I was planning on making creme brulee for Mike and I to enjoy as a Happy New Year treat - I know, we're crazy!! Anyway, I am a little tired because I didn't get to sleep til 2:00 am because I was a little too keyed up after painting and also because two little boys kept wandering into my room for one reason or another. I informed Mike that I was not really in the mood to make creme brulee. Not that it is hard - I'm not up for cooking tonight. Mike graciously took up the job (because he REALLY wants creme brulee). I told him to scrupulously follow the directions, to which he responded that he always does - it's generally true.
HOWEVER, cream and buttermilk look a lot alike. It is easy to miss that big sign on the carton that says "Buttermilk". Mike suffers from an ailment called domestic blindness in which certain household items or chores become invisible. While I am dinking around on the computer Mike plops down to watch some TV while the "cream" steeps. He casually asks me if cream is supposed to taste sour. "Um, no. Only if the cream is bad and I am pretty sure it is not past it's expiration date yet. I'll go check it." In the kitchen I am confused by what I see - a saucepan filled with curdled, watery, sour, fluid with vanilla beans in it. It smells terrible. But the evidence is there - a carton of buttermilk. Problem solved. Of course I laughed - not at him, but well, ok, I laughed at him. Then I kissed him and said thanks for making Creme Brulee and here is the whipping cream. Back to the drawing board, my love.