A Very Disturbing Post

   

Being someone who has always loved to bake, has naturally led me to creating some wonderful confections which my husband Skip has enjoyed on his frequent trips through the kitchen.  For example, a malformed cookie's life expectation is 3 minutes on the cooling rack.  A muffin is approximately 5 minutes unless it has cinnamon in it, then it is most likely less than a minute.  I cannot frost, ice or garnish without finding something amiss.  

"Where's that cookie I set aside?" I ask Skip as he wanders back into the kitchen for another perusal of the baked assortment.

"Which one?  You mean the one with the oblong edge?"

"Yes."

"Oh.  I ate it," he answers without any hesitation.

"I was saving that one as a sample once I tried the royal icing flooding technique," I complain.  "Now I'll have to practice on one of the good ones." This makes no impression on Skip who is still smacking his lips and brushing cookie crumbs from his shirt.

I am about to make caramel corn and ask him where he is going to be since I know that I would prefer that he remain in his office while I am working.  The thing about Caramel Corn is that once the caramel is cooked it must be spread on the naked popcorn very quickly before it cools too much.  I can't navigate the pot, the spatula, and sauce around his sampling fingers too successfully.  Skip's flash and grab approach works with some things but not others.  In the instance where the hot caramel is still bubbling as I pour it, he's liable to get burned.  I shoot him a warning glance that says, "If you value your life, you will leave the kitchen NOW!"

Hurt, but not frightened, Skip extricates himself from further dire warnings telling me that he is going outside to mow.  Now's my chance.  I rush to start the process hoping to be finished before he returns.  Before I can remove the pots and pans, he has returned to deliver one small jab back at me.  This no doubt comes from the banishment pronouncement that I laid on him minutes earlier.

"As long as you're baking and such, you should make more dog bones for Kira."

I look up from what I am doing and remind him that I have the leftover dough from the last batch I made.  It is still in the freezer.

"She doesn't like those," He reminds me.

"Yeah.  I know.  That's why I haven't made any more for her," I reply.

"You need to make the ones with more peanut butter, he tells me.

"Those are the ones with more peanut butter!" I answer defensively.  "They're the same ones she has always enjoyed."

Skip shakes his head.  "No.  I couldn't taste the peanut butter in this last batch."

This news is disturbing on so many levels.
1)  Skip is perhaps losing his sense of taste.
2)  Skip is giving baking advice
3) Skip is giving advice on how to bake dog biscuits
and finally...the most disturbing of all...
4) Skip is eating dog biscuits!

Let me paint you a picture of what has happened over the years.  I decided to bake gourmet dog biscuits because our Siberian Husky is finicky and frankly, in her mind, she deserves homemade dog biscuits.  So I found a good recipe to which I added an extra dollop of peanut butter, some vanilla extract, and even a teaspoon of hazelnut extract. I cut the dough into small rectangles so that the  treats could be used as small rewards. The aroma was intoxicating as they baked to crispy perfection.  Kira awaited the cooling process for her moment to sample, and when that moment finally arrived, she pushed her way to the front of the line past Skip whose chin was elevated and whose nose was twitching right along with our dog's.  Kira ate her small sample with gusto begging for more.  Skip quickly volunteered to throw her another piece.  His hands grabbed a small fistful somewhat like one might grab cocktail peanuts.  He shook his closed palm and tossed one to Kira and then tossed one in his mouth crunching loudly.  "Mmm.  He proclaimed.  These are really good."

"Stop that!" I yelled. "Those are for Kira."  I might as well have shouted in the wind.

Skip continued this practice throughout the entire supply of treats.  I would hear him rummaging in the plastic container for treats for Kira two, three, four times a day.  Then I would hear both of them crunching.

"One for you and two for me!"  He would tell her.

