Lord knows I'm not perfect. The good news is that neither am I vain. (See? A virtue amidst the rubble!) So it is, dear readers, that I am willing to share with you a low point in my culinary life. I burned -- dreadfully, sinfully burned -- these innocent zucchini and lemons, and now I offer them up to you as my penance.
Were I not as virtuous, I could have blamed it on my oven. It's about a thousand years old, the temperature fluctuates like a woman in the throes of menopause, and it's a hideous shade of orange to boot. But I am owning my mistake so it doesn't own me. (Sorry, sorry, I realize a bit of Dr. Phil-esque psychobabble snuck in; I guess as long as I'm coming clean I may as well admit to my penchant for the far cheaper, and thus cliché-ridden, form of television therapy.)
In another magnanimous, ego-free show of honesty, I will also tell you that, despite their disgusting blackened appearance, they didn't taste half bad! The burnt portion formed a skin not dissimilar from the one made by crackling fires on plump, snowy marshmallows. And you know you'd eat that, so just wipe that look of horrified scorn off your face. Condescension and pity do not open the gates to Nirvana, folks.