Those of you who have followed these musings will know that from time to time I perform small but intense acts of behavioral malfeasance. Over the years these sad events have created tiny yet visible marks upon the social contract; a contract, I am quick to say, that I never formally agreed to. I refer to these episodes as Doing A Fenton.
I am a fan of certain curry dishes and will, now and then, prepare a simple curry dish of rice and chicken or salmon. I cheat and use pre-made packets of curry sauce, acquired down at the local Korean market.
We are in Covid-19 self-isolation and the little curry sauce packets have dwindled. Yet never fear for I discovered, way in the back of the freezer, a small sealed container of curry sauce circa some date in prehistory. But hey, it’s been frozen like a mammoth and it’s curry so how bad can it be?
I thaw it out, mix in some with rice, add the chicken and nuke the whole thing in the microwave for three minutes. I take it out and it sure smells like curry so I proceed to wolf it down, only stopping to glance around for potential competitors to be dispatched with the swipe of one mighty paw.
Man this curry is REAL strong and hotter than anything I have ever eaten by a factor of like a thousand. It is so hot in fact that I decide, rather late in the game, to read the list of ingredients on the side of the curry container. Rather than ingredients I see the word, “Instructions”. Uh-oh. Apparently this was a container of concentrated curry paste, designed to be added (in small portions) to other ingredients to make a curry sauce. I was eating the concentrate directly on rice and was surprised when my head burst into flames.
It’s like buying frozen concentrated orange juice, thawing it out and drinking the resultant slurry directly without adding water. I bet that would make a wicked citrus bomb, with the flavor of one billion oranges.
whoisfenton 