Hello, Satellite readers! I’m sure you’re excited about my triumphant return to the blogosphere. Well, don’t get too attached, I still feel a weekly blog spot is too much commitment, but as the Mark of Quality has resumed school, I’m filling in on his posting duties this week. (Don’t be mad about no photos. Pretend this is the old days, in which people had to read words instead of pictures.)
Though I’m a truant contributor, I read the Satellite Show regularly, particularly my husband’s posts, and feel I’m getting an undeserved bad reputation. So, I thought I’d take this opportunity to clear up some misunderstandings, right some wrongs, de-smirch my besmirched good name.
I’m not talking about my love of teen-oriented vampire fiction. That’s smirching that I’ve earned. I’m talking about the references to my distaste for kombucha, my lackluster support of the herb garden (What? I forget to water!), and the garishly over-exaggerated depiction of my conduct in the Airborne Spicy Event (posted June 16). How did I, darling of the Satellite airwaves, end up cast in the role of “shrewish wife”? Gasp, how embarrassing. So, dear readers, for today’s post I’m retelling my own version of that fateful night, as I remember it. Read on for:
Airborne Spicy Event Redux: Battle Royale
Last summer Mark’s garden exploded. We had chiles in every shape, size, and alert level- yellow, orange, and fire-engine red. We also had tomatoes, a few pea pods, and a scraggly crop of corn. But the peppers, ahh, the peppers. I love me some spice in my food, and was definitely proud of Mark for so obviously having an Orange Alert thumb. Since we could only eat so many servings of spicy eggs and sandwiches, most of our chili-powered meals were at dinnertime. Even cutting back on frequency, it quickly became overwhelming to sweat through each evening- including the temperate ones. So Mark, never one to be scared off by a challenge, started making separate batches of sauteed peppers to add to his meals. One night he was preparing a favorite- fajitas. I was in the living room, doing… well, I don’t remember. Something other than cooking I guess, since I was in the living room. All of a sudden I heard a vicious hissing and then Mark yelling, “Arrghghghghhghghgh!” I dropped what I was doing and ran into the kitchen, finding Mark curled into a ball on the floor in front of the sink. “What’s the matter??” I yelled, looking for shooting flames or some other obvious source of the pain he appeared to be in. Then the wave of spice hit me.
It was a sort of toxic cloud, a wafting vapor that stung my eyes and burned my flesh, with a tangy aroma and a somehow-added thickness in the air. I now understood Mark’s earlier cry. “Arrghghghghhghghgh!” I screamed, as I covered my eyes with my forearm. “What did you do??”
Mark said something about the chili pan and water mixing with oil. I don’t know anything about kitchen chemistry experiments, but I know the first rule of Hazardous Material cleanup: containment. I couldn’t let this cloud waft into our other rooms, they would be unlivable. I yelled, “Open the windows and the back door! Turn on the exhaust fan!” Then, in one of my not-so-proudest moments, I slammed the door between the kitchen and hallway and called to Mark through the door, “I’m sorry! I can’t take it, and we can’t let this spread to the rest of the house!”
I could hear Mark banging around in the kitchen, and in a couple of minutes, he felt the cloud was dissipating. He sheepishly let me back into the kitchen, and we ate dinner as-is, because neither one of us was going near the stove again.
With summer coming again, we have a new and larger crop of peppers. I bought equipment for canning, and am looking into pickling peppers. That way, we can save the spice for use all year round, to ensure we have more exciting kitchen moments.
Our other new culinary foray has been, as you must know, into home brewing of kombucha, a vinegary-smelling tea that looks like a jar of weak coffee that someone has spit huge loogies into. I find it horrifying, btu am really trying to be supportive, despite the facts that this tea grows, farts, and can cause explosions if contained and allowed to get too warm. It’s brewing in a large glass jar. The jar is stored in a metal-roofed garden shed in the backyard. In 80-90 degree weather.
Stay tuned for my next installment, “Hippie Lesson #3: Vinegary Apocalypse.”