Shit, I made butter
If you've ever wondered how to make butter, last night I learned how.
I was elbow deep in the process of making Tres Leches (an involved process, not for the faint of heart) when I received a call from Dad. He wanted to talk. Apparently he talked to "his other offspring" this weekend.
Anyway, so, per usual, I got carried away in the conversation. Realizing that things were going a bit long, I threw some whipping cream into my KitchenAid mixer along with vanilla and sugar and set it to high. And walked away.
I kept talking to Dad and eventually remembered to ask how long it takes to whip cream.
He said, "Oh, eventually it will stiffen up...but don't let it go too long or it will turn into butter."
Well, so, I went to check on it and realized that I'd beaten all the air out of my cream and turned it, churned it, into sweet butter.
Everything breaks
When I tried to turn off the mixer to clean up the cream mess, I realized that it wouldn't turn off. It will only go to two speed and when I try to turn it off it pops back to two speed.
I did what any grown up would do and panicked. And started unscrewing ye old KitchenAid. And that sick feeling in my stomach started to gurgle up.
Because this was a gift from Jarrod's mother. My maybe future mother in law. And clearly, if I broke it I AM NOT WORTHY. As a woman, as a person, as a cook, as future mother. My head started to spin and I got more and more upset and I knew that I needed to go to Jarrod's to meet him when he got back from his flight.
So I screwed the broken thing back together, grabbed my keys and left.
I knew when I saw him I would cry. Cry, and cry and cry.
And I knew that he would say, "It's okay, I'll fix it." But he's not a KitchenAid mechanic.
And so I cried more.
And my apartment is still covered in chunky cream.