Figs are fragile fruit. Birds love them as a source of food and water. When they ripen here in late June, birds that weren’t interested in our yard for months gather to chomp away. The tree is too tall to net, so for two weeks or so, I engage in the dance of the fig protection lady. I never win. I’ve tried scaring the birds, I’ve tried sharing–I’d be thrilled if they ate all the figs at the top of the tree. But nope, they eat a quarter of all of them.
We’ve had a few weeks of fierce heat, and the figs were starting to scald from the sun. I picked as many as I could to make jam. Some riper ones, and some not quite ripe, but fine for jam.
After they are washed, I removed the stems and cut them into chunks.
Into a pot they went, with the juice of half a lemon, some lemon zest and water enough to almost cover them. Sugar gets added later. I simmered them down, then added about a cup of sugar. Simmered again.
They were getting close, so I added a bit of honey for a deeper taste. Honey burns easily, so I set a timer. I was also doing laundry, watering the plants, and catching up on email, so setting a timer is vital. Too easy to forget what’s on the stove till the smoke alarm smells it.
The timer hadn’t gone off when I smelled scorching fruit. I raced to the stove, but too late. An entire batch of fig jam–probably the only one we’ll get this year–ruined.
It’s hard for a perfectionist to deal with making mistakes. Doesn’t matter that I 
set the timer, I should have set it for a shorter time. Fig jam is not to be trifled with. Then I had a thought. Of all the tutorials I’ve seen, both on art and on cooking, I’ve rarely seen a mistake posted. Julia Child was calm when she made a mistake, but I haven’t seen a mistake posted in any tutorial I’ve seen.
Here’s mine. In all its burned-on glory. Much as I hate to admit my mistake, I think it’s important to other perfectionists to see that even experienced cooks, successful artists, and practiced experts mess up, ruin the jam, tear the page, use a hideous color, and the project doesn’t work. It happens. The important part is what happens next. A few years ago, I would have burst into tears, threatened the timer, bemoaned my fate. Not effective. Won’t bring the figs back. We learn more from our mistakes than we do from success. Learning to deal with failure is an important part of learning to deal with success.
Here’s the great tip. I learned this from a wise friend: Put cold water in the pot, add about half a cup of salt and a quarter cup of baking soda, but the pot on low heat and let it slowly boil for about 20 minutes. Pour the mess down the drain, and the pot will be easy to clean–no hard scrubbing.
And I’m back outside, watching for a few more figs to ripen.
Yep, I hate to make mistakes, too. I’ve had to rush a scorched, smoking pan out the door into the garage so the smell wouldn’t linger as a nasty reminder of failure.
But you know what I hate worse than mistakes? Being evaluated. Hate it!
Looking forward to your book (mine is on it’s way from Amazon).
Vicky F
Yeah, I hate evaluations when they aren’t thoughtfully done. When a boss remembers the mistakes of the last 3 months, but not the successes. Hope you love the book!
I cant seem to broil things. The broiler requires very little time to brown stuff, but just enough time to not be able to stand there and wait. The moment I step away from the oven I forget what I’m doing until the black smoke is billowing out. The sad thing is that I do this EVERY time I use it. Whenever I hear of mindfulness exercises, I think of broiling and that maybe the answer for me is to really see if I could ever simply (gulp) wait.
Probably not.
That is so funny, T.J. I think you have lots of company–including me. Standing at the broiler, I either keep peeking in and making it not work, or move away and let the smoke detector call me back. It’s so true!
Quinn,
This adventure brought to mind one of my favorite adages: “Wisdom is Experience Remembered.” Sorry for your disappointment; but I’d wager this never happens again
I, too, am a lover of the timer *the multi-tasker’s friend!*
The second batch will be even better! Sometimes in life, when we ruin something we learn from our mistakes. then the experience was meant to be.
Thanks for sharing!
Quinn, I never made jam, nor cakes, nor my own bread or icecream but for the rest of the menu I have tried my best
But then often meat: too dry or too raw, and more than ten years ago I made a french quiche with broccoli and salami when my mom-in-law visited and I completely forgot to add the eggs to the filling, so when the quiche seemde ready in the oven, all the liquid poured out when slicing it and dividing it on plates. 
I understand your frustration for the figs grew in your garden and you tried to guard them so well against birds, but a next time you will not leave the stove when preparing figjam I’m sure..
Sadly, I will not stand right by the stove, waiting to it to cook. It takes time, and I’m not a patient person. But I will set the timer to a shorter interval. I do love my timers!
“A few years ago, I would have burst into tears, threatened the timer, bemoaned my fate.” <–THIS
Particularly with kitchen errors, I was prone to crying in the past. My husband once found me in the kitchen, crying because my onions wouldn't caramelize (turns out they weren't sweet enough, so he added in some sugar, voila!). Talk about some wasted tears! In the studio, when things go wrong, I'm more prone to moodiness and bad self talk, but, all the same, it's not useful. It doesn't fix what's done or help me have a better perspective on it.
Anyway, this (obviously) struck a chord with me. With so many blogs out there and the curating being done on Tumblr, sometimes we're inundated with the perfection of everyone elses' lives. It was really refreshing this morning to see that myth for what it is: We all tear the page, we all burn the jam some of the time.
Exactly, Angelique. I’ve made jam hundreds of times, but this time I burned it. It’s not a tragedy, and although I berated myself, I also stopped myself from making it worse. We make mistakes. I’m hoping a few more artists post their mishaps.
You should try baking powder biscuits without the baking powder…hockey pucks.
Don’t make me tell you about one of my first microwave baked potatoes. I’ve never seen an exploding baked potato fly that far. Nor embed itself in the bookcase.