For Fisher, who describes himself as " 'Bama born, Carolina raised," this sweet-crunchy confection is the taste of the South. A computer professional who now resides in Somerville, Fisher waxes poetic about the dessert, especially pies from home. "Even those little ones they sell at the gas station next to the hoop cheese and the pickled eggs," he says, citing two other Southern delicacies. "Pecans suspended in sweetness," he says. "It's just an inherently delicious combination."

Pecan pie's essential ingredients are butter, eggs, sugar, corn syrup, and nuts. The Karo brand of corn syrup, say aficionados, is key. "You've got to use Karo or it ain't pie," says Fisher. That may be because the sticky syrup, first marketed in 1902, claims to have invented the confection. According to the company's official history (karosyrup.com), the wife of a corporate executive dreamed up pecan pie in the 1930s. Whether or not this claim is valid, the Karo label has certainly promoted the pie, with a recipe on the back of every bottle.

But almost every Southerner has a personal variation. When Fisher needs a sweet Southern fix, for example, he mixes up the bourbon pecan pie recipe he learned from a boyhood friend's mother. The recollection sparks an involved tale about "Miz White, Tommy White's mom. Mr. and Miz White were gospel singers and had a swimming pool in their backyard. She could cook!"

For Fisher, and apparently "Miz White," the one sine qua non to a pie is dark Karo. (The syrup comes in four varieties -- light, dark, "brown sugar flavor," and "pancake syrup.") While noting that "local," i.e. North Carolina, pecans are best, for Fisher the other special ingredient is the tablespoon of bourbon. "The kind of bourbon doesn't matter," notes Fisher, who prefers boutique bottles like Knob Creek for sipping. For pie, however, "Old Grandad will work great," he says. "You can drink it while you're cooking."

These days, he confesses to using store-bought crust. Other than that, the dish is, well, easy as pie. "The only thing that will mess up a pecan pie is if it's runny," says Fisher. "It has to be congealed." Luckily, the pie will contine to set as it cools. In fact, the danger of overcooking -- and ending up with something resembling chewy pecan brittle -- is more prevalent.

Just as there are a million recipes for the prized confection, so too are there variations among bakers. One dissenting voice comes from John Silberman, owner of Magnolia's Restaurant in Cambridge. Although he describes himself as a chef, not a baker, Silberman makes the restaurant's popular dessert. Like Fisher, Silberman agrees that dark Karo syrup is best. He also notes that, without the nuts, the syrup-egg-butter concoction makes the traditional Southern sweet known as chess pie.

But bucking tradition, Silberman claims that the tablespoon of bourbon makes no difference to the final pie. "You don't taste that little bourbon," he says. He makes a pie with a little less butter and a little flour. For flavor, he prefers to add a dash of vanilla, which makes a slightly lighter and more caramel-tasting pie. He may have a point: Before an informal tasting, 12 diners all expressed a preference for a bourbon-laced pie. However, 11 of these diners were unable to identify which pie had bourbon. Both versions were repeatedly sampled, even after the truth was revealed.

The differences in these pies might be regional. Silberman honed his cooking skills working in New Orleans. He made his first pecan pies in the Big Easy. In addition, there's a Georgia influence in Magnolia's kitchen. Silberman's wife, Amelia, hails from the Peach State, where she grew up picking pecans in the backyard.

"We go over at Christmas and hunt for pecans under the trees," he says. He describes the latest family recipe as "sweet, but not too sweet. The filling is creamy, and you've got the crunch of the pecans. What's not to like?"