Kira glowered at her master and retreated to the family room.  Then one day, she seemed to lose interest in the treats altogether.  I wonder if it had something to do with not wanting to share.  Perhaps if I added ground liver and fish oil, Skip might stay away from them and she will go back to enjoying doggie treats again.  Anyway, for now, I am trying to decide if I should bake some of the doggie treats for Skip after I finish the caramel corn recipe.  No doubt he will be back in the kitchen in a half an hour so I better get a move on!  The man will be hungry as a DOG, and I will need to toss him a snack or two or three.

Isolation: The Upside

This sheltering in place during the Corona Virus is showing me that we humans are a resilient bunch.  Oh yes, we grump about not being able to take it anymore and yet we remain steadfast in our determination to avoid infection.  We are bored and wonder how we are going to last another day. But human ingenuity wins out after a while. I guess that's the upside of all of this.

Yesterday was the Kentucky Derby...well, it was supposed to be the Derby but that didn't happen.  Instead, some genius created a program, designed an algorithm, and televised a horse race that was noteworthy on many levels.  For one thing, it was virtual. For another, it took 13 Triple Crown Winners in history and pitted them against each other in a horse race that was both fascinating and exciting.  It was ingenious how they could do that.  I wanted to ask questions and wished that they had a chatbox on our TV like they do on our Zoom calls.  How could they do this to the viewing audience?!  I wanted to know, 'What if Seattle Slew had veered left?  Would Secretariat have still won the race?'  I also wanted to know, 'What if it had been raining?  Would that have changed the results?'   'How did they choose which horse race to use from each of the horses?'  I had so many questions and no one to ask.

Skip got up from his spot in front of the TV and fixed me another bourbon cocktail.  We had to rough it because there was no mint for a Mint Julep so we were drinking sweetened bourbon with orange and cherry.  Mmm.  Not bad.  (See what I mean about ingenuity?)  On our second round of cocktails, he announced that there was a turtle race being run and sponsored by Old Forester.  "Sure!  I'll drink to that!" I told him.  The race was rather amusing but not so much as Skip's commentary.  He was hungry for sports.  He had gone too long without live sporting events and now, faced with a turtle race his attention turned to each of the entries.  He commented and analyzed, sipped his drink while studying the attributes of each turtle and noted their names by repeating them to me as he often does when we watch other sporting events to help involve me.   I sighed and nibbled my cocktail peanuts feigning interest. The trumpet sounded heralding the beginning of the race.  (It was the actual Derby bugler) and then the announcer (the real Derby announcer) introduced each of the turtles. The field of seven was populated by the likes of Seattle Slow, Green Mamba, Galapa-Go, What the Turtleneck, Rocket to Nowhere, Steve, and American Tortuga.  All were ready at their post.

3-2-1, out of the gate, and they were off.
No.
They weren't.
These shelled reptiles chose to build the tension a bit longer.  Their 2 minutes of fame stretched into 3 minutes without anyone making a move. Then, suddenly one of the turtles, I think that it was Galapa-Go decided that it was his chance to score viewer fans by moving out of the circle.  With slow-motion, he turned away from the others and began his slow journey to the finish line.  But wait, the excitement was only just beginning.  Some of the others chose to turn and race as well.  "And they're off!" yelled the announcer.  I can't say that we watched with rapt attention but it held our interest enough as the potential winner, Galapa-Go decided the last minute to turn away from the finish line thus leaving it open for another, What the Turtleneck to challenge him at the last minute.  I turned to get more ice for my drink and perhaps missed some of the finer nuances of the race, but ultimately witnessed the historic nail-biting finish as one determined turtle stuck his neck out and crossed the finish line. Since 1945, the last time this race was run, the new winner, What the Turtleneck had achieved a first place victory to the cheers of the announcer, of Skip, and no doubt thousands...nay millions of hungry racing enthusiasts to earn his place in history.

And so the sun set on another day of the Covid-19 isolation.  But on this day, I learned that some things...some traditions will not be stifled by a virus.  Mankind finds a way to rise above the challenges with which he is faced.  He not only perseveres but through creativity, he excels.
Fun-Factor Score:   Man - 1,  Covid - 0 .