Whipped Cream On Food and Cooking, by Harold McGee, page 31

In my kitchen, a stainless steel bowl, half filled,
snaps into place on a graphite mixer. A whisk leisurely pulls
through the heavy cream, sugar, and Tahitian vanilla.

I turn up the speed and rest my forearm on top of the cool metal.
The pitch of the motor heightens. An increased urgency, the cream
accelerates.

Chaos below the surface.					

Agitation
                                                                   short lived air

                        fat globules knocked around, 			stripped

shearing action                                   a  forced imbalance


The cream thickens, climbs up the whisk. Ripples deepen, widen.
The speed now gentle. I watch closely to catch its possibilities.

Rounded dollops glisten boldly for June’s solstice berry puddings,
lazy slumps drift through chocolate soufflés, bittersweet and warm,
and on a veranda in Australia’s Hunter Valley, billowed crests sit
atop shared apricot tarts.


Make more than you think you need.