Somewhere along the way yesterday, I came across a blog about making your own homemade Larabars. I have never tasted a Larabar, and I’m not a nutritionally noble sort of person. But I do love to learn how to make things, and I figured this could be a good snack to grab in the jello-limbed, post-workout moments of my morning. Thus began my latest learning rabbit trail: How to make a Larabar!
After a lot of time looking at online recipes, and some study of my pantry and Walmart shelves, I was ready. Dates, check. Nuts, check. Lemon extract, check. Food processor, check. Saran wrap, check. I set forth into the kitchen while my husband was happily engaged watching a manly movie with our Ibex student, Solomon. Strains of epic battle music drifted up from the basement.
And it was a battle, though not with dates and nuts. It was a battle with myself. You see, my track record is to make a huge batch of something new and hope we happen to like it. (Ask the 80 breakfast burritoes we made for the freezer, in blind faith that they would be good. Thank the Almighty they were!) Or hoping that I can learn to like it. I really do mean “I” because my family defects when one of these projects goes south, while I linger on in “gotta use this up” purgatory.
So I am proud of myself as I survey the three types of Larabars chilling in my refrigerator, because I only made TWO BAR’S WORTH of each kind. This is the culinary equivalent of looking before you leap! Hooray! And another victorious circumstance: I came out of the experience without purchasing an enormous bulk package of anything, and without letting my heart demand a high quality replacement for my obviously inferior food processor. Where is the soccer announcer screaming “GOOOAAALLLLL!!!!”?
I hope that I like the Larabars, but it really doesn’t matter. I’m just blessed to be learning to temper my enthusiasm with some wisdom. At least THIS time.