A friend and I headed a few hours north of New York City to camp and commune with Thoreau’s spirit. In the hopes of buying some local produce, we stopped into a small town’s single grocery store. The shelves were sparsely stocked, but we bought some produce, a few other items, and some peanut butter cookies displayed in a large jar resting on the counter.

The pears were sweet and divine, as were the tomatoes, but what astounded me was the taste and texture of those peanut butter cookies. Their tan, plain, hard exterior revealed a soft, delectable, mouth-watering interior.

A week or so later looking forward to another pleasurable gastronomic experience, I bought a peanut butter cookie in my local, highly regarded, bakery.

New Yorkers have a tendency to believe that the best of everything can be found within their small domain. And admittedly, our opinion is not completely unwarranted.  But one’s hubris virtually guarantees a fall or at the very least a more humbled perspective.