So I tried again, this time increasing the gelatin and adding a squeeze of lime, because I feel that nearly anything can be improved with some acid. This time, the salty, crumbly crust was the perfect foundation for the golden cloud of mango custard. I finally understood what Hirway was talking about. I called him excitedly to ask if he’d describe the dessert as a mango lassi in pie form. “Sure,” he said. I could tell he was trying to be nice. “But a mango lassi has lime in it, and this pie does not.” I bashfully admitted that I had added lime juice, trying to make an argument for the balance the acid offered to the sweetness of the mango purée. “Then it’s not mango pie,” he answered simply. I replied that he’d probably find my addition of ground cardamom to the crust to be distasteful too. “If I’m already over the fact that you’re making a crust instead of using a Keebler one, then I’m not mad about the cardamom,” he said.

Why, I asked Hirway, was he so opposed to my scratch version? “There are some things that have already been perfected,” he answered, “and I think a Keebler graham-cracker crust and Cool Whip are two miracles of food science.” But Hirway allowed that even following his mother’s directions closely, he didn’t feel as if he could do her recipe justice, either. “My mom has a severe form of Parkinson’s, and she can’t cook anymore. So the pie torch has been passed to me, my sister and my dad. But whenever I make it, it still falls short of the memory of my mom’s perfect version.”