It was a dark and stormy night (no, really), dinner time and I had virtually no food in the house being as I live alone and hate shopping. It was so miserable out – cold rain with wind gusts of 50 mph – and I was already in my flannel jammies that I nixed the idea of calling Pizza Delivery Guy. Perusing my barren kitchen, I spied some potatoes and decided that french fries were just the ticket. I have a small deep fryer which I keep on the kitchen counter (I have a fair amount of counter space and not so much cabinet space that would accommodate a deep fryer) and rarely use, having developed an unhealthy dependence on Pizza Delivery Guy. I usually change the oil every couple of months or so and had just done so last time I used it – about three weeks ago - so I knew the oil was fairly fresh. After peeling, slicing and setting the potatoes to soak, I cranked on the deep fryer, little knowing what horror awaited me…
Things to keep in mind:
I am not the neatest of housekeepers but by no stretch of the imagination am I slovenly.
I leave the lid off the deep fryer after use while it cools down.
Sometimes, perhaps I am not so diligent about replacing the lid in a timely fashion – last time I used it (three weeks ago, remember – this is key), I think I left the lid off for about a week before replacing it (without looking inside – again, key).
I live in a 260 year old house on just over three acres, mostly field and wooded.
Now that the scene is set, while the deep fryer is heating, the heroine of our tale (me!) blithely goes upstairs to perform some domestic chores, laundry to be specific. The laundry room is located directly above the kitchen. After a couple of minutes, I hear the deep fryer LOUDLY popping, which I think is odd because it only pops when something is in it and I haven’t put the fries in yet. But I merrily go on my oblivious way and finish sorting clothes until I begin to smell the foulest, most disgusting, gut wrenching stench I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter. I dash downstairs to see smoke emanating from the deep fryer – the lid still firmly in place - and clearly the source of the foeter, which was redolent of moldering corpses left to fester in the tropical sun (don’t ask how I know what that smells like). So naturally, I remove the lid, releasing the foul mephitis (why, yes, I do have a thesaurus, why do you ask?) directly into my face and allowing it to permeate the very essence of my abode. The smell was so overwhelming that I promptly horked up everything in my stomach, thankfully missing the deep fryer and hitting the floor instead. (Which the resident hounds thoughtfully helped me clean up…)
So decomposed fried mouse, anyone?? It’s quite the delicacy, I hear. Apparently, it had climbed into the deep fryer whilst the lid was off for that week or so and drowned. And then sat there decomposing for two weeks in the oil after I put the lid back on. Urg. After unplugging the Deep Fryer of Death™, I had to get it out of the house. Just being a small Deep Fryer of Death™, I decided I would just dump it out in the compost heap, the environment be damned. Now remember that it’s pouring rain with gusting winds. I was so anxious to get the evil thing out of my house that I didn’t think about what happens when water hits heated oil. Upon removing the lid, I was enveloped by a billowing cloud funkitude, in addition to splatters of liquid funkitude on my flannel jammies, causing me to hork yet again. A miasma of death hung over the house and grounds for several hours and two showers failed to remove the stench from my hair and inside my nose.
For the record, I’m never turning on any cooking appliance without checking inside first. In fact, I may never cook, eat or smell again.
So how was your day?