Oh, it was good.
Things were heating up.
I mean they were really cooking. It was something special; a romance that had the kitchen hazy with steam. My bosom heaved. My hair fell in soft tendrils around my flushed face.
It was working. It was hot.
Then, it was not.
At least I know I tried. I gave it my all and it could have been a beautiful thing. It was a beautiful thing. But now it’s an over thing. And I’m washing my hands of the whole gloppy mess and moving on. After all, the chemistry is gone, and you simply can’t make something work if there isn’t any chemistry.
You just have to know when it’s time to say goodbye. Time to hitch your dreams to another day, turn to a better man.
Oops, sorry. I digress. Thing with chemistry is, without it homemade cheese is nothing more than lukewarm milk with stinky clumps of curds and whey.
Once upon a time I turned milk into mozzarella with a flirty twist of my wrist and Ricki’s homemade cheese kit. It was easy. It was delicious. But I was living in a dream world, a world in which cowboys with burnished arms pull me down in the hay, and milk willingly transforms into cheese.
Back here in this world all I get is a gloppy mound of curds and whey the likes of which would have Little Miss Muffet gladly vacating her tuffet for any old spider that happened by.
Ahh, cheese. The kit was simple. The directions straightforward. So when my (not ultra-pasteurized) milk decided that it no longer wanted to change into cheese I didn’t give up without a fight. I consulted the cheese hot line. I added extra citric acid. I checked temperatures.
But hot or not the chemistry was gone. And without chemistry hot milk is just that.
Hot, clumpy, stinky milk.
Squelch. Squish. Ick.
And you thought the spider was the scary part of that nursery rhyme?