I worked for many years as a mason building mostly Rumford fireplaces (like this one) and traditional stone foundations on interesting projects involving restoration style houses built using reclaimed logs and timbers.
A friend of mine, a skilled carpenter who worked on these houses too, often could be heard in various rooms shouting "Perfect" at intervals during the day as he went about hanging doors or putting up trim.
He explained that, when they are present, clients really like to hear that sort of thing off in the distance announced from time to time by the people building their house .
This led to some ribbing and an eventual morphing of the concept by all of us to shouts of "perfect enough" whenever we'd completed some small task, obviously when the home owners were not present.
There is a sense that 'perfect enough', though incorrect grammatically, is completely logical and as good a description as any of the level of workmanship we realistically endeavour to attain as craftsmen and women.
This puff ball which I was fortunate enough to find in a nearby ravine yesterday and brought home to have fried up with bacon and eggs was delicious. Though it had obvious blemishes and places where there were questionable dark cavities, most of it was 'perfect enough' for eating and my family thoroughly enjoyed its scrumptious mushroomy taste.
