A snickerdoodle blondie is a simple beauty. Butter, sugar, eggs, cinnamon, vanilla, flour, leavening with a crunchy topping of cinnamon sugar. As Gaby makes them, they sound and look delicious.
First time I made them, the texture was off. Wet, even after baking fifteen extra minutes. I think I misread the recipe. Too much butter; too little flour. I put them back in the oven and they dried up like clay in a kiln.
On the list of frustrations, messing up a simple recipe is somewhere between forgetting my clothes in the dryer and leaving conditioner in my hair. Annoying, but fixable. Try it again.
The second time they were as tender and delicious as the recipe promised. I thought I had a go to recipe. A reliable wow for friends and family. But, then, disaster again. (Okay, disappointment, not disaster.)
I used expensive Vietnamese cinnamon which is more floral and delicate than good old McCormick’s and I added 1/8 tsp salt. Nothing that would have changed the baking time. But the texture was off again and I overcompensated and they came out dry. They went into the garbage because, at this point, I was angry. I had promised them to a do gooder, so I remade from scratch. This time, I amped up the cinnamon and left out the baking soda.
Better, but not worth the attention. Good. But in a world with so many recipes, not for me.
So here’s the thing, some recipes are not for me. There’s no need to worry about it. Just move on and make something else.
I struggle with posting failures. I’m working on making baking a source of income, so maybe I should present only the perfect looking and tasting? Never mention the failures and the messes? But that’s not me.
I’m a learner and a teacher and I’m always going to let you know when something doesn’t work. Hopefully, I’ll understand why. Sometimes, though, I won’t know why. It just won’t be for me. And that’s okay.