The origin story(?) of Isaac becoming a young baker!

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Over the next week, Isaac stuck his hands into the dirt (or batter?) and set off to learn everything he could about the basics. After that first kitchen catastrophe, he promised that he would never mess up things again that badly. No way. He had placed a red tab marking the more complex recipes, as a reminder that they were off limits for the moment. For now, he would stick to simpler recipes, getting hands-on experience with those first. He tied on his apron, getting that warm buzz feeling in his belly once again. He wrote it off as nervousness.
The first thing on his list for today was a simple chocolate cake. He measured out carefully the flour, sugar, and cocoa powder into the mixing bowl. Then the eggs and the milk. As he turned over the batter inside with a wooden spoon, he watched the rich goo swirl in front of his eyes. Curious, he stuck a spoon in, getting it covered in the batter, and licked it.
It was good… somewhat. It wasn’t sweet enough. Did he not add enough sugar as the recipe called for?
He peered over to the book, moving his finger down the list of ingredients until he found “Sugar: Two cups.”
He added it in alright. Two cups, just like the book said. So why didn’t it taste the way it should?
Isaac bit his lip. He could potentially add in more sugar and make it sweeter, but that would diverge from the recipe that ensured a successful cake. Would deviating from this list bring about another epic disaster? The thought of the burned souffle ran across his mind once again, and he shivered.
But he had read elsewhere that the greatest of the culinary artists build up and off from what they learned from the books. To experiment, innovate, create -- their ways of pioneering and cooking was what lead them to become extraordinary; their pastas, meats, and desserts to be ground-breaking.
Isaac turned to grab a clean measuring cup, popping off the top of the sugar container. He’d start with another half a cup. Measuring it out, he carefully moved it over to the bowl. He held his breath as he watched the white granules pour into the rich brown batter.
No going back now. He grabbed the spoon and stirred until he was certain the sugar was fully mixed. He tested out the batter again.
His eyes lit up as the rich batter filled his tongue. How sweet! How tasty! The new sugar accompanied so well to the chocolate! He beamed as he licked his lips, happy that his tiny step off the path of the cookbook was a success.
For the next thirty minutes, Isaac experimented with the batter, tasting it after adjusting the ingredients, ensuring that the resulting cake would be perfect. He loved the thrill of it, almost like he was working with an edible puzzle. He added a little extra salt, less baking soda, and threw in a few handfuls of chocolate chips for good measure. After whisking it one final time, he poured it into a cylindrical pan, popped it into the oven, and waited.
Thirty minutes later, Isaac had pulled out a proud, rich chocolate cake that had risen well and had baked through perfectly. He let it cool down before topping it off with some frosting he bought at the store.
He cut into the cake, catching eye of the still molten chocolate chips as he pulled the slice away. He felt his heart quicken as he plopped it onto a plate, grabbing a fork. Would it taste just like the batter did? Was his project a success? He lifted a good-sized bite into his mouth.
The rich dense cake filled his mouth, the chocolate sweet and profound on his tastebuds. He sighed as he chewed, from both relief and amazement that his cake was amazing! He had made the right call to adjust the recipe to his liking. He quickly grabbed a pen and his cookbook, crossing off the original amounts, scribbling down his own recommendations.
But as he finished off his bite, he frowned. Something was off about the taste, but it wasn’t the cake. He took his fork to carefully remove a mound of frosting off the top, then into his maw.
The frosting was bland. That must have been it. He peered over to the opened store container. No wonder people tended to make their own frosting from scratch.
As if a lightbulb switched on in his head, he hurriedly flipped the cookbook over the table of contents, eagerly looking for his next project. “Let’s see here… recipes for frosting…”