when you make art, huge failures are a possibility. once i hosted a dinner party and eventually served only dry pancakes and dusty, burnt brussels sprouts at 10 pm, which was not what i was going for, but it was funny. we ordered pizza. we laughed. in that case, there was medicine in the laughter: finding the humor in going big and failing epically and bringing people along for the ride - that’s art. or, at least, that’s what art sometimes feels like, so cooking is good practice (and maybe it’s all practice). because the thing you made is really just a chance to practice standing with yourself, no matter what awful thing you did.

also people don’t always laugh. once i brought the mashed potatoes to a big thanksgiving dinner and they were horrible. i mean, so, so, so bad. more garlic than potato and essentially inedible. it wasn’t funny. people wanted mashed potatoes and there was no back up. i was embarrassed. what was my lesson there? i’m not sure. pay more attention when cooking? taste things and add slowly? find forgiveness as i lay in bed berating myself for ruining thanksgiving? yeah. probably that one. probably all of those. no one had more work to do forgiving myself than me. 

and i’m actually a pretty good cook - i swear. i think that’s how you get there: keep trying, keep failing, keep laughing.

the end.