Pushing Molasses Up a Sandy Hill (339)

Sticky, viscous, caramel sludge. Great as a sweetener in baking, but the tang- the bitter after taste- to me is just gross. It is natural I know, part of nature, but to me- its a substance only welcomed in a bakery treat. It has a consistency, like honey, but a smell like motor oil- at least to me. I know how hard it is to clean up syrup off a pancake plate- or honey off the counter, spilled while spreading it on toast- and its not easy. 

Is a nuisance. Generally needing several passes to erase it. 

But around the holidays, its a staple. A bottle of molasses was purchased, for my household recently, for some gingerbread baking. My ten year old, curious as always, tipped it on its side and watched its contents slowly.... make their way to the spout... then bottleneck at the narrow opening. Then he opened the bottle and let it spill- not in a rush, but with a glop, glop gusto. 

Then, as expected, being ten, he lost interest. 

When I came across this side-winder plastic vessel, it had trickled a lot. The innards, dropping to the floor, in a stunted, fractal fashion. The dismal, odor filled stench (motor oil) smell - conquered the oven applause, of confections rising. It reminded me of a garage.

The visual was like an art house painting, stark and graphic. The molasses draped itself down the front of the cabinets like a tapestry. Making the contrast between clean and dirty apparent. Drips glistening ooze. I walked over to the culprit and stood the bottle back up, fastening the cap with one turn.

But the damage was done. The viscosity of glucose thickening. Instead of getting upset, I asked my child to come to the kitchen. I just pointed. I asked him to describe it, see it, then feel it and taste it. He didn't like the taste of it either. He winced at its attack on his taste buds. Then he squished it between his fingers. "Like runny glue," he said. "Muddy, sticky glue." 

I replied, "So let's clean up this glue, before it hardens." We took paper towels at first, it left white streaks of fibers in its path. Trails of fabric illuminating our error in judgement. This devilish fiend was strong. "It has the force," I said. "He replied, "Yoda would struggle with cleaning this up." - "Indeed, it is like pushing molasses up a sandy hill, the grains are troops hindering our march forward." Then we laughed. 

Determined to defeat the sugary substance of ooze- we got wash cloths and soapy suds to do our bidding and we were victorious, we high fived. Then the timer beeped, and our gingerbread cookies signaled their arrival. Then molasses became a flavor, rather than an ingredient. The smell changed, the taste enhanced with others, became a whole different thing.

It became tasty and sweet.

It is amazing the power of transformation. 

The power of mixing and baking. 

The power of a moment of clean-up, of mistakes in judgment and of above all else, the power of conversation.