Whoever said, “Success rises from the ashes,” was talking about my g-f cooking. Each time I experiment, I’m eternally seeking and there is always hope. After all, I always end up with something, and it’s usually palatable. It may not be what I intended, but scorched crusted tuna patties with pesto pasta and too-toasty-cheese bread, can become Blackened Cajun Mahi-Mahi a-la-king with nothing more than a slight attitude adjustment, and a little cream (or gf/cf dairy substitute.)
I’m a latent gourmet and that hopeful fact must be reiterated while I’m using a metal spatula and a pestle as a wedge and mallet to chip peanut butter/white bean cookies off the baking stone.
Cooking is an art form! Discretionary tastes being what they are, no one can hope to please all people. Art is all in the interpretation anyway. So I cook to challenge myself, and therein achieve success.
Reality Bite: The food may still be repugnant, but at least Momma’s happy.