Picture it: Sydney, 2023

In these days of influencers and Instagram, it's common for content creators to project perfection. From flattering angles and elaborate set ups, to expensive equipment and special filters, the content we're being fed doesn't just seem unattainable, it is impossible. Still, many of us consume it like a Reese peanut butter cup (that is, we devour it and want more). 

If that's what you're looking for, my friends, then I'm sorry to inform you that you've come to the wrong place. I don't have special lighting. I don't have the patience to spend more than a minute positioning something for a photo. I'm not going to remove every background object in the camera's view so that you aren't distracted by visual clutter. And I don't hide my fails -- mainly because I hope that as you read about them, you have a bad laugh at my expense.

Picture it: Sydney, 2023. A forty-something aspiring chocolatier has begun Easter prep. Having carefully assembled her ingredients, she is ready to prepare the flavoured ganache that will form the centres of dark chocolate eggs. She dons her skull rag and Birkenstocks, and enters her tiny (7x9) galley kitchen.

As she has done many, many times before, she begins the process to make a beautiful, luxurious, white chocolate-based ganache. She stirs with a whisk, making quick, small circles in the centre of the bowl, coaxing the chocolate and other ingredients into emulsion. And just when it should be pulling together, the unthinkable occurs: the ganache splits. In a most epic fashion. First, it just looks grainy, curdled. But as she tries to whisk it back into shape, it gets worse. About a half inch of oil rises to the surface, with the chocolate solids in a putty-like mound at the bottom. She tries all of the tricks to fix it -- using an immersion blender, adding hot cream... Her efforts are futile. 

Let me tell you, I've never seen anything quite like it. The flavoured oil splashed on my clothing, across the counter, onto the stovetop. I left an oily residue on everything I touched. I ran out of paper towels trying to clean it up and then used a dish towel (which I had to hand wash to remove the orange oil before it could be laundered). 

As a final desperate last-ditch effort, I found some leftover white chocolate in my stash, melted that down, and slowly whisked the split ganache into it. This time I did get an emulsion, but it was still grainy. It was like there were small grains of chocolate that just refused to melt out. Despite the fact that it set up, the mouth feel was terrible. It was a failure.

Now, I'm not used to failures in the kitchen. I was baffled. I was stunned. I was deflated. I got in the car and immediately drove to Bulk Barn to buy more white chocolate to try again another day when the chocolate gods (who I assume are Mayan) will favour me.

But man it stuck with me all day. I read about ways to save split ganache and the causes of it. Had I overheated the chocolate? There's a reason we talk about chocolate being in temper. Did I add my flavour and colouring too soon? Was there something wrong with the chocolate itself? Could I whip it and use it on cake? Was there any saving it? Or was that $14 worth of ingredients down the toilet? (Not literally, of course, because that would cause plumbing issues.)

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the money that bothered me, but the waste of chocolate. Chocolate -- good chocolate -- is precious in a world of confectionary coating masquerading as the real thing. I just couldn't stomach throwing it in the garbage. 

After sleeping on it, I decided to do one last search for techniques to save it. I found one that was unconventional. It suggested chopping up the set ganache, melting it down in a pot directly on the stove, and re-whisking it once it started to melt. It couldn't hurt to try it, so I followed the instructions and watched with vigilance so that the chocolate wouldn't burn. Despite being very effective in creating a good emulsion, it did nothing to sort out the graininess. 

Disappointed, I looked away for a moment to think. There had to be a way to save this ganache. I pride myself on my problem solving, a skill I inherited from my father. No matter the challenge in front of him, he always finds a way to overcome. (He would have made a great engineer.) "Think, Squirrel, think, think, think," I urged myself. And that's when my eyes spied a mesh strainer in the drying rack. Would ganache flow through the tiny holes? Would it still set with some of the solids removed?  With nothing to lose, I poured the entire pot of melted ganache through the strainer and into a bowl. And sure enough, the resulting mixture looked just as smooth as it should have the first time. I grabbed a small spoon and sampled it. All traces of graininess gone. I gave it one last whisk and put it on top of my toaster oven to set while I started a new batch to use in this year's Easter eggs.

You see, this ganache definitely doesn't meet my quality standards for this year's "production run" given everything it's been through (or should I say everything we've both been through together), but at least now I can use it in a dessert. Maybe an orange chocolate tart with a cookie crust...

Some days, being a chocolatier isn't all truffles and pralines. Some days, it's humility and perseverance. 

The orange truffle tart with cookie crumb crust and vanilla bean whipped cream. Not bad for a fail. Tastes like a Creamsicle or Buried Treasure.