A few weeks ago, as E healed from his bout of walking pneumonia, J and I went to a dear friend's house for dinner. Whenever we are invited to this fantastic chef's home, I bring dessert. This time I chose to prepare a delightful goat cheese flan with poached quince, cranberries, and candied pinenuts.
The whole mission turned out to be quite more meaningful than I had anticipated.
You see, not to tute my own horn, but I used it to be really good at this -the pastry chef thing-. Yet, like all things in life, practice makes progress. As I worked to concoct a few items that I have made thousands of times in the past and kept making silly mistakes, I began to realize how rusty I was.
On top of it, working in the kitchen with a toddler running around is quite different than working in a restaurant's kitchen, where everyone knows the protocol and can protect themselves from potential harm.
As I prepared the caramel for the flan, with my little maniac underfoot, I was stricken by the parallels between raising a toddler and working with sugar.
It t takes patience to work with sugar. If you don't watch it, it will burn. You have to be acutely aware, with all your senses, to determine that millisecond of time right after it's not quite done, and right before it's completely burnt. And if you're short on time, and you turn the heat too high to try and get it there quicker, you risk it crystallizing and having to start all over again.
Every mom knows, we have to be acutely aware, with all our senses, to determine that small window of time between when they aren't hungry at all, and when they are having a major meltdown because they haven't eaten. Or the other one, between when they are not tired yet, and when they are so tired that they won't fall asleep. And yet if you try to outsmart them, you'll generally get "burnt" or "crystallize" yourself.
Once the ramekins were lined with caramel, I moved on to work on the brittle. At the last stage, I kept wondering why it looked so different than I remembered it. Once again, sugar at play, there's a small window between not done and burnt, so after staring and stirring, yet not being able to shake the feeling that it wasn't quite right, I removed it from the pan and spread it onto the Silpat. The end result was crunchy, and tasty, yet different nonetheless.
Days later (yes, days...) I found the small piece of butter that was supposed to be added into the brittle exactly at the point during which my untrusting staring was taking place.
I laughed as I realized that many times, forgetting an ingredient because you are tired, out of practice, or sleep deprived, doesn't necessarily ruin the whole dish.
When we deem ourselves less than perfect mothers, at whatever task we are judging ourselves on at the moment, we should remind of this.
The end result may well be just a tad more original or unique.
E really likes helping in the kitchen. So after all the sugar work was done, I enlisted him to assist with making the actual flan. The recipe is easy: measure all ingredients, and mix in a food processor until all the cheese is completely incorporated. Alas, this was not possible.
Our food processor bowl had a crack that ran vertically from top to bottom from the time E threw it across the kitchen. So as we mixed the batter, the liquid started to squeeze itself out of the crack. E kept wanting to press the button and more and more liquid kept coming out. I had to stop it all in its tracks before it was ready. The end result proved to be a bit more grainy than anyone wants their flan to be, yet delicious nonetheless.
And as we ate it at dinner, sans E, the following evening, it dawned on me that I'd rather have less than perfect desserts, that were prepared with the laughter and cheer of my little guy, than perfect ones that came at the cost of not including him in the process.
Sure, sometimes it's necessary and wonderful to do whatever we want or have to do without them!
Yet it's important to include them whenever we can, and create the memories that we will one day hold dear to our hearts, and that will teach them that we are willing and able to show them the way, even if it means taking a little longer to get there.
If we can work on our patience just a little bit, then the end result may be just a little bit sweeter.
Our food processor bowl had a crack that ran vertically from top to bottom from the time E threw it across the kitchen. So as we mixed the batter, the liquid started to squeeze itself out of the crack. E kept wanting to press the button and more and more liquid kept coming out. I had to stop it all in its tracks before it was ready. The end result proved to be a bit more grainy than anyone wants their flan to be, yet delicious nonetheless.
And as we ate it at dinner, sans E, the following evening, it dawned on me that I'd rather have less than perfect desserts, that were prepared with the laughter and cheer of my little guy, than perfect ones that came at the cost of not including him in the process.
Sure, sometimes it's necessary and wonderful to do whatever we want or have to do without them!
Yet it's important to include them whenever we can, and create the memories that we will one day hold dear to our hearts, and that will teach them that we are willing and able to show them the way, even if it means taking a little longer to get there.
If we can work on our patience just a little bit, then the end result may be just a little bit sweeter.
