Storytime: Adding cocoa to the recipe — and everything else

I choose all my cooking recipes according to my abilities.

I am a klutzy cook, the kind who tries so hard to make something right that something always seems to go wrong. I’ve learned to keep it simple and stick with recipes that don’t stink up the house, forget to rise, or use cooking skills that are over my head.

My recipe selection is limited.

When I was asked to bring a dip for a party, I decided to go with my old reliable, one that is easy to make and easy to eat. I frequently make this fruit dip, so I thought perhaps it was time to shake it up. I looked online and found several variations of the recipe that matched my skills and the ingredients I had in my kitchen.

What could possibly go wrong?

While I was softening the cheese and setting up my mixer, I thought about the various cooking misadventures in my past. Divinity down the drain, exploding eggs, and a pressure pan of beans that couldn’t stand the pressure. There have been a couple kitchen re-paints and a plumber or two involved in the aftermath of my most notable cooking calamities.

I have learned from every single one.

I whipped the sugar, the vanilla, and the cream cheese for the dip, leaving the marshmallow cream until last. I typically make the standard white fruit dip, but I found a recipe that transforms it into chocolatey goodness. My lonely can of cocoa, sitting in the back of my pantry, had been unopened for a while, so I checked the expiration date.

You never know around here.

I gave the sealed cocoa can a shake to gauge how much I had. The can felt full, but nothing shifted inside, so I turned it upside down and smacked it hard to displace all the cocoa that had settled since the last time I used it.

Bang, bang, bang — that should do the trick.

I quickly flipped the can over, leaned in, grabbed hold, and popped off the airtight plastic lid, all in one quick motion. Immediately, a plume of cocoa dust exploded into the air, engulfing me in a cloud of chocolate fog.

When the dust settled — literally — I was spitting chocolate sand out of my mouth and trying to figure out where I went wrong.

Just then, my young grandson walked in to pick me up for the party. Ivan took one look and slid to a stop; his mouth was open, but no words would come out.

“Mom,” Ivan yelled, turning to run back out the door. “You better get in here.”

A mirror showed me that my hair had changed color; my skin was spray-tanned an unnatural shade of cocoa; and my glasses were thick with fine powder. When I took my glasses off to better see the damage, I was a bit overwhelmed by the mess that surrounded me. A grainy layer of chocolate coated my counter, my floor, and my shoes.

I never liked those shoes anyway.

Sometimes I try too hard in the kitchen and, other times, I just don’t care. I have learned my limitations — most often through my mistakes — and keeping it simple has become my motto.

There are occasions in the kitchen when my confidence and curiosity get the best of me. I convince myself that I can do more than I really can, which quickly turns into more than I really want.

Still, you can count on me to bring a dip, or a dish made with only two or three ingredients.

All in a lovely serving bowl.

When my daughter walked in, she looked like her father, wearing the “Are you kidding me?” look I have seen countless times before. “Mom,” Hilary said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head like she’s never seen a woman covered in cocoa, except where her glasses used to be.

Pretty sure I am never making that recipe again.

You can reach Lorry at lorrysstorys@gmail.com.

This article originally appeared on Columbia Daily Tribune: Storytime: Adding cocoa to the recipe — and everything else