measure, stir, repeat.

it might come of some interest to hear that not all chocolate we chocolate makers craft is perfect. any maker worth their fleur de sel will admit to tossing a batch. sometimes, despite our best efforts (and hopes and dreams) what we make can just plain taste terrible. 

when i was a kid i had a little turquoise blue plastic oven. it had a mega-watt light bulb in it, and came with teensy cute little aluminum cake pans. and sweet-smelling packets of cake mix. ostensibly, if you were the proud baker-in-chief and the owner of an easy bake oven, you could whip up all by your seven year old lonesome a nice little cake. 

oh the days of toys that could burn the heck out of wee fingers and nearly set fire to dollhouses, teddy, and barbie in her pink convertible. the oven was a dream come true, mid century hip in that smooth plastic vibe, and probably the idea of some latent baker wannabe. 

it was anything but easy.

all that glamour on the outside, the perfect packaging, shiny knobs and all. nothing but misery behind the scenes.  

we little bakers wanted cakes. what we got was burnt and torched reality, with dollops of frosting in our hair. still, the joy. the freedom, the wanton stirring and pretending. 

the results might have been inedible but a good time was had by all (ok, maybe not the ken doll with the flamed crewcut); maybe the point of trying one's hand at making something, and by virtue of that big heaping scoop of Unknown, is to take the lumps sooner rather than later. and just start concocting. maybe the point is to begin. something, anything, a life we want, a wobbly cake, a batch of 75% muck. under the burned bits there is sure to be some sweetness we'd have not found any other way.