I went to go crash my friend's place so I could bother her and her boyfriend, who just happens to be my best mate. They were busy making dinner, and asked me if I wanted any. I did, and so volunteered to help out.
I was handed a box of potatoes (yes, a box) and asked to follow the recipe printed on the back. "I trust Zac to make something from a box," my mate said. Little did he know that many others, including my own mother, have trusted me with such a responsibility. These same have quickly learned the folly behind such a conclusion.
I started out really well. I mixed everything up in the order it was supposed to be. I even caught myself when I was about to put the Parmesan into the mix instead of the special sauce. I realized I'd completely forgotten to warm up the oven, but, thankfully, my friend had already done it for me. I was set. This time, I thought, someone's trust in me regarding uncooked boxed dinners will be rewarded.
I threw the pan into the oven and set a timer. When it went off, I dutifully leapt up, pulled the pan out of the oven, sprinkled the Parmesan onto the dish, and smiled. HA! I did it! Someone turned off the oven for me, and I was set.
But then I looked at the directions again.
"After you finish sprinkling the Parmesan, be sure to put the dish in for another five minutes."
ARGH! I'd forgotten to do that! And now the oven was getting cold! As was the dish, which could have been in and out in just a few seconds! Get a grip, I thought to myself. Just put it back in, set the timer for six minutes, and you'll be fine.
So, I did that. Well, actually, I didn't. Instead of setting a timer, I just decided to remind myself to take the dish out at 10:05, exactly six minutes after I put it in. Throwing myself onto the couch, I delved into a webcomic.
"Hey," my mate said after a bit. "Weren't you supposed to take that out?"
"Huh?" I looked at my phone.
10:13.
"Biscuits and gravy!" I swore, leaping to my feet and surgically extracting the potatoes from the internal inferno. The potatoes were crisp around the edges. So crisp, they were practically black. I sighed. Well, maybe it won't be that bad.
And it wasn't!
Despite everything, the meal was really good, and the potatoes even passable. As I savored the taste in my mouth, I thought about how the many mistakes I'd made hadn't really set me back in the long run. Sure, each mistake had seemed like a minor crisis when I'd blundered into them, but, in the end, I still had a delicious dish I could feel proud enough to share.
"I like these potatoes," I said aloud to my mates. "They're particularly crisp. Good thing I totally meant to keep them in the oven longer than they were supposed to be."
They responded with some withering stares.
Regardless, my challenge to you all today is to not fret about the mistakes you make. If we just pick ourselves up and continue forward, then the negative impact these mistakes have on our lives is greatly reduced. The greatest consequence I reaped from my baking mistakes came from the stress I incurred from getting all worried about them. I saw that Monday, I saw that yesterday, and that's why I'm telling you today.
So get out there, mon! No worries!
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