WHIPPED
It was the night before “Something”
When all through my house
A mess I’d been making
(You should'a seen my blouse)
I do all this prep
Without care or worry
And like it much better
When I’m not in a hurry
The veggies are ready
But there is hesitation
I’d like to cut fruit
Without enzyme oxidation
I sit in my chair
Pondering options for cooking
Convection, conduction, radiation
Just stop looking!
The process is such
The food gives me help
Except that one time…
When I tried to fix kelp
Wait! Back to the story
(I tend to get lost)
When my kitchen is filled
With so much amylose
I’ve spent most the day
Working starch into pastry
And I might say
The stuff is quite tasty
The fillings are diffused
With sugar and fruit
And I’m always surprised
When they turn out this cute
When suddenly it hits me
But is it too late
To possibly top them
With a coagulate?
I’ve heard of this cream
I know it’s quite heavy
It’s all about chance here
Could I be that ready?
I get my stuff going
I call it by name
I know I’m alone
Yet it’s part of the game
I stand at the mixer
There is no hesitation
I’m sure of this process
It’s denaturation
Oh such a mess!
I cause so much clatter
My dog even wonders
“Hey what’s the matter"?
On with the whipping
Boy this is a scene
I’m mixing amino acids
Inside some protein
Go carbon and hydrogen
Some nitrogen too
Keep moving there sulphur
(Phosphorus doesn’t have a clue)
So what am I seeing?
A clot, mass or gel?
Is it time to give up?
Continue a spell?
Best that I stop
No more words will I utter
With more agitation...
My cream will be butter!
Susan...
Susan...
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