I ALMOST ATE THE WHOLE THING

 or,

 ANOTHER USE FOR WHIPPED CREAM

Do you know how good whipped cream really is? I made some to use as lettering on a birthday cake. Then I added the rest to a bowl for strawberries for a small socially distant dinner party’s dessert. The strawberries are really good this time of year. 

But whipped cream is not just good. It’s useful.

I often whip a pint of cream, add some vanilla and powdered sugar, and use it for Bruce’s Key Lime Pie.I know I keep promising to tell you all about that, and I will. Just not now. In decaf after dinner it is really yummy floating seductively atop the dark French Roast. Eat it with a spoon. It’s almost as if the coffee is sauce for the cream, and its rich bitterness is exquisite in contrast. 

Obviously delicious over fresh fruit, especially peaches and strawberries. That was last night. This morning, I ate leftover strawberries and cream after breakfast. I had a lot of whipped cream left.

I thought I would have just another bite. Or Two. Hm.

Many years ago, husband and I were invited to a big multi-generational Thanksgiving dinner with the family of our oldest son's girlfriend. At the time, everything seemed wonderful. The girl was pretty and smart and her parents were famous songwriters and very rich. Then the earthquake hit. They had a huge house and our apartment building was red-tagged. That means we were not allowed into our place, and police were enforcing the ban.

During the earthquake, which happened around 4am, things were shaking and crashing all around us. Husband and I each leapt from opposite sides of the marital bed, and I ran for the doorway. The thinking then was that there would be significant support from the door jamb. I stopped there, looked back, and saw husband stop to pick up my clogs which were on his side of the bed. His slight, sweet, generous delay caused him to be caught when part of the ceiling fell. Something broke over his head. 

But we both made it out.

I grabbed my brand new Tony Lama cowboy boots and the hard drive part of my computer.

At any rate, homeless and without clothes or other stuff (we did have car with phone) we drove around checking on family and friends. We found one older friend ensconced in an encampment on the very wide green meridian in nearby San Vicente. Having determined our kids were in good hands and safe, we hit the road to Santa Barbara, where my brother lived. We knew that while he had felt the 7.1 quake, his place was fine and everything normal up there. He welcomed a visit.

We were tooling along Pacific Coast Highway at the start of the 90 minute drive when we had to stop because of something blocking the road.

It was a house.

Sitting right on the highway, having slid in its entirety down the bluff and into the street. There was no other way to get there at that time, so we headed back. But to where? 

My son called to say that his girlfriend’s parents were willing to put us up for a couple days. What a relief!

We headed over to Beverly Hills. They greeted us and showed us to a very nice guest room in their very beautiful large house. But the vibe was so so weird. When they spoke to us, it was as if they were talking to an especially aromatic pair of homeless, which I guess we were. But the other homeless. 

We had to get out of there.

Later. Because one of the couple was in AA, he apologized and said he wanted to make amends. But his idea was saying it, not doing it. But hey. We found a hotel and started looking for an apartment.

Later we heard that they had had a bad experience with some guest who overstayed. Whatever.

My son continued the relationship, hence the Thanksgiving invite.

I made a couple pumpkin pies to bring. The girlfriend told me, as we drove together to the aunt’s house where the dinner was, that she was not a pie person. I plan to do a whole monograph on that locution, "not a (fill in the blank) person." What does it mean? Anyone?

Okay.

We get to the dinner, and it was a huge potluck buffet with maybe a hundred dishes. At the dessert table, I placed the pies, cut them, and beside them placed a huge bowl of whipped cream I had made to go with. Same recipe as above. Nearby were other desserts, and three or four open containers of Cool Whip. Ingredients (partial list):  hydrogenated vegetable oil, high fructose corn syrup, various multi-syllabic chemicals, guar gum, and so on. Okay, fine. Some people can’t make real food.

Later, I went back to see what I might have missed, dessert-wise. All of the Cool Whip containers were nearly decimated, and NONE of the whipped cream was gone aside from what I had taken.

I knew then that this was not the family for us. 

Sure enough, the relationship was fraught, and finally ended. 

Had we been smarter, we would have used it as the diagnostic tool it really is.

So, do you know how good real whipped cream is? I nearly ate the whole bowl.