There’s a very specific ten-second window between “perfectly golden garlic” and “bitter charcoal regret,” and last Tuesday I missed it by about four seconds.

Instead of starting over like a reasonable person, I leaned in — deglazed with a splash of vinegar, added a spoon of honey, and called it a “charred garlic vinaigrette” like I’d planned it all along. It was, unreasonably, great.

Moral of the story: confidence covers for a lot of kitchen sins. Not all of them. But a lot.