Montana Jones

Montana n: A state of the northwest United States bordering on Canada. Admitted as the 41st state in 1889. The fourth largest state in the union, it includes vast prairies and numerous majestic mountain ranges.
Syn: Treasure State, Big Sky Country, Last Best Place.

Jones n: slang. An addiction or very deep craving.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

A late supper

I thought the burning smell was coming from outside my window. I really did. With all the slash piles getting burned this time of year it is not unusual to get a whiff of smoke drifting in the air. It wasn't until a few minutes later that I discovered the smell was actually coming from my stove.

I had put a pot of water on to boil and in following that rule about watched pots never boiling I wandered off to surf a little internet. I guess I lost track of time, when I got back to the stove there was no water. Boiled away to a sizzling blob of charred and molten gunk skating around on a hot metal dance floor. Fuck. I switched off the burner and lifted the pot over to my cutting board. I immediately thought better of that and transferred it to an unused burner. Too late, I had managed to scorch a circle into the wood of the cutting board. Fuck. What started as a late dinner was turning into an exercise in damage control.

I gave myself another five minutes to let everything cool down. Even then splashing water into the pot caused it to instantly steam and sizzle. I cautiously added water until it cooled enough for me to scrub out the charred black remains on the bottom. I re-measured my two cups of water and set it back to boil. Then I noticed floaties in the water so I pulled it and scrubbed again. I re-measured two cups of water and still saw crap floating in there. I got out the brillo scrubbers and extra soap and polished the stupid pot to a high shine. This time I didn't bother to look for anything floating.

I tended to my cooking a little closer this time. When the water boiled I added the noodles and set a timer. I stirred occasionally. When the timer beeped I removed it from heat. I cut open a package of albacore steak and in trying to dump it to the plate I got a puddle of fish juice instead. Rinse, repeat. Dinner was starting to piss me off. The albacore made it to my plate and into the microwave. Sixty seconds later I was looking at the horrendous mess of an exploded tuna bomb coating the insides of my little oven. Dinner was starting to piss me off.

A cool thing about being a bachelor is that you get to ignore small spills and messes at your own discretion. Fish stinking up the microwave is not a good choice for overlooking. I wet a sponge and went to work on the inside of the oven. Strange, the fish on the plate did not look any smaller than when I put it in, but close to a fourth of its mass was getting wiped off the microwave walls.

Dinner was a package of pasta alfredo and a package of albacore steak. It was supposed to be a quick and simple meal for a late dinner. It turned out to be extra late with extra cleanup work and burned kitchen tools as souvenir. It tasted all right though. I forced myself to eat every last noodle. There was no way I was going to deal with leftovers from this particular meal.

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