There’s a blissful moment that I hope you all get the chance to experience. The bliss, that is, and not what leads up to it. It’s a moment when you’ve just dragged your trash out into the hallway, and your kitchen smells like hot Berry Kix, and your stomach is starting to settle again, when you see that bottle of Qream on your counter and think “I’m done.” That your work, whatever its legacy or reception will be, is finished.
But first, to the beginning.
“Anyway GOOD MORNING!” ended the email I got from Edith at 7 a.m. on a recent Monday, in which she alerted me to the existence of Quorn. Yes, Quorn, an actual product. What, did you think we just added a Q to “corn” to be funny? Who does that?
Quorn describes itself as a “naturally occurring, high quality, healthy form of protein” that “has an ability to replicate the taste and texture of meat exceptionally well.” The Center for Science in the Public Interest said in 2003 that Quorn "sickens 4.5% of eaters.” Given that Qream sickens about 100% of drinkers, I’d say this is a step up. Quorn is allegedly named after a town in Leicestershire, founded approximately 806 BQ (Before Qream), so I can’t get angry at it for trying to act all cute by switching out a normal letter for a Q (I’m looking at you, qookies).
But anyway, this is how it had to end. We’d been having too much luck, really. Save for that one snafu which will forever make me curse the existence of self-rising flour, everything has tasted ... fine. No, I would not recreate any of these recipes for my friends, but I could think of plenty worse things to eat than a Peach Qupcake. So it became time to self-destruct.
Living on Planet Earth means you have to take the good with the bad. Just as Brahma is Creator and Vishnu Preserver, Shiva the Destroyer is necessary, as all things are subject to decay. Thusly, you do not get to have Qream and Quorn existing at the same time without somebody mixing them together. It is what must be. I am here to keep the balance.
I’m sorry I’m even giving you this recipe, but the harmony of the planet is at stake.
A note before we start: finding Qream, at least in New York City, has turned into a bit of a qrisis. Where once at least three liquor stores in my neighborhood carried Qream, I now had to schlep to a liquor store in Harlem to find it, which was one of about only five places listed in the city that carries it. I can only attribute this shortage to its meteoric rise in popularity after the debut of Qooking With Qream. Still, be prepared to put in a bit of work if for some reason you still want this in your house.
1 12oz. bag of Quorn grounds
½ cup heavy cream
½ cup Strawberry Qream
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoon flour
1 tablespoon butter
Add 10 oz of Quorn (Yay leftovers!(?)) to a skillet with heavy cream, butter, and sugar. Stir until butter is melted and everything is combined. In a cup, beat flour into Qream, then pour mixture onto Quorn, and cook until thickened. Remove from heat and let stand to firm up, then take a bite and promptly spit into your sink.
Pharrell, if you’re reading this, I don’t think Qream was meant to be a high-end leisure-class drink. There’s a subtlety, a layering of flavors, that it lacks. And the leisure-class doesn’t sit around drinking cereal milk on ice. But you tried, you put your name on something and went out there and fought for it. That’s more than I’ve ever done.
As I write this, the smell is beginning to fade, and I will end up gifting the remnants of that yonic bottle to some friend or just pour it down the sink. And hopefully something else will come along that I have a mad drive to experiment with and write about, but for now I can rest peacefully knowing that I helped make The Hairpin the #3 result when Googling Qream.
Previously: Kahlua Gingerbread ... Gingerbread
Jaya Saxena writes a lot. She thinks Hot Berry Kix would be a good band name.