Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Tinfoil and Togas: Part 2

So after the mandatory 24 hours of psychiatric observation, I was set free. I immediately went to the nearest grocery store and purchased $40 in ingredients. Once I got home, I realized I’d simply bought 10 boxes of Lucky Charms, so I went back again (10 boxes would only last about 3 days, after all).

I then bought a whole bunch of other stuff that could conceivably go into a burrito bowl. I got several different kinds of cheese, copious amounts of rice, some spices, ketchup, beans, 9mm ammo, tin foil, a tiny shovel, and several other things I probably shouldn’t have.

Oh, yeah. Chicken. Like, 5 pounds.

I got home, spread my purchases out on the counter and stared at them for a while. I would like to say I was waiting for some artistic inspiration or something like that, but in truth I didn’t really know what to do. I picked up a can of beans and placed it atop the chicken. This seemed like a start, so I quickly built a little food pyramid. It was rather impressive, if I do say so myself, but it still wasn’t turning into anything edible.

It was time to get serious.

First of all, I needed the proper attire. I don’t own an apron, so I grabbed an old sheet and made a toga. I then made and donned a tinfoil hat. This was mostly for the look, but also just in case the chicken tried to use some sort of mind-control powers on me.

NOTE: Yes, I know the chicken was already dead. That just meant it might be a Chicken Lich, hence the precautionary hat.

Now, thusly clad for battle, I got a machete, a hammer, seven feet of rope and set about opening everything and putting it into the largest pan I could find. My oven is apparently ancient, as it had no ‘make edible’ setting, so I picked a random temperature and set it to ‘Bake’ or ‘Clean’ or something. I’m not really sure which.

In went the pan, I set the timer for 87 minutes (give or take) and then wandered off to watch whatever happened to be on the Military Channel.

It was around three hours later that I noticed the smell. After a quick check to make sure the ninjas hadn’t set me on fire again, I followed my nose (it always knows) to the kitchen, where I discovered smoke pouring out of the oven. I had forgotten to actually set the timer, you see.

Which takes us back to the beginning. My magnificent pan of burrito bowl fixin’s was now a thick, black rock that tasted terrible, regardless of the amount of ketchup I put on it.

I like to think I learned a lesson that Sunday. Something meaningful about hope and charity and the boundless joy and beauty found in nature. Or something. In reality, I just learned that while I can’t cook, I look really, really good in a toga.

The tinfoil hat works too.