There are few things I take for granted in this world. The sun rising, the seasons changing, and the fact that everyone likes licking beaters. Right? Right.
Or...not. Suffice it to say that my mind was officially blown when a recent soliloquy on the delights of whipped cream/frosting/batter-coated beaters was met with vacant stares from not one but two people. Two people—namely my boyfriend and my roommate—I thought I knew. Two horribly deprived individuals who had never, ever, not once in their lives, licked an egg beater. And, despite my exceedingly generous offer to induct them into the hallowed halls of a blissful childhood, they weren't even interested.
Now, to contextualize, my earliest kitchen memories all revolve around this singular act. Perched on the counter, my chubby, tiny-shoed feet swinging back and forth, I would triumphantly clutch a beater in each sweaty hand and contemplate my plan of attack. Proper strategy was of paramount importance—would I daringly harvest each spoke before going for the prized dollop, dangling precariously at the heart of the cage? Or should I play it safe and eliminate any risk of losing the mother-lode to a tragic plunge-and-splat by sacrificing the delicate outer coating to my plump, sticky cheeks? Questions, my friends, with which I continue to struggle to this very day.
Which, I suppose, means that I actually have two questions for you today: Do you lick your beaters and, if so, how? Discuss!
P.S. Let's not turn this into a debate about raw eggs. I turned out mostly just fine.
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