![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muckefuckEver since ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu brought that jar of nasty canned alfredo into our house, I've been scheming for a way to avoid eating it. Tonight, as he was decompressing from a horrid day at work, I slyly suggested that he let me make dinner so that I could use up some sage (which is going gangbusters and stealing light from its neighbours); the alfredo could be stowed away for an emergency, some night when we really have no time for prep. He bought it.
Even more surprisingly, I delivered: Only a few minutes after six, we had a tasty al dente pasta with chicken and vegetables. If I could change anything about it, I would've sautéed the zucchini just a few minutes less. I was a bit wound up near the end, but not frantic; everything got cooked properly without me destroying the kitchen.
This is where hubris got the better of me: All afternoon, I'd been thinking of surprising the GWO with a chocolaty dessert. So I sneaked the double boiler onto the stove and melted a few ounces of Callebaut with a little butter while I separated some eggs. The whites went into the fridge to chill while I whisked the chocolate together with the yolks. So far so good.
After he was safely downstairs, I blasted New Order so as to cover the sound of the beaters. The whites whipped up into stiff peaks so effortlessly that I felt disaster was imminent. Sure enough, when I went to fold them in, I found that the chocolate mixture had an awfully fudgy consistency. I tried beating in some of the whites, but that still didn't give me anything I could fold.
I suppose this is the point I should've simply shrugged, said a eulogy for the two ounces of quality chocolate, and tossed it all out. But I'm too bloody-minded for that. Instead, I separated another egg and beat half the yolk with the chocolate. Then I let impatience make me do something completely blockheaded: Instead of folding in the beaten whites and then beating the new white independently, I mixed them together.
It's perfectly predictable what happened: Most of the whites got overbeaten and wouldn't stiffen beyond soft peaks. So in disgust I emptied the bowl, scrubbed everything down, and started over. Again, perfect peaks in moments--but in vain, since I had to beat rather than fold. Adding the whipped cream, I could tell the texture was nothing at all like a good mousse-in-the-making.
So I don't know what I have chilling in the refrigerator right now; I'm hopingmonshu will tell me shortly when he comes in search of his chocolate fix. If it all has to be discarded, well, that's why I bought a safety pint of Häagen-Dazs.
monshu brought that jar of nasty canned alfredo into our house, I've been scheming for a way to avoid eating it. Tonight, as he was decompressing from a horrid day at work, I slyly suggested that he let me make dinner so that I could use up some sage (which is going gangbusters and stealing light from its neighbours); the alfredo could be stowed away for an emergency, some night when we really have no time for prep. He bought it.Even more surprisingly, I delivered: Only a few minutes after six, we had a tasty al dente pasta with chicken and vegetables. If I could change anything about it, I would've sautéed the zucchini just a few minutes less. I was a bit wound up near the end, but not frantic; everything got cooked properly without me destroying the kitchen.
This is where hubris got the better of me: All afternoon, I'd been thinking of surprising the GWO with a chocolaty dessert. So I sneaked the double boiler onto the stove and melted a few ounces of Callebaut with a little butter while I separated some eggs. The whites went into the fridge to chill while I whisked the chocolate together with the yolks. So far so good.
After he was safely downstairs, I blasted New Order so as to cover the sound of the beaters. The whites whipped up into stiff peaks so effortlessly that I felt disaster was imminent. Sure enough, when I went to fold them in, I found that the chocolate mixture had an awfully fudgy consistency. I tried beating in some of the whites, but that still didn't give me anything I could fold.
I suppose this is the point I should've simply shrugged, said a eulogy for the two ounces of quality chocolate, and tossed it all out. But I'm too bloody-minded for that. Instead, I separated another egg and beat half the yolk with the chocolate. Then I let impatience make me do something completely blockheaded: Instead of folding in the beaten whites and then beating the new white independently, I mixed them together.
It's perfectly predictable what happened: Most of the whites got overbeaten and wouldn't stiffen beyond soft peaks. So in disgust I emptied the bowl, scrubbed everything down, and started over. Again, perfect peaks in moments--but in vain, since I had to beat rather than fold. Adding the whipped cream, I could tell the texture was nothing at all like a good mousse-in-the-making.
So I don't know what I have chilling in the refrigerator right now; I'm hoping
monshu will tell me shortly when he comes in search of his chocolate fix. If it all has to be discarded, well, that's why I bought a safety pint of Häagen-Dazs.Tags: