42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

I have never been much of a baker, or in fact a cook.

It’s really only since I’ve been out in Fresno for the last three years that I’ve discovered the joy of cooking and sometimes baking.

Cooking isn’t much of a problem. I like to fly fast and loose with recipes. I view them to be guidelines, and if I add a little more of this or that, no harm done.

I know better than to do that with baking. Baking is complex, and if you mess up one little thing, the results can be disastrous. At least until you have baked the recipe a few times.

When I bake a new recipe, it turns out perfectly. Wonderful.

I’ve made carrot cake, truffles (technically not baking), pumpkin chocolate muffins and blueberry or peach cobblers. All great the first time around.

Sometimes I get it into my head (or am asked for an encore) to make the same thing later in the week or in the near future.

And it never turns out quite as well the next time. I call myself the accidental baker and am surprised when something turns out good or even better in subsequent bakings.

Late last night, it was the lemon bars.

From scratch lemon bars. With fresh lemon juice squeezed from lemons brought in from a co-worker’s backyard. Two sticks of butter, y’all — courtesy of Heather’s new heart-attack hero, Paula Deen.

I’d made them earlier in the week and they were perfect, once I let them cool down long enough to solidify.

Last night, they looked pretty jiggly still, so I let them bake for an extra six minutes, and then began to wrestle with the oven door. (The latch is *still* broken, and I’m usually incapable of opening it myself. )

They looked beautiful. I even let the lemon bars sit for a while until I couldn’t wait any more, and broke the crispy crust on top. Firm, beautiful until … I hit a pocket of lemon mixture that gushed out like a volcano. Not so solid after all.

I spooned some of the lemon mixture on top of the crust and called it a day. Tastes good, but there’s too much crust this time, and it’s too crunchy and well, the lemon still hasn’t set up all that well.

I really don’t know what I do wrong. It could’ve been the late-night phone call I was engaged in as I made the entire recipe. The person at the other end often chided me for my language as I attempted to wrestle with the oven door.

It could’ve been the lemon juice. The lemons are getting pretty old, and to be honest, I didn’t measure the juice as I should have. But then, I only guesstimated last time, as well. Bad Mel, I know. But everything else was measured carefully.

The lemon bars are still edible. They still taste pretty darned good, in fact. But it’s just a reminder to me, to keep myself humble every time I am triumphant in the kitchen, because I can never perform the same feat twice in a row.