The Mix

The oils are weighed and mixed in the pot. 

The lye water has cooled to its optimal temperature. 

The molds are carefully lined. 

It is time.


We have a system.  It goes like this.  Nancy stands by the oil pot with the mixer in her hand.  I take the lye water out of the sink where it has been safely stored.   I wipe the condensation off the pitcher and carry it – careful now – to its destiny.

I hold the pitcher over the oil, tip it slowly, and say, “This is my favorite part.”

There are lots of amazing things about making and using soap you’ve made with your very own hands, and in your very own kitchen.  But, The Mix, now that is cool.  My favorite part indeed.

But, it was just the other day, after who knows how many batches, that I realized, much to my embarrassment, that I say that EVERY TIME. 

“This is my favorite part.”  “This is my favorite part.”  “This is my favorite part.” 

Oh, really?  I guess I KNEW THAT ALREADY!!

How indescribably boring and unnerving for my sweet wife to have to hear this every time.  And stupid of me to keep subjecting her to this monotony while said sweet wife is holding a potentially deadly mixer in her hand. 

But, to be perfectly honest, the moment the oil and water hit is neat, but I’m not even saying my cute little mantra at the right time.  It’s the two or three seconds after the mixer spins to life that are really cool.  I’ve tried to get a photo of it, but it’s just too fast, too amazing, too killer awesome for the camera to accurately capture. 

Oh well, as long as everyone knows it’s my favorite part, I’ll be okay without the photo.

Pomegranate

My oldest memories include pomegranates.  Like apples and bananas and oranges, I have always known what pomegranates are. 

The only problems with pomegranates are: 1. The mess.  You CAN NOT peel one without ruining EVERYTHING you’re wearing.  Even your socks will get some juice on them.  And, 2. You have to peel them to get to the good stuff.  

My Grandma could peel a pomegranate faster than anyone I ever met.  Not that I’ve seen a lot of people peel a pomegranate.  Okay, she’s the only one.  But, compared to me, wow, she was fast. 

She lived most of her life in Las Vegas, in a little, pink, brick house with lots of trees in the backyard.  There was a tall pecan tree, good for climbing.  There was a huge, full apricot tree, also good for climbing.  This tree had big, delicious, bright orange fruit growing next to dozens of shiny, fluttering, aluminum pot pie tins, which were unsuccessfully intended to keep the birds away.  There was also a small, scraggly fig tree, good for nothing.  And last, and best of all, there were about five pomegranate trees. 

In preparing for our first batch of soap, we bought several fruity scents.  And then, for the very first batch, for purely nostalgic reasons, I suggested we make pomegranate. 

We cut this first batch up into several, small, giveaway-sized pieces.  The first of these went to my grandma, who now lives next door to us.  She smelled it and, commenting on its hardness, said, “This should last forever.”

Five months later, we still have a piece or two of that first batch.  It will all be gone soon.  But, yes, I do believe some part of it, somehow, will last forever.

Bubbly Castile

A few days ago, I was talking with our neighbor from across the street.  Winter is just about over and people are coming out of their houses again.  Despite long winters, and a 30 year difference in age, this neighbor and I have become pretty good friends over the years.  And like any good neighbor, he came to ask a favor. 

I told him about our little soap company and said I’d give him some.  He said he only uses one brand of soap, the same brand he’s used since he was a kid, in Texas.  He talked about how bubbly it was and how he couldn’t stand soaps with a lot of perfume and junk in them.  He said it was a castile soap. 

While he tried to remember what it was made out of, the properties of olive oil soap ran through my mind:  Hardness value of 17 (soft).  Conditioning, 82 (high).  bubbly, 0.  Well, maybe he doesn’t love bubbles all that much after all.

“Coconut!” he said, a bit too loudly, as he finally remembered. 

“Coconut?” I repeated.  “Coconut soap has great bubbles, but I thought Castile was made of olive oil.”

“Nope,” he said, “coconut.  I’ll go get you one.”

“No,” I insisted.  But he was already headed down the driveway. 

Back a few minutes later, he produced a paper-wrapped bar.  “This is for you.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking it and reading the ingredients. “ . . . Coconut.”

Later that night, I thought about how much I’ve learned about soap over the past 5 months.  At the same time, I’m also finding I have so much more to learn.  Who would have guessed that the subject of soap had so much to offer?

Oh, just so you know, to the soap purist, traditional Castile soap is definitely olive based. 

I think I’ll go make some.