The Kitchen Aid is whirring. There’s a concoction for cheesecake inside the stainless steel bowl. I am watching this activity with a great deal of interest.

It’s almost impossible to make the claim that I remember the first mixing beater I ever licked. But I am convinced that the first experience had a profound effect on me. It might have been my mama’s pound cake. It could possibly have been her seven layer chocolate cake. Maybe it was her angel food cake.

I can’t really be sure.

What I am sure of is that once my tongue got a taste of that sweet batter, I was hooked. There was no turning back. In fact, if I ever heard the mixer running in the kitchen, I would stop whatever I was doing to go investigate. I wanted a taste. I wanted to be around in case things got interesting. You never know.

“What do you want?” my mama would ask me.

I didn’t want to appear too eager. “Just came to see what you’re doing.”

“I’m making a cake for the church dinner tomorrow.”

Mama always wore an apron in the kitchen. She lifted the hem of the apron and wiped her hands. She walked over to the end of the counter to get something out of the pantry. The mixing bowl was turning at eye-level to my world.

She came back to the counter. “You wanna lick the beaters when I’m done?”

I was hoping she would ask. I almost knew she would. And that’s where it all started. I can’t help that I’m still a kid when it comes to cake batter of any kind. If it’s stuck to a beater, I’m interested in licking it clean.

So, when I came into the kitchen around lunchtime today, and I heard the whir of the mixer, I immediately knew that an opportunity of great interest to me might be about to present itself.

I asked the question like I was ten years old. “Wha ‘cha doing?”

I knew. I went to the store with her to get the ingredients.

Without looking at me, Marion said, “I’m making a cheesecake for tonight.”

I leaned against the counter pretending not to be interested. Making small talk. Scanning through my phone. The sound of bumping and spinning going on in the background.

She turned the mixer off. I heard the familiar sound of the beater being unlocked from the mixer. My mouth was salivating.

As she stepped over to the other counter, she held the beater up in front of my face and asked me, “Is this what you’ve been waiting on?”

I took it in my hands. Mmmm. Uhhh. Whoo. Humdingitydum.

There’s not really an art to licking a cake beater clean. You just go at it from top to bottom, inside and out, around each turn, up and down the shaft in the middle, and back around the outer edges. The goal is simply to get every last morsel of creamy batter, leaving it looking as clean as when it came out of the drawer.

“Good thing you were standing there,” she said. “I would’ve had to wash it.”

“But if I wasn’t here, you would have saved it for me, right?”

“Not really. It would have gone in the sink.”

I was aghast. The very thought of losing out disturbed me deeply.

Rule #1. Never wash a cake beater unless you first ask the man in your life if he wants it. This ought to go without saying. To wash a battered up cake beater without asking goes against the laws of common decency that govern the marital relationship.

I know for a fact that the mixing beaters, lathered in cake batter, can sit in the bowl for hours without going bad. This gives the man time to get home from the store or get finished with his project out in the shop. The lag time between the completion of the cake batter and the time licking begins is not critical.

In my world, all cake beaters should be saved until I have time and opportunity to lick them. Please, I beg you.

Rule #2. No pictures or video should ever be made of a man with his tongue stuck between the crevasses of a Kitchen Aid beater. To do so would not be considerate of the private and awkward nature of the moment.

In fact, all licking should be done in private. It’s not something of which I am proud. It could be embarrassing. And if it is done in front of another person, that person should not make fun of what he looks like. No references to bovine tongues should be made.

Of course, once the beaters are clean, the bowl comes next. The bowl is the highlight of cake batter licking. The person making the cake, if she is compassionate and kind, will never completely clean out the bowl for the sake of the cake. Some residue is to be left behind.

My mama not only gave me the beaters, but she then gave me bowl with the spoon still in it. The spoon is coated in batter. You clean that first. Then you use the spoon to scrape the inside of the bowl. When the tiny lines of batter get too small for the spoon, then the index finger is put into service. The finger, of course, must be licked.

If the bowl is big enough and can hold something the size of a human head, then licking the inside of the bowl is not out of question.

One modern kitchen tool useful for batter clean up is the silicone spatula on a wooden stick. This little device has a narrow edge down the side and a curved corner that perfectly fits the curvature of the mixing bowl. It functions like a silicone tongue. No cake batter can escape. The bowl is clean, and the best part, I don’t end up with cake batter on my nose.

Rule #3. If, in the making of any dessert, there is a can of sweetened condensed milk involved, save the can. No can should ever go directly into the trash. A man owns the rights to the can just like he owns the rights to the beater and the bowl.

However, keep in mind that a can is dangerous. The pull-tab can tops have helped with this issue. But the old can opener, like the one my mama used, leaves a ragged edge which can slice a finger. You can get away with the tongue on the lid, but never (I’m saying this from experience) stick your tongue inside the can. Finger. Spoon. Those are good. But I’m telling you, the silicone spatula has changed my life forever. Every open can of sweetened condensed milk is sent to the trash can clean to the last drop.

I handed Marion the beater when I got done with it.

“Do I need to wash it?” she asked.

“Up to you,” I said.

“You know you look like a cow with your tongue all twisted around that thing.

“So,” I said. “It was worth it.”

Then she handed me the bowl.