People, my marriage is on the rocks.
Having celebrated The Boy’s birthday this past week*, there was a cake involved** and a ganache topping which, if you know me at all, meant lots of leftover ganache.
* The birthday was not, according to Patton Oswalt’s system, one worth celebrating, hence my being light on the details.
** I know, that cake again; what can I say? He’d tasted the version I’d made for coworkers and commended it so highly I figured I’d found The One: the cake he’d actually enjoy. In previous years, given his love for peanut buttery desserts, I’d made him a chocolate peanut butter cake, but to no avail. It received a barely lukewarm reception. Well, I was having none of that this year, let me tell you. If I’m baking someone a cake, they had better enjoy it. Or else.
So. What is a wonderful side-effect of having ganache sitting darkly, deliciously, in a bowl in your refrigerator? Why easy-peasy, sumptuous hot chocolate, of course! Just grab a splot of ganache, splash on some milk, throw it in the microwave.
Interjection: Did all you foodie types just cringe, because I made no mention of gentle simmering or double-boiling or whatever? Well, I’m not sorry. I’m all for cooking things “properly”, but Sunday brunch is no time to be faffing around with unnecessary pots. Especially when the stovetop is occupied by a Boy frying rösti.
Right, microwave. So I’d just gotten my mug of glorious, ganachey chocolate and tasted it for sweetness (it was perfect) when I offered it to The Boy to sample with the explanation “zOMG, SO GOOD, HOT CHOCOLATE, TRY. MUST.”
He took a sip, handed the mug back to me and shrugged.
In response to my disbelieving stare, he stated “Uh, you know. It kind of tastes like milk gone wrong.”
Milk gone wrong?!
Folks, I don’t know what to do here. I mean not liking mushrooms? Okay, fine, more for me. Not obsessing fanatically appreciating dark chocolate the way I do? I get it, he’s a guy. Some things are just better trusted to the female palate. I have to draw the line somewhere though and describing the best 45-second hot chocolate In The World (that’s right, and I stand by my statement) as “milk gone wrong” has to be well over that line.
I’m at my wit’s end, really.