When she was young, my sister called the electric mixer the "lucky beaty." She was a darling, dimpled little girl, half Native Alaskan with that gorgeous copper skin, long brown hair, and absolutely enormous puffy cheeks.
We helped our mom make gingerbread for Christmas every year. (Eventually, we tried to make such a huge batch that the lucky beaty blew a fuse and stopped beating.) But before that, when she was done beating it, our mom would hand each of us one of the detached beaters to lick. It was my favorite kitchen moment.
I've added other favorite kitchen moments in the left column, under "Licking the Lucky Beaty." Re-load the page to generate a new one.