Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [57]
“Another wacky egg property?” she asked.
“Emulsification,” Adam clarified. “Egg yolk allows us to mix oil with usually unmixy things, like water or vinegar or lemon juice. Mayo lets you see the whole process from start to finish, drop by drop.” He surveyed her face carefully. “You’re one of those people who thinks they don’t like mayonnaise, aren’t you.”
There was nothing questioning in his tone, but Miranda nodded. “It’s grossed me out since I was little.”
Satisfaction gleamed in Adam’s dark brown eyes. “Just wait,” was all he’d say.
With a mental shrug—how different could the homemade version be? Not different enough, she’d bet—Miranda went about the preparations Adam laid out.
She separated the yolks and the whites, pouring the more solid yellow yolk back and forth between the two halves of eggshell, letting the white drain off into a lidded container.
Once she’d done three eggs that way, Adam tamped down the lid on the plastic bowl full of whites and stowed it in the fridge.
“Those are always useful for something down the line. Maybe we’ll make French meringues later, if we have time. Now take your bowl of yolks and add some mustard, lemon juice, white pepper, and salt.”
“How much of each?” Miranda wanted to know. “Is there a recipe I could look at?”
“Shit.” Adam laughed. “Only about a million. But it’s really just about what you like. Here, I’ll help.”
With a quick hand, Adam parceled out the ingredients—more mustard than Miranda would’ve thought. More lemon juice, too. Not that she’d ever thought too much about the components that made up her least favorite condiment, but she wouldn’t have expected so much acid.
“I like it tart,” Adam explained when she mentioned it. “When you make it on your own, you can cut down the lemon juice, or substitute white vinegar if you prefer that flavor. You’re in control. What you aren’t in control of,” he continued, “is the amount of oil. Yeah, you add it, and you control how quickly, but the yolks can only absorb so much, and it varies from egg to egg. So you have to watch out for the cues. You’ll see. Start whisking.”
The light metallic clink of the whisk against the bottom of the heavy ceramic bowl was the only sound in the kitchen for several minutes. Adam started excavating through the pantry for something. Miranda sneaked surreptitious glances at his back.
The view was especially nice when he bent to sift through some items on the floor. Denim stretched taut across the firm globes of his rear in a really pleasing way.
Miranda began to feel warm. Probably from the proximity to the stovetop, or the physical exertion of whisking.
She checked the bowl. Everything was blending together in a highly unappetizing goopy orange-brown mess.
“The bulk of mayonnaise is oil, which is why it’s so delicious and fattening. You can use pretty much any kind of oil you want, but I personally think olive oil makes for a very strong flavor. I like it better in small doses, for seasoning. Use something with a neutral taste, like canola or grapeseed oil, for the rest.”
He tilted the bottle of grapeseed oil carefully, drizzling the stuff in a drop at a time. The oil was immediately absorbed into the egg yolk mixture, thickening and lightening everything by tiny increments. It was startling to see, and Miranda didn’t realize she’d slowed in her whisking until Adam chuckled indulgently and said, “Christ, woman, didn’t anyone ever teach you how to stir? I knew we were going back to basics here, but, geez.”
With no further warning, he stepped up close behind her, surrounding her with his body, and reached his right hand around to grasp hers over the handle of the whisk.
Instead of demonstrating the correct technique, however, they both stilled.
Miranda was intensely aware of the new level of intimacy between them that came from sharing their histories—not to mention the solid strength of him at her back, pressing so close that the hard line of the counter bit into her side. His hand on hers was hard and warm. It was difficult to believe that those blunt fingers were