a truck full of Amaretto.

I discovered creme brulee in college, when the restaurant where I worked starting offering it as a dessert menu item. People loved it, because it looked kinda weird and had a French name, but it was a pain to serve. They were pre-made in shallow ceramic bowls, so you could just pull one out of the fridge. But then you had to open a pack of Sugar in the Raw and dump it on top. Finally, you took a blow-torch and caramelized the sugar, creating a nice burnt sugar shell on top. To do it properly, you had to have a gentle hand with the torch, because most people didn't like too much of a burnt taste. Then again, you didn't want raw sugar crystals sitting on top of the delicious custard. But who has time to do things properly when you got to plate a couple desserts, drop a check, take out a round of drinks, and deliver some food that is already getting cold?

One night, my boyfriend at the time and I went to the restaurant at night to enjoy a creme brulee with some adult coffees. We shared one dessert, drawing a line in the custard right down the center and occasionally using our spoons to duel when we thought the other one was trespassing in our eggy territory. Whoever was using the blow-torch had rushed the job and so our smooth dessert was occasionally crunchy.

When that restaurant closed down and I got a job at another restaurant, the creme brulee routine was much the same. Except when we served it, we would top it with a splash of rum and then set it on fire as we served it. Some people looked delighted, many of them looked terrified. Almost all of them looked at the flaming dessert and then looked back up at me for direction as to what to do now. I would smile and tell them it would go out on its own as the alcohol burned up. They looked back down, not quite sure if they believed me. But the fire did go out on its own, and with this method, there was never any crunchy sugar left.

We made creme brulee at home once using a recipe off the internet and a set of oven-safe ceramic bowls I bought at the dollar store, specifically for the purpose. I had not yet developed the comfort and confidence that I now enjoy in the kitchen. I was terrified, accident-prone, and ready to burst into tears at the slightest mishap. I clung to the recipe like a life-preserver, because I considered myself to be lost a wilderness of sugar, eggs, and spatulas, with only that sheet of paper as my guide to safety. I checked every measurement once, twice, three times. I was just stressed, as if I had to serve this creme brulee to the Queen of Hearts, who was sure to order my decapitation if everything was Perfect.

This was how it used to be for me in the kitchen. It's a wonder I ever went back to the stove, but I suppose I got hungry.

At some point, my boyfriend suggested we add some Amaretto to the recipe. We had some in the freezer (it's excellent mixed with Mountain Dew), and he wanted to just throw a splash in the mix to add a little almond flavor. Really, it was a great idea. Creme brulee was already delicious, but a hint of almond was sure to be divine. I'm sure he expected me to rejoice that I had such an intelligent person at my side to come up with this wondrous suggestion.

Imagine that you are lost in a thick wilderness of sugar, eggs, and spatulas. You are very scared and nervous. You do have a map and a buddy, so you think if you just read the map very carefully and follow it faithfully, you will live to see the other side of this episode. I mean, most likely, you're going to die in there, but there's still a chance you can make it if you are very, very, very careful. Then your buddy takes the map and notices that there is a really nice glade over there, let's go check it out! No, it's not exactly on the quickest route out of this hell, but it's pretty close and we can just find our way out from there!

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?

No, no, no, no, no, no, I said, and no again. We can modify the recipe the next time we make it, but for the first time, we should just follow the instructions exactly. Now is not the time for improvisation. Now is the time for strict adherence to the rules, because we will surely DIE if we do not follow the rules. I was already shaking with anxiety from just turning on the oven; I could not handle any detours.

He thought I was being stupid, but he could see that there was no point in arguing because I was clearly insane. So we finished the recipe, baked them little ceramic bowls in a water bath, and tried to burn some sugar on top using the toaster oven. That didn't really work, so we had to settle for crunchy creme brulees, because neither of us knew what a broiler was for. It looked like I was going to live to cook again. The real test would be the taste, of course, but I could feel my heartbeat finally slowing to normal. I had survived.

We dug in to our individual bowls (no need to draw a line down the center of only one), agreed the experiment had been a complete success, and then he made a confession: when I had not been looking, he had thrown in a spoonful of Amaretto. But see? It had turned out great anyway! I had been so silly to worry.

My spirits deflated, and the delicate touch of almond tasted bitter in my mouth. If he expected me to laugh and say how right he had been, he was disappointed. Instead, I insisted on looking sad and being pouty. He did not get it.

I felt betrayed. Whether or not the Amaretto would have worked was not the point at all. Even at the time, I knew it was a pretty minor addition to the recipe and unlikely to ruin anything. But I felt so lost in the kitchen that sticking to the recipe was the only form of control that I felt that I had. Cooking was such a mysterious thing to me, and I felt like there were all kinds of factors and unknowns playing into it that I didn't and couldn't understand. I understood the recipe. I could control how much sugar I put in and how many eggs I separated and how many times I stirred it up with the spatula. I only hoped that if I did my part in sticking to the instructions exactly, then whatever Fates were assigned to creme brulee would do their part and make it turn out right.

I suppose that's why I hated cooking for so long - I never felt like I was in control. If you're like me, you'll understand that the feeling of control is crucial to, well, sanity in daily life. If you're like him, you think I was being uptight, and seriously, the creme brulee had turned out great, why are we even still talking about this? I knew that I was being crazy, but all I wanted was for him to understand that this seemingly innocuous situation was wigging me out, accept my anxiety even though it made no sense to him, and NOT PUT AMARETTO IN THE CREME BRULEE. Just, please? Don't make this harder on me.

Now, I understand that control is pretty much an illusion. At any time, even potentially while you are cooking creme brulee, you can get hit by a truck full of Amaretto. Now there's a truck in your kitchen, your leg is broken, and there's not even anything for dessert. But I feel much more able to meet the unexpected if I've got everything else in order. It's an illusion that I need to have to be able to function. I need to be able to say, "Alright, world, I've done what I can to get these here ducks in a row. Throw me a truck if you must, but I did my part." I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing, because it makes me pay my bills on time. But I could seriously live without the meltdowns that happen when people suggest putting Amaretto in creme brulee. Most things aren't worth the stress. There's got to be a middle ground between strict adherence to recipes and having your power cut off. That's a pretty weird scale.

Cooking no longer puts me in a state of trembling anxiety. I've managed to cook many things successfully. I've goofed some things up and no one died. I've improvised on occasion, and last week, I made some stuffed peppers mostly by winging it. I'm sure part of that is kitchen confidence. But I hope, too, that I've loosened up a bit. Not much. But some. Like a teaspoon. It's a start.