Not the “it turned out okay” kind. Not the “we’ll eat it anyway” kind.
The proper kind. Golden. Fluffy. A little crispy. Holding its shape.
I made it with custard too, and for the first time ever, I finally got the method right. You know the one where you dissolve the custard powder in a bit of cold water, then you introduce hot water into the smooth slurry while stirring?
Yes, that one.
No lumps. No anxiety. Just calm hands and unwavering confidence. I was so excited I couldn’t keep calm about it. I wanted everyone to know: I finally get it.
I wish I could insert one of my favorite emojis and stickers here right now.
This morning, while replaying the process in my head, it struck me —
this is exactly how life teaches us.
Quietly. Gradually. Step by step.
The soaking.
Beans need time in water — but not too much time.
Soak them for too long and they become overly soft, making peeling harder instead of easier. Life is like that too. Staying in a season longer than necessary can complicate growth. Preparation requires patience, yes — but also discernment.
The peeling.
This part is messy and repetitive. Easy to rush.
But nothing moves forward until the skins come off. In life, growth often demands shedding — old habits, old fears, old versions of ourselves we’ve already outgrown.
Some things can’t move forward until you remove what no longer serves you — even when it’s uncomfortable.
The blending.
Here, balance matters.
Too much water and everything is ruined. Too little, and nothing comes together. Life is like that too — excess and lack can both sabotage growth.
The whisking.
This is where air is introduced. Where effort changes texture. While I was mixing, my friend said mixing determines how well it forms when it goes into the oil and how fluffy it turns.
Some results only appear when you keep showing up and stirring, even when your arms are tired and progress feels invisible.
The oil.
It has to be hot — but not too hot.
Timing again. Rushing this part burns the akara. Being early isn’t always better than being ready.
And finally, the frying.
Once the batter hits the oil, there’s no turning back.
This is the step of faith — the moment of execution. Where confidence meets risk. Where preparation proves itself.
The custard taught me something similar. I’d always been afraid of lumps, afraid of messing it up. But yesterday, I slowed down. I paid attention. I trusted the process. And it worked.
It reminded me that excitement often comes after understanding — not before it. We don’t always feel joy at the beginning —we get excited when something finally makes sense. When we realize we’ve grown without noticing.
Life doesn’t always announce when we’re improving. Sometimes, it just hands us a quiet win in the kitchen and waits for us to reflect.
Yesterday, it was akara and custard.
Tomorrow, it might be something bigger.
But the lesson remains the same:
respect the process, and don’t underestimate small breakthroughs.
What’s a small, ordinary moment that recently taught you something about life? I’d love to read your reflection in the comments.
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Samuel Agyeman-Duah On Unsplash
