The Bad Muffins
As much as I’d love to pretend I’m a flawless force in the kitchen, I make culinary mistakes. A lot. Often.
And that’s okay, because I’m still learning how to cook. What better way to acquire knowledge than to do, evaluate, and tweak? I’m reminding myself of this because when one chooses to express one’s self through food, a horrible or sloppy dish can be not only disappointing, but mortifying as well.
Last weekend, I purchased some chopped dates. I love the flavor of dates; they’re so indulgent and rich. What better, I thought, than to counter that intense flavor with something tangy and light. Better still, why not combine those tastes in a food I adore – muffins?
I settled on a recipe for muffins made with orange juice, and sweetened with honey rather than sugar. It seemed like a fabulous idea – it seemed like something I’d really own.
It seemed like a fabulous idea.
It was a disaster.
The batter was lumpy, the dates all lurked at the bottom of the muffins, and the tops didn’t rise properly (or rather, at all). After 40 minutes in the oven, the muffins were still far too moist and soggy to slip out of the pans; they slid apart as I attempted to pull them out.
Disgusted, I began tossing them in the trash. My father caught me, however, and urged me to keep them. “Freeze them if there’s too many,” he said. “I’ll eat them.”
I looked at him quizzically. “Really?”
“Sure,” he smiled.
I rolled my eyes and set the mess of muffins on a cooling rack. “If you’re sure …”
The next morning, he ate two and nodded in agreement. “They’re good,” he said. “Not bad at all.”
My eyes rolled back to my forehead once more and I attempted to laugh it off. Later, though, I snuck a muffin. I probably shouldn’t knock them until I taste them, I thought.
I was right; they were lumpy, wet, and flat.
But hey, I thought as I munched, “At least I tried.”
The next day, I made a beautiful fettuccine with garlic.