The Day I Invented Roasted Potatoes Without Trying

Cooking and I share a love-hate relationship. I cook to fill stomachs, not win MasterChef titles. Still, I thought I was doing well—until my most epic fail arrived one evening, freshly wrapped in smoke and confusion.

It was soon after marriage, a phase when every wife dreams of impressing her husband with a hot meal. My husband, with the innocence of a man who didn’t know what awaited him, asked me to boil potatoes for sagu with poori. A simple task. “Boil potatoes,” he said. Clear enough, right?

So, chef Sharon got to work. I cleaned the potatoes, placed them lovingly inside the pressure cooker, closed the lid, and waited for that proud whistle of victory. Minutes ticked into an eternity—yet, silence. My husband finally suggested opening the cooker to check.

And there it was—the tragedy that could win an award for comedy. The potatoes were black, charred, and smelled like a campfire gone wrong. I had missed one tiny ingredient—water. My defense? “But you told me to put potatoes, not water!” His face, frozen between shock and disbelief, screamed what his heart didn’t dare say: “What have I gotten myself into?”

In hindsight, I like to call it “accidental roasted potatoes.” After all, every failure can be given a fancier name to soften the blow. As Julia Child once said, “The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking, you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.” Well, I had that in plenty!

Cooking fails are part of life. They teach us resilience, patience, and most importantly, how to laugh at ourselves. Today, I can smile when I recall that evening. My husband too—though at the time, I’m sure he was calculating escape routes.

Thought to ponder: In life, just like in cooking, we may forget the water sometimes. The key is not to fear the burnt potatoes but to savor the story they leave behind.