“CUZ-win!” I cried over the phone just yesterday. I was appealing to my brilliant, master-cheesecake-maker cousin, Carole, who precedes me in age by six months and in proficiency of nearly everything by leaps and bounds.

“Cuzwin, I have made it through two of the six steps in your fabulous cheesecake recipe and have only slightly messed up the first and have royally messed up on the second. I. Need. Help.

“What’s the racket in the background,” she asked.

“My Kitchen Aid Mixer,” I answered. “Let me move away from it.”

On its Solid State Speed Control panel, the demand for rotation was set on ‘8’ out of the max number ’10,’ the Beater Blade doing as advertised, “scraping the bowl while mixing;” slapping a mix of egg whites and white sugar against the edges of the stainless steel bowl, onto the granite counter top and onto the acacia wooden floor. Thank goodness the heavy head of the machine was in a locked position.

“Look,” I said to my cousin, “I’ve nearly burned the graham-cracker crust beyond use and now,” I said, turning the mixer off, lifting the Beater Blade out of a pure white syrupy mess and watching what should be frothy and light ooze back into the bowl heavy and wet.

“I really, really, don’t want to start over,” I said. I was frustrated by the potential waste of four eggs and the last hour’s work.

Carole asked every question in the book.

Was my bowl absolutely clear of any oil before I used it? Yes.

No egg yolks, right? Right.

You added the sugar slowly once the egg whites had begun to be airy?

“What?”

“You did add the sugar slowly, right?”

Well, of course I hadn’t added the sugar slowly. I didn’t remember that stupid requirement for making meringue. When Carole finished moaning, I said, “I’m hanging up. I’m going to beat the heck out of this stuff and see what happens.”

I did that. I put the mixer back to work, put the leash on our small dog, left the apartment and went for a walk while Beater Blade whipped the molasses-like egg/sugar mixture against the sides of the bowl, and threw sugared droplets around the kitchen. When I returned about fifteen minutes later, I walked in sticky stuff, beat-till-soft the required amount of cream cheese and other stuff called for, folded in the Not-Really-Meringue, poured it into the very-nearly-burnt graham-cracker crust; topped that part with the sour-cream mix when rightly called for and, voilà a beautiful cheesecake.

Who says it’s got to be right every time?

I remember a time in Switzerland when Edith Schaeffer was making sponge-cake for a dinner dessert but a friend who was helping her (not me) messed up by forgetting the crucial sugar-adding step. “Sorry! I’ll add it now.”

“Too late,” said Edith. The friend prepared to toss the mess.

“No! No!” said Edith, ever the creative one. “Eggs, flour, butter, water; Eggs, flour, butter, water,” she muttered. “Add a bit of salt!” she said. “Noodles!” she said. And that is what happened that night. Delicious homemade noodles along with creamed lamb. Ice cream for dessert.

Not sure what I would have served tonight to friends who are coming for cheesecake. Ice cream, maybe. With sweet Graham-cracker crumble on top?