Maybe it isn’t so bad to fail every now and then, just to remember that success isn’t the destiny. So many stories have happy endings and maybe some of them are true, or were inspired by something that was true, or reflect longings that are honestly held. The way they say the arc of the universe bends towards justice, but that’s only if we keep using the metaphorical rollers to get it there. Life doesn’t drift into a good outcome – you need to work.

Ah, a burning smell in my kitchen. In this moment it’s because I forgot to put the water in the moka pot – a new, less explosive mistake than one I’ve made before. Yesterday it is because the “easy” recipe I found on the internet which claimed making candied lemon slices would be simple wasn’t foolproof enough for this baker at 10PM. The sugar and water flashed, it felt like, to the soft ball phase and caramel part on some sides of the pan. Parts of the lemon took on an amber color. I pulled everything out and stared. It was meant to be decoration for a potluck.

Sure, a potluck is a community building activity. This could be a me problem, but I’ve never shook the sense it’s also a bit of a competition. (It’s also probably a minefield for those with food allergies). I’ve mastered the art of bringing foods that people find underwhelming, portions of which linger after other food has disappeared. I’m a decent cook and a decent baker in that my labors have repeatedly resulted in people who are no longer hungry. But I have not taken the time to learn, nor had hands steady enough, to make things pretty. Complicating that, I often draw a blank on what to bring.

We had lemons and not a lot of other groceries in the house, being the timing of when we grocery shop. I googled for a Lemon Sheet Cake recipe, because that would let me leave a pan at a church. It’s a sheet, and a cake, which is a snoozefest if you ever heard one. The recipe suggested garnishing with candied lemons. Hey, how do you make those?

You simmer thin slices of lemon in sugar water.

Pffft, I can do that.

Or so I thought. You see my mandolin slicer blade wasn’t sharp enough to cut lemons, and probably just needs to be replaced. My knife blades weren’t sharp enough to thin enough slices, and looks like I’ll be spending quality time with my wetstones later. (Though this guy in Montana does the best job sharpening knives of anyone I’ve ever encountered. If you can spare a couple weeks without your knives and it’s not before a major cooking holiday.) So the lemon slices were too thick. They didn’t get translucent the way they were supposed to before the sugar turned to amber.

I pull them out and put them on parchment. They aren’t really pretty, they aren’t a uniform color, but I contemplate arranging them like a flaming chalice on the cake. Yeah, that would make it more eye-catching, some on-brand decoration. After it cools a bit, I decide to try them.

It’s so bitter. I can’t get my teeth through the rind. Even the sugar syrup is bitter, and not in the pleasant coffee sort of way, but in the “Ah, this is how Nature reminds you it’s poison” sort of way.

The sheet cake was its own adventure. The recipe stated it would bake in 20 minutes, and maybe that’s true if you’re into cake batter. The recipe said to pour the icing on while it was still warm, after poking holes in it, so it could soak through. It resulted in a cake where you can see every hole. Sometimes the internet lies.

I think if I had left the sugar syrup on a lower temperature and believed the recipe that said to simmer for 15 minutes instead of the recipe that said to simmer for 30 minutes, it would have been fine. Also if the slices were thinner. Also if everything was different.

I need to do some grocery shopping and maybe inspiration will strike me there. Otherwise, feel free to come to my church after services today and have a slice of lemon cake. I guarantee some will still be left.