Why mishaps in the kitchen make for great memories

I have just burnt my morning oatmeal and by burnt I mean brown pan-crusted, back breaking to clean, char. It only occurred to me that something might be remiss when my stomach rumbled and I started to think, “Why am I hungry? Didn’t I already eat breakfast?”  Doh!  I’m so smart I even surprise myself some times.   At least if I can’t get the burn smell outta my house, I got to draw that disgruntled face above!

The Cherry on Top

As well as I can whip up the something mouthwatering, I have my moments of utter mentalness in the kitchen. Cherry pie is kinda my kryptonite. When Jon and I first moved into our house, I decided – great idea! – that I was going to fix his favorite cherry pie to celebrate our new, little nest. So I painstakingly pitted the cherries, dressed them in a lattice of crimped dough and slid the pie pan into the oven . . . without a tray underneath. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle. You can guess what happened next.

I think I enjoyed that pie almost as much as I enjoyed cleaning the thick, cherry goo encrusted on the bottom of the stove. Okay, full disclosure: Jon cleaned it; I watched. He does have stronger arms than me though. And men who clean are just downright sexy!

Salt Cherry Pie

Flash forward a couple of years.  I’m all excited over this recipe for sour cherry pie – a way to mix up the old recipe I’ve since mastered – and impress Jon with my baking skills extraordinaire.  I should know by now that this cherry experimentation means trouble, right?  Ha!

I felt like Betty Crocker . . .  for a while.  It was a perfect pie: the crust a golden buttery brown, the cherries fresh and sweet.  Except, of course, they weren’t.  I’ll concede that I might’ve grabbed the wrong sugar.  Maybe.  I still maintain it was the inherent sourness in the cherries, but either way, I can’t make a cherry pie today without Jon making a crack about it.  And life’s all the sweeter for it.

Oh, and by the way, that new fruit tree in the backyard. It’s a cherry.

 

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