The Real Stuff

I’m not snobbish about many things.  I feel there is a time to be meticulous and a time when it makes sense to take short cuts.  I’ve done both.  But I can think of one thing that is so much better when it is the real stuff, that the substitutes don’t even come close to satisfying.

Whipped cream.

I made some tonight and was reminded of how beautiful it can be when it’s just right (when it’s not beaten into hunks of butter or so thin that it separates).  It is so soft, almost luminescent, gently curving and swirling in the bowl.  A little dab of it will sit pretilly on top of that chocolate cake or surround dark red strawberries with creamy white visual contrast.  Who would have guessed that combining fat and air could make this magical stuff? I love it.

A little sugar.

A little vanilla.

Real whipped cream. Sorry. Nothing else comes close. 

Oh. My. Goodness
Oh. My. Goodness.
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