November 15, 2012
In the middle
I'm in the middle of testing a recipe. Rather, I'm in the middle of adapting a recipe. Cutting it in half and tweaking the ingredients in an effort to obtain the same results.
It's not as grueling as I thought.
Perhaps it's the small victory I fell into yesterday. Whilst fingers were batter ridden and sticky—flour is a friend and an enemy in this recipe—a glimmer of hope started to rise.
I slid the baking sheet into the oven and acknowledged the fact that one cannot be perfect all of the time. That to fail is human. To fail is needed. I wasn't afraid to fail. I had failed a few days before. I was perfectly prepared for it, failure.
But then I came back to the oven window and turned on the light. The rectangular cookies were puffing. Oh my! Up and not out. Blonde transformed into golden. The light scent of lemon and vanilla. And then I exhaled. A sigh of relief.
I was then eager to report.
You see, it was several years ago when I watched these cookies being made for the first time. These morning cookies that are wonderful dunked into coffee of all stature or thrown into the leftover milk of ones bowl of cereal.
Cookies that only make an appearance but once a year. Around this time of year. The weather grows colder. The kind of cookie you eat just to eat even if you've already had a slice of panettone. The kind of cookies that sit amongst other cookies on a tray. Neck and neck with iced cookies and almond cookies and the oddly out-of-place oatmeal or chocolate chip.
The recipe had always seemed daunting. I had written it while watching a strong Italian woman wrestle the batter in a very large bowl and then onto a very large, well-floured, board. Once rolled out it seemed too big—too much. I felt overwhelmed. It was quite disabling.
But I've recovered. Regained my confidence. For now. So, off to the store to buy flour. A few bags at the very least.
I'll tweak and test the recipe once again over the weekend. And if all goes well I'll bring an eager and proud report to this space.