I once had this gruff professor who led a graduate seminar I attended as a lone undergraduate. I spent each session convinced someone would discover I had wandered in by mistake as my terror of the stoic professor mounted.
In the last session, a student brought impressive homemade baklava to share. I’ll never forget looking over to the professor, silently and deliberately chewing as she teared up, her humanity on full display. Her demeanor softened as more of us turned toward her. She swallowed, then tenderly explained to us how perfect foods could, at times, make her weep.
Ever since that day, I’ve held baklava to high standards and usually avoid buying any for fear of disappointment. I have certainly never tried to make it at home…