That jar I found last Tuesday? I sniffed it. Smelled fine. I touched a tiny drop. Texture was okay. So, I made a reckless decision: I slathered it on a piece of toast.
It was… fine. Not great. The edge was gone, like a joke that lost its punchline. I ate it anyway, because I’m stubborn and hate waste. But I didn’t enjoy it. The magic had faded.
So here’s my solemn promise: I’ll buy a new jar only when I have a specific plan for it—and I’ll use it before the guilt sets in. Lemon curd deserves better. And so do you, my friend.
Now go check your fridge. If the curd looks back at you with sad eyes, you know what to do. (Spoiler: it involves pancakes.)
