Am sick today, with my habitual pre-exciting-trip ear infections. (WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME???) I sat in the doctor's office this morning and realized, in a blinding flash of inspiration, that perhaps some really spicy chicken soup would help move things along. (I am, of course, a firm believer that spicy hot food chases away the devilish germs, perhaps by reminding them of the patiently waiting lake of fire.)
As I tottered home, clutching my white paper Shoppers Drug Mart prescription bag, I was seized by another blinding flash of inspiration: why not make Doro Wat, the Ethiopian chicken stew that I've been wanting to try? "Yo, BRING IT," I thought to myself, in the manner of the hip person I clearly am not. Doro Wat? Hello. No harder than chicken soup, spicier, and infinitely more exciting. With great enthusiasm, I dragged my sorry hiney into the kitchen, stopping only to knock back a dose of antibiotics, and started seizing various spices from the cupboard.
Predictably, I had no Berbere, the Ethiopian spice mixture required in many of their dishes. (NOT to be confused with Beriberi. Clearly