Please welcome today’s guest writer, Jesse Kinyua. Jesse graduated in 2023 with a major in org. communication (don’t bother asking what it is; he also doesn’t know). Born and raised in Kenya, Jesse is currently working at a non-profit in Grand Rapids, where he gets paid to read as many books as he can in eight hours (not really, but wouldn’t that be awesome!). If he’s not at work, he’s probably listening to trash podcasts, attempting to burn down a kitchen, or engaging in his favorite pass-time, people-watching.
(Over the course of my life, it has become abundantly clear that recipes hate me. Don’t worry, the feeling is mutual.)
Date: 2007 or 2008
Recipe: starter – home-made soup (ingredients unclear); main – scotch eggs with creamy mashed potatoes and silky sauce (no veggies, for some reason); dessert – orange pastry dish (‘official’ name)
It’s a disaster. My brother and I are in the kitchen, valiantly trying to plate up a three-course meal for our exhausted parents.
Two hours in, the only thing that has been served is the homemade soup (the only positive thing about it being that it was homemade) with hard, buttered toast.
Oh well, on to the main course. Half of the eggs are on the runnier side of a salmonella infection. We’ve used up the entire twenty-four packet of sausages, even though the recipe said twelve will be enough.
The mashed potatoes are mashed…kinda. Meanwhile, in an attempt to reach that high level of silky consistency the recipe mentioned, the sauce now just tastes like flour.
Final stretch—dessert. The orange pastry dish, which the recipe quoted as having a “flaky, soft crust while holding a sweet, zesty filling”…well, the crust is basically stone and whoever wrote the measurements for the sugar was clearly angling towards an early grave.
Even as my parents bravely put on a smile and attempt to swallow our meager offerings, I take in a valuable lesson that day.
Lesson 1: recipes lie.
Date: 2016 or 2017
Recipe: three-tiered cake with strawberry filling, finished off with fondant icing (and extra strawberries)
It’s my friend’s birthday in two days and I’m determined to make him a three-tiered cake for his surprise party. Have I ever made one before? Nope!
But I decide to take a chance with recipes again. Maybe this time it will be different. Maybe?
I read the recipe multiple times AND watch all possible videos. I’m determined to follow every single step the recipe calls for.
All three cakes come out of the oven perfectly molded and still moist (ew!) in the center. I breathe a sigh of relief—maybe recipes aren’t that bad afterall.
I start to layer the cakes with the fillings in between. The recipe NEVER mentions it, but I then miss a pivotal step in this process—cakes need to be leveled (flat) before layering them.
Since my cakes are uneven, when I put the frosting on, cracks form all over the cake—and don’t get me started on how long it took to make the damn frosting. At this point, my mental state cracks too, and my mom takes pity on me and takes over.
After hours of pleading, threatening, and pleading again, the cake finally looks presentable—albeit nothing like the picture in the recipe (refer back to lesson 1).
Two days later, I’m balancing the cake box on my knees as we drive to the party. The whole ride there, I’m begging God to hold the cake in his everlasting arms, even as we seem to hit every pothole.
We get there. I slowly ease off the top of the box and cautiously peer into the box. What was once three layers of delicious cake is now just cake. I’m ruined.
Lesson 2: never debut a new recipe at a party.
Date: 2024 or yesterday
Recipe: creamy, coconut Indian korma curry, with blended cashews & juicy chicken chunks, plated over a bed of steamed, buttery long-grain rice.
I’ve just had this divine coconut korma curry from this Indian restaurant! But as an accomplished chef (accomplishments pending), I’m convinced I can alleviate this dish by making it myself.
I anxiously plead with the recipe gods to have mercy on me, even as I review all the online recipes that claim to be “authentically Indian” (really, Janine?).
At Meijer, I buy all the specified ingredients, even though the total amount I pay bears witness to the fact that it would have been cheaper to just go back to the restaurant.
Back in my kitchen, I feel childishly proud of myself as I blend the cashews (feels so posh) and prep all the other vegetables. I follow all the steps the recipe states, even checking back multiple times to be sure.
I take a look at the simmering curry. Mmh, it doesn’t look like the one in the recipe, but I’m gonna trust Janine and go with the process.
Finally, it’s ready. I plate my food all nice and pretty and even garnish with some extra veggies. The movie is all queued up to go. I take the first heaping bite. Janine lied. There’s nothing authentic about this.
Lesson 3: don’t trust Janine.
(Caveat: I’m actually pretty decent in the kitchen. I love experimenting with food, throwing a bunch of ingredients into a pot and seeing what happens—it’s usually a fifty-fifty shot. But hey, who needs recipes anyway?)
