I am about to bust open the seams of food blogging perfectionism: many recipes fail.
This morning, de-arilling pomegranates, magenta juices veining down my arm’s crevices, I imagine myself a Martha (from The Handmaid’s Tale) shucking peas; I am zen. A bubblegum pink froth gurgles in the food processor’s depths; a few moments later, strained and pulp-less. Nutty oat flour and pomegranate juice combine to create a lilac batter, tangy and semi-sweet when licked from a curious index finger. Once poured the batter expands spherically, as if by magic, hugging every labyrinthine crevice of the fast-descending waffle iron. Five minutes tick away on the piggy timer as steam jigs throughout the kitchen–yes, it is time. Opening the iron a half-inch, the waffle top refuses to retire from its iron (I make pun!) embrace. With a fork, I salvage the waffle’s disintegrating structures and look woefully upon the tattered result. Hole-ridden. Torn. A no good-dirty-rotten-pig-stealing-great-great-waffle-failure.
So here’s to the kitchen failures: unplanned, unphotogenic, underappreciated.
Still, not as injurious as when I cut a deep gash into the palm of my hand on my second night in Paris. At the corner pharmacie, I did a uncanny “tree falling” impression on a reading glass trolley when I fainted upon removal of my makeshift napkin bandage. The bulbous scar rubs my keyboard to this very post.
Any kitchen flops you’re keen to brag about? Me and my floppy waffles are all ears.