The girl I replaced left me a jar of honey. On a whim, I decided to mix some of the honey and soy sauce to garnish (or salvage) what had originally been the dry, bland and pasty chunks of fried chicken I had prepared for dinner, which were barely seasoned with olive oil, black pepper, and salt. You might think that's culinary childplay, but I mean, this is a huge step for a girl who just started cooking raw meat an entry ago. Anyway, the result was delicious, flavorful, mildly salty and mildly sweet, and once further shoved down the palate, a little bit familiar. Then it hit me. While I was delighted by the successful sauce-improvisation, it had occurred to me that what I had created wasn't Lorraine's Soy and Honey Glazed Chicken, but was actually good ol' proper-noun-less teriyaki chicken...which has already been in existence for ages. I'm a little upset by it.
This could be a giant metaphor.