American Dining Traditions and Thermodynamics
I was concerned about introducing a dozen pounds of water based avian flesh into 4 gallons of 320° boiling oil, feeling downright leery of the violent reaction that was to result. And there was one, replete with boiling, bubbling, splashing and hissing; but as I had taken the precaution of turning off the flame under the damned pot before the moment of truth, the only casualty was a mild slick on the driveway. The rain we had today saw to that litte hiccup... More importantly, I was not going to be lumped into that moronic sub-group of 40-odd homeowners nationally that the American Association of Insurers knew were going to burn down their decks/garages this holiday.
The only downside to the whole endeavor was having to decide where I'm going to dispose of 4 gallons of gently used peanut oil. My Jarhead buddy, Harl Crawdad, suggested pouring it out in the treeline on the edge of the property, just to drive the raccoon population up the wall with hunger. When I countered that having a large group of ravenous raccoons on my property wasn't really conducive to quiet rural living, he suggested something along the lines of how if I were a fur taker, something like I just described could be lucrative, and a good time, besides.
The other unintended consequence happened Friday afternoon... Harl and I have a tradition of going afield to hunt on Black Friday. Neither one of us is especially comfortable in crowds, preferring to be in the woods, with guns, where it's safe from such doings. And once again, we found ourselves standing in the woods, not hunting, but reminiscing, grousing, gossiping, etc, just like anyone else would do in a country club, restaurant, someone's house, or the like. The only difference was that we were outside, dressed for the local conditions, and heavily armed. We'd been hunting for an hour or so, talking for another, and we decided that we could probably do this in more comfortable settings if we would just get out of these damned trees. So we gave it another half hour before we actually set out, and then went our separate ways.
Getting home, there was leftovers to be had, and I resisted for nearly ten minutes before tearing into my fried bird. The resultant turkey coma I slipped into rivalled general anesthesia, and I slept on my bed, still clothed, for three hours. I foresee needing some help in getting to sleep tonight.
Posted 11-26-2010 at 22:29 by Bogey