The first time I tried to make a lemon tart, I failed. The filling was sour to the point of tears, the dough was hard as a windowsill. I got angry. I bought a cake in a cafe and promised myself: I will never step into the kitchen again.
Two years have passed. And today I am holding a lemon in my hand again and feeling the cold from the metal grater.
I am no longer the girl who does everything according to the instructions. Life has taught me to add a pinch of rebellion to every recipe.
I taste the dough before I bake. I can add a little more salt if the mood calls for it. I can not add sugar at all if I feel that today I am not in the mood for sweets.
My tart today turned out almost perfect. Almost - because I broke the rules again. I added a drop of rum. Just because I wanted to.
Life is like this tart. If you do everything "right", it will be beautiful. But bland.
But I need it to have character.
And if there is a crumb left on the plate by which someone will recognize my taste - then everything was done correctly.