Whipped cream

Once upon a time, there was a sultan who declared war to all ambitious people, those who wanted to grow, the social climbers. There were many indeed, and many were brought to him, and beaten with a whip. Once, a minister brought him a milk bucket.
What’s this?
It’s milk your Highness, milk, or better yet buttermilk.
Well, what does that mean?
It means that this milk, that has always produced butter, cheese and ricotta, became overambitious and now wants to become cream and honey.
Ah, really? Beat it with the whip.
The minister poured the milk in a basin, then took a whip, and, as everybody knows, that particular kitchen utensil, made up by many arched and intersected brass strands, began to whip it.
Whip after whip, instead of going down the milk began to blow up, until it became a big ball of mousse.
Ah, it doesn’t kneel? – the sultan shouted.
Continue whipping it!
Whip after whip, the ball of mousse kept growing and growing becoming a sort of dome.
Continue whipping it!
Whip after whip, the dome became a mountain.
Continue whipping it!
Whip after whip, an avalanche detached from the great mass, crushing the sultan and his ministers.
After that, kids from all over came to dip their waffles in the sweet, white mountain.