Failure Happens

About two years ago I read a book called Julie and Julia. The book is now being made into a movie, which made me want to re-read the book. Julie was making liver and, in her way, talking about embracing failure.
It was pretty timely that I read that part of the book, because last night I made Jambalaya and burned the heck out of the bottom. Sarah, Weez and Jill said it was good, but I most definitely could taste the burnt flavor. It still tastes like someone smoked a pack of cigarettes through the sausage and held the tomatoes over an ashtray. But, you know, in a good way. Or something.
In a very UN Carrie Bradshaw way, I couldn't help but wonder... or, rather, I couldn't help but think about how much I screw up.
The reason I love cooking so much is that even when I do screw up, usually I know the way to salvage at least a little bit. Or make something else. With Jambalaya I just used the stuff on the top and figured it was spicy enough to cover the smokey flavor. With the tiramisu I made the other day i left it open in the fridge for a while and the extra espresso evaporated. I am allowed to fail sometimes because most of the time it doesn't matters how pretty it looks, it matter how it tastes.
I bake because I know how. I bake because it is natural. I cook because I love the sound of grilling meat. I love the smell of grilling onion and bell peppers. I love copper bottomed pans. I love cheap thrills like when my roommate remembers how much I love Baker's Joy spray. I love cooking and baking because even after a crappy day selling clothing I could never afford to people with six credit cards I can feel like I've accomplished something good. On the days when I don't work on my thesis because I just can't take it, I can bake something that makes me smile. So I do what I can. I bake. I grill. I boil.