So, if you're me, you go through your culinary life learning the tricks, the secrets, the refinements. The Best, Only Way to Do Things.
There really is no best, only way.
Cole slaw, for example. I spent years slicing the finest, featheriest strands of cabbage. No irregular shapes, no chunks, it had to be like mermaid hair. This could only be done with a knife.
Of course, I derided the industrial cole slaw made at the Dixie Pig. Those pigs ran their vegetables through the Hobart, and you ended up with a fluffy, puffy pile of mayonnaisey salad. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Very low-brow.
As if the cooks at the Dixie Pig could spare the time to hand slice the cabbage. What a snob you are, Cookiecrumb!
And I confess this because the other day I was making cole slaw and needed the food processor to make bitsy bits of carrot and onion. Oh, what the hell, I thought, once it was set up. I tossed in cabbage chunks, too. And mayonnaise!
(Brief diversion: I used to struggle with my cole slaw dressing. Buttermilk? Honey? Listen, just use the mayonnaise.)
What resulted was a fluffy, puffy pile of mayonnaisey salad.
I really liked it. I've now made it this way twice.
This is the best, only way.