It’s been a few days and I’m in denial over what’s waiting for me in the oven. I’ve forgotten all about it because we haven’t been home much the past few days, and I’ve been preoccupied with looking at cake flavors for a tasting next month. It actually makes me feel as though we should be making appointments all over the city for cake tastings just to capitalize on the opportunity we have here. We could be tasting the best of vegan cakes in New York right now.
I think where I went wrong is with how I always cook. When I ate meat, I always wanted it to be well done – and never understood why someone would eat something that was pink in the middle. When in doubt, I always let something cook for an extra minute just to be safe. There was a moment when I looked at the caramel boiling that it said 250 degrees Fahrenheit, but I chose to let it keep going for a few more seconds just to be safe. I wasn’t meant to be a baker – it’s hard to deal with the finicky something that is so whimsical that it might collapse, or not rise at all, or fall apart as soon as you cut into it. There are too many variables to keep it straight. Sometimes I do wish that I wasn’t working so that I could set up a test kitchen and run through different scenarios. Cooking the caramel too long or not enough, or adding salt, or other unknowns. Instead I’ll settle for a few trial runs spread out over the next few months, and if I never succeed – I’ll find a different project to latch on to.