And the milk splits again.
No, I shall not blame the milk.
Despite the multiple misses, S and I have not yet got accustomed to the daily lockdown ritual of going downstairs and collecting the milk. The last time this happened, we had, very thoughtfully, set up an alarm to nudge us to the daily chore. And the alarm did go off obediently this morning, but so engrossed were we in our coffee conversation that we muted the alarm, thinking it must have been set up in careless error.
So the poor packet of milk had patiently sat, getting scalded under the merciless high thirties May sun, waiting in anticipation to be picked up.
And by the time, realisation dawned upon us that we had forgotten to fetch the milk yet again, it was too late to mend – the milk curdled within minutes of putting it on the stove.
And therein started the dilemma.
What do I do yet again with curdled milk ?
Not Chhanar Dalna again, pleads S even before I propose it. We had it twice last week.
Options are played and rejected in rapid succession.
And don’t ask me how and why, I suddenly remembered the gorgeous honey ricotta cheesecake we had relished in Italy.
What about a honey ricotta cheesecake ? I ask S.
Are you sure ? S looks at me with a smile that is laced with subtle cynicism.
I think so. I answer, still diffident if the whole experiment was going to be fruitful.
Wow, that would be splendid.
And that’s the tale behind the genesis of my honey ricotta cheesecake.
Born out of adversity. To deal with curdled milk.
And now a runaway family favourite.
My Honey Ricotta Cheesecake. A symphony of chhana and honey. On a bed of crushed biscuits. Baked to a gorgeous golden.
A must-try when the milk curdles next time and you are in a quandary about what to do.