Reset from yesterday…
I ran into an HBO
comedy called Crashing, which I
turned out to enjoy and watched many consecutive episodes of, in my version of
non-Internet “streaming.” (Unless it’s actual “streaming”, just not on the
Internet.)
Crashing is about
a rookie comedian painfully “learning the ropes”, of both Stand-Up” comedy and
life. (“Learning the ropes.” Does that have a nautical derivation? “I be
learnin’ the ropes, Matey. Arrrr!”)
Anyway…
What I particularly liked about Crashing was its unforced way of delivering its comedy and its
unique manner of talking about it. For
example, when the lead character “Pete” informs a veteran comedian he has
procured a “Day Job” as the “Warm-Up” man for the Rachael Ray Show, the comedian snarkily shoots back,
“You are ‘opening’ for a Panini.”
Are you laughing at that?
I did.
Anyway… again…
Me being me, watching comedy, with my buried dreams and background,
the thought reflexively occurs to me, “Could I do that?” Overlooking the “ancillary
circumstances” of being a comedian – the late nights performing in places where
you are regularly heckled and approaching club-owning gangsters for your money,
both of which… forget it – could I be
the kind of comedian I admire, mining laugh-getting material from everyday
life?
Having watched four episodes back-to-back, I “break” for
dinner, which is on me to prepare, because I am alone.
I go down to the kitchen, my considered “Meal Plan” clearly in
mind:
A turkey burger, brown rice (which I eat, though a
nutritional expert’s informed me, “That’s so ‘80’s.’”), vegetable “To Come”, and a beverage.
I prepare the turkey burger on, like, this foot-square iron
grate I place over the burner on the stove. I am not sure I get the concept of that
contraption. The burger ends up with those
seared streaks on both sides, like it was grilled. But in reality, it wasn’t. You just cooked in
over the stove. Who exactly are we
trying to fool with this “subterfuge”? The meat?
“We’ve been barbecued!”
No you haven’t.
Anyway… a third
time – it’s like my “mantra” – I agreeably “play along.” “Barbecuing” my turkey burger.
Next up? The vegetable.
I pick the easiest one to prepare – raw – as opposed to “cooked”,
so I would not have to do anything –
“Baby carrots.”
Easy-peasy. You just open
the bag, and you pour out the carrots.
I prefer “Baby Carrots”
– a confession I am somewhat embarrassed to reveal – because I am intimidated
by big carrots. I pick one up, and it’s like,
“I’m eating this whole
thing?”
So I restrict myself to the “pygmies.” Trying to mathematically compute,
“How many “Baby Carrots” are the equivalent of an ‘Adult’ carrot?” And I dole them out accordingly…. till I
think, “That looks about right.” It comes down
to, I figure, eleven “Baby Carrots.”
Although I could be “off” a carrot or two. This is not an “Exact Science.”
“And the Nobel Prize
for ‘Precise Carrot Equivalency’ goes to…”
It’s kind of an “eyeballing” operation. With no serious “down side” if you’re wrong. It’s not like you’ll wind up in the Emergency
Room: “I ate too many carrots!” You turn
orange a little, but it passes.
Okay. My turkey
burger is “grilling.” And eleven miniature
carrots sit there, “garnishing” my plate.
It is now time to prepare the beverage.
It’s just water. But
– because I’m “worth it” – I am going the “Extra Mile.” Beyond
“You turn on the tap and it falls into your glass.”
Tonight, it will be “Homemade Carbonated Water.”
We have this machine that does that. It’s not easy. It involves seven individualized “Steps.” Proud to say: I have mastered that arduous technique. And now.
Our water. Has bubbles.
Thank you.
Final item on the menu?
The – maligned in some
circles – brown rice.
More specifically…
Minute “Ready to
Serve!” Whole Grain Brown Rice.
“Microwavable” in 60 seconds.
Sounds easy. And it
is.
Except…
The instructions on the packaging says,
“Pull or cut film to
remove completely from cup.”
Here’s another
confession:
Over the years, I have lost considerable “thumb
strength.” As a result, I am unable to
pull the protruding “tab” on the plastic film, covering the cup. My “Plan B” is to jab the covering plastic
with a knife, then peel it back off the surface of the cup.
That took about twenty minutes. And still, hard as I tried, I had not removed
the plastic covering “completely.”
This seriously troubles me.
What if I insert it into the microwave, and, because there
are vestigial fragments of film on the top of the cup…
It blows up?
You can forget about “Liability Protection.”
“Did you remove the film completely
from the top of the cup?”
----------------------------------
“Answer the question, Mr. Pomerantz.”
“I think we have
our answer, Your Honor.”
Who says cooking isn’t an adventure?
I assemble my repast – the “grilled” turkey burger, the eleven
“Baby Carrots”, the unexploded brown rice, and my bubbly beverage – and I sit
down to dinner.
Still wondering if I have what it takes.
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