lessons learned from burnt soup

Today was not my good cooking day.

I should have known things were off when I couldn't find the right artist station on Rhapsody to play. Switchfoot's station was playing too much Christian metal. U2's station was playing too much British '80s punk.

I ruined my soup, taking a chance on soy milk that's best left unexplained. And my attempt at Momofuku's Fried Apple pie barely made it past step one when my dough failed to form (apparently, the cookbook's conversion rate from weight to volume was flawed; by the way, much thanks to Momofukufor2 for straightening out the mystery).

While cooking (particularly baking) can be very unforgiving, mercy can be found in that every burnt piece of poultry or formless, soupy pastry dough is a lesson learned. You figure out what you did wrong, make a mental note, throw it out and then try again.

Not every day is a Martha Stewart day. Some days are barely Rachael Ray. That's okay. I will live to cook again tomorrow. For now, I'm ordering take-out.


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