In this case, mostly the sort of aesthetic sense that figures that it's hubris to claim that something one has made is perfect.

That, and I didn't have a side of fresh-made fettucini with a light cream-lemon-pepper sauce to go with them. (There's a restaurant up in Napa Valley somewhere -- I have no idea I if I could ever find it again -- that has fettucini alfredo that ... I have had good fettucini alfredo elsewhere, but I have not ever had anything that was even close to as good as what this restaurant served. It was barely recognizable as the same dish, it was so good.)