It isn't edible, it's metaphorical...
In order to properly perfect any dish it is easy to assure yourself of the impending need for the correct ingredients, and yet at the same time no one likes a boring dish so it's best to collect the materials for making this as your progress through the instructions.
First, find yourself about a cup of innocence and child-like bliss. Got a cup of that? Alright now go fill a bowl (around 3 cups or so-worth) with betrayal, death, and loneliness. Now go ahead and drop the innocence and child-like bliss in. Now the next part is extremely important otherwise the mixture will end up tasting like unfulfilled-oldman, and that's not the right recipe now is it? Take your glob of sadness and angst out into the sun and work it until it's nice and hard like the calloused hands of a field picker. Now, moisten it up again with some rejection, wait for a southern climate to work it's way around and then take it back out into the sun and work that bit. You may notice that the perfectly unblemished mass is hard as a sturdy oak and visually just as unremarkable in it's perfect consistency. If you'd like now is the best time to take a chunk of this stuff off and make a fine little Reba for your next batch. Any who, it's important to place some old bones filled and rocks filled with nostalgia and sense of duty and bury it deep in the homogeneous mixture to give it a little flare of character and back story. Now go ahead and let the mixture marinate in forgiveness and love of others. You're concoction is almost complete, but it needs to be a bit more sober, so toss it into the bitter fire of lost familial ties and misunderstanding and bake it. Afterwords take it out break a chunk off of it and eat it. Then let it cool off sitting by itself for awhile. Do not rush back to it, fear not it will not go bad. When you return sprinkle a dusting of family history on the top like salt on a pretzel. You now have one enlightened Pilate-bread, cheers.