I always thought that when Farmer H got his own TV show, it would be something called One Man's Junk. But those American Pickers kind of beat him to it. Not that Farmer H goes around actively seeking junk, or knows the value of his treasures. Odd items just seem to find him. He's like a magnetic PigPen, sucking in paperwad-shooting guns, Ben Franklin-style spectacles, and roadside linch-pins. Farmer H is a black hole of scrap metal proportions.
Last night, I began to sense a different kind of nationally-televised fame for Farmer H. Icepocalypse '11 gave him a day off from work. That NEVER happens. So he can thank the Gummi Mary that the St. Louis network meteorologists are so incompetent. Those two inches of sleet did little to slow him down. He dug out his Scout, and slid on down to his MiniMansion by the creek before 8:00 a.m. The fact that he had to stick his head out the side of the Scout to drive back up the hill for lunch did not dampen his enthusiasm. He broke out the ice scraper from the $1000 Caravan and was good to go for a ride to the BARn. He and The Pony got started on Pony's science fair project.
By evening, Farmer H was rarin' to whip up a rib-stickin', cattle-drivin', gold-minin' repast for the Mansion inhabitants. His plan was to fry up some bacon, home-grown eggs, potatoes, and onions. I suppose it's the thought that counts.
Farmer H thought that the time to start cooking was 4:15 p.m. I don't even think the Florida buffets for senior citizens open that early. The #1 son and I were smack dab in the middle of Easy A, my Christmas gift that we hadn't watched yet. Farmer H commenced to cookin'.
The meal smelled good enough. The Pony trotted into the kitchen to consume it. #1 said he wanted his eggs fried, and that he would be up as soon as the movie was over. I did not want eggs, so I waited a bit longer. I had every intention of eating some fried potatoes and onions. Until I saw them, and inquired as to their preparation.
You see, Farmer H has a problem. It seems to stem from a fear that something will stick to the nonstick skillet. When he fries eggs, he pours in about a cup of vegetable oil. Heck, when he fries bacon, he pours in a cup of vegetable oil. I picked up a slice of potato and tasted it. It was mushy. I could have squeezed a quart of oil out of it. I asked Farmer H if he used oil to cook the potatoes and onions. "No. I cooked them in bacon grease."
No, thank you. No potatoes and onions for me. If I want bacon grease, I will just pour it into a cup and sip it over the course of the evening.
Is there going to be another season of The Worst Cooks in America?
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6 comments:
Eww. Bacon grease stinks. I hate it.
Introduce him to PAM.
I'm almost afraid to ask, especially since the science project is being built in the BARn with Hillbilly H "guidance", but what is it? Do we need to lay in some apocalypse supplies?
Mommy Ann,
Well, judging from your abhorrence of all things bacon grease, I jump to one of the following conclusions:
1. You mother "saved" bacon grease in a ceramic pig on the kitchen counter.
2. She didn't.
The Hillbilly family kitchen is stocked with PAM. As well as the Save A Lot equivalent. I believe one is the canola oil variety.
Master Chef H would spray that stuff until he emptied the can, and had a puddle several inches deep in the nonstick pan. What do you expect from a man who builds a tower of soup?
knancy,
The Pony, and the world, is safe. His project involves soaking nails in various clear beverages to see if they corrode or decompose. We specifically asked NonUnion Carpenter H not to use galvanized nails. Which would kind of defeat the purpose.
It's a variation of that urban myth that Coke will dissolve a nail in three days. N-U Carp H is helping The Pony build a wooden stand to support his six cups. Three stands, actually, for three simultaneous trials. That way, he can find averages, which is looked upon favorably by the judges.
The results will include a log of visual observations, before and after masses of all nails, and a video of the process to play on his phone at the judging table.
The Pony ain't a science teacher's son for nothing!
Sounds great (and I am greatly relieved)as now I don't have to bite my nails!
mmmmmmmmm bacon grease, the "seasoning" of the south! Paula Deen and her butter ain't got nuthin' on my mother and her love of bacon grease. Wonder why I was a chunky girl?
knancy,
So happy to be of help with your personal grooming issues. ;)
*********************
Kathy,
See? I KNEW somebody else's mom saved that bacon grease.
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