In all honesty, I really do like to consider myself as somewhat of an okay cook.
Now, I'm not anywhere near the master chef level, nor can I wipe up any of those fancy looking dishes you see on television or youtube these days. But I am, at best, average in the cooking department, able in making most cuisines, from Chinese to Korean, to all spicy Indian.
But the one thing, one bloody thing, that I can never, never ever get a handle on, no matter how many times I try in my life, is baking.
Ahh, yes, baking. My nemesis in the kitchen. The one thing I want to master really badly, yet fail miserably every single time.
See, I'm a person who just loves cakes. By loves, I mean really, really loves. It's my first pick on deserts, and, ultimately, my comfort food which is on par with ice cream on its best days.
But when it comes to baking a cake... Let me just tell you one of the disastrous stories I have in my bag. (Yes, I have plenty of them...)
So there was this one time, in between the Covid lockdown, when I was craving chocolate cake. Like, really, really craving.
As there were no bakeries open, like a brave little soldier, with a whisk in hand, I marched into the battlefield, ready to conquer the recipe I downloaded off of the internet.
It was a simple enough process. The usual egg, butter, cocoa powder and all that shit. And I followed the wholw thing line by line, measuring and re-measuring time and time again to ensure I got it right. And everything was going as smoothly as ever.
After making the batter, I popped it into the oven, gave myself a pat on the back, and excitedly started making the icing.
To my surprise, the cake even fluffed up. From the outside of the oven, I could see a nice fluffy cake head peaking out of the tin, and the joy within me was unexplainable.
Which lasted right until I got the cake out to cut it in half.
I really should've seen this coming.
To this day, I really don't know what had happened with that stupid thing.
Because while the cake looked perfectly fine from the outside, I had somehow actually managed to burn it from the inside. Inside....
I remember putting my knife into it in glee, only to get stuck about an inch in. It was rock solid from there on. And when I did manage to break it open, the thing was burnt as a coal.
With nothing left of my dignity, I had to resort to some pancakes, in the end, both to reduce my cravings somewhat and to finish the tub of icing I made.
Now, I don't know if this counts as a major disaster, but, it did cause me a tremendous amount of despair and humiliation. To this day, I am mocked for my failure by the people who know me.
To give myself somw mental peace, I've chalked it up to a misunderstanding between my oven and me.
That oven must not have a sweet tooth. Besides, no one can be a master of everything, now can they? I'll just leave the bakings to the bakers and keep on buying cakes until the day I die.