Kitchen confidential.

I've spent the past four hours baking and cooking, mostly to disastrous results. First, my ruggelach (baked according to my mother's legendary recipe) came out a crumbly, flattened mess. So much for sending a traditional Jewish treat home for Steve's family to enjoy at Christmas. Then, my caramel pecan squares appeared to be perfect, but I cut them a teeny bit too soon so now have to wait for the stuff to harden in order to attempt a quick fix. Last, I made a curried rice dish with almonds and raisins, for tonight's Hanukkah party with my family's close friends. This seems to be alright, but the rice is a bit gummy for some reason, and I almost forgot to add the all-important butter. Oy. You would think I'd never set foot in a kitchen before.

In fact, I love to cook and bake. The nascent Jewish mother in me revels in the joy of feeding the people I love, and I find it incredibly relaxing to putz around the kitchen concocting tasty treats. Perhaps my efforts today were foiled because I was too sleepy and wasn't concentrating. Or because I forgot to turn on the all-important Billie Holiday CD to which I usually cook. Yet as I was working, I felt smooth and methodical, unfettered by time constraints or stress. Thus, I am even more annoyed that what should have been a lovely Sunday morning in the kitchen has turned into a frustrating, messy debacle.

I'll write more later, maybe even about something more important and interesting than my kitchen catastrophes. For the moment, I need to get outside for a run or something to collect myself and burn off the irritation of the morning's failures.