My Own Week of Mardi Gras Madness

Since the last week and a half I have been unable to exit my street from sunup to midnight because outside, insane people flock to see equally insane groups of individuals riding on these garish portables called floats by most of the cognoscenti, and hurling outlandishly colored beads made in third world countries at those lining the streets. Over these past days, the same usually sane people lining the parade route would murder or seriously maim anyone who attempted to snatch a coveted necklace from their clutches, and think nothing of it. So I am captive on an deserted island with little to do but wait for Wednesday when this foolishness is over.

 As most of you already know I've been elevated to a status where I am only called "Chef" or "Chef Pierre" by those both near to me and those whose names I hardly remember. I've already catalogued my first cooking experience to you and am now giving you the second of my sojourns at the kiln. For those of you who haven't seen my stovetop, I will briefly explain it. It is littered with everything that will not fit anywhere else in the kitchen. To use the word 'kitchen' in my apartment is like equating a Model A Ford to a Maserati. Should I gain five or ten pounds, I will be unable to turn around without either stepping on something or knocking something over. However, one must soldier on and that's precisely what I intended to do. So, as an alternative to Mardi Gras, it's the kitchen for me as I cook another sumptuous meal. This time it was reheating some red beans and rice. Not a very formidable task one might say, but as you will see, it does take a certain amount of cunning to achieve this in my miniature cooking area. The first step in any reheating process is gather your ingredients together in one pot, push all of the accumulated flotsam on the stovetop to the rear of the stove, and turn the knob on this electric marvel to the high position. After placing the beans on the front burner, I suddenly realized that nature's call was overwhelming me and I abandoned my cooking duties to repair to my even smaller bathroom for a welcomed relief. While in the bathroom, this aggressive odor began wafting past my nose which caused me some concern since the beans and rice smelled alright when I removed them from the refrigerator; even though they were a little old. I hastily washed my hands and returned to the kitchen to see that I had inadvertently turned on the rear burner instead of the front one and all of my vitamins were now cooked to a coagulated mush. Even my Zocar (cholesterol medication) were all welded together in a separate vial. If in the next week you do not hear from me, it's because my cholesterol has shot up like a thermometer in scalding water and I am lying on my sofa with the television riveted to the king and queen of Comus bowing and scraping to the king and queen of Rex while the orchestra blasts "If Ever I Cease to Love."