Friday, June 10, 2011
Let me tell you about my KitchenAid mixer. I know it kind of resembles this little critter:
Despite the resemblance, my KitchenAid is not a hostile alien species, although it is quite powerful. Almost too powerful. For example, today while trying to make whipped cream, I forgot that my KitchenAid can do in one minute what it takes a hand mixer three minutes to do. So I let it whir away, the whisk attachment firmly in place, while across the kitchen (this makes my kitchen sound huge--it isn't) I separated egg whites for the chocolate trifle I was making (this makes me sound like a foodie--I'm not, but whenever a recipe calls for separating the yolks from the whites I feel so fancy, like, "Watch out Betty Crocker, I just want the yolks!"). When I turned back to my mixer after a couple of minutes, did I find light peaks of whipped cloudy goodness? No. I found pre-butter! At least that's what I think it was. It was decidedly un-fluffy. Here it is in my vintage (read: old crap) bowl:
Luckily, I still had some cream left for a do-over, and I was able to make these beauties:
So I know the non-mousse layer looks like ground beef ... but it's actually crumbled chocolate angel food cake. But wouldn't that be kind of a fun idea? A taco trifle?
Back to the KitchenAid. That thing is amazing! Who needs skills when you have a KitchenAid? And I love that mine is bright red--the color of freedom, independence, and non-alien blood. I love the dough hook. It reminds me of my dad making pizza and bread dough in his trusty blue KitchenAid. It would make such a pleasant little whirring noise as it worked away on the counter, readying the dough so my dad could flip it around the kitchen like a pizza chef.
I think receiving a KitchenAid as a wedding present is a Mormon girl rite of passage. My grandmother bought mine for me, and when I placed it on top of my Cold War-era, Crest green counter-tops, I felt complete, like I had arrived at that special place called Womanhood. I seriously contemplated buying every accessory available for that holy machine. Sausage maker? Why not?! Pasta "excellence kit"? Um, it has a ravioli maker, sign me up! The KitchenAid was my altar, and I knelt at its glorious stainless steel bowl, spatula in hand, ready to serve it with all my grocery budget.
My whole kitchen is built around the color of my mixer. If my kitchen were the Louvre, my KitchenAid would be the Mona Lisa. Or rather, it would be my daVinci, helping me to make masterpiece after masterpiece of culinary arts. Except when I'm stupid and try to scrape the sides of the bowl while the mixer is still running. It never works, yet I keep trying and I will probably keep trying until I break my hand.
Random: It was just the other day that I realized we live in Houston, as in, "Houston, we have a problem." Way cool. I feel so connected to Tom Hanks, and Beyoncé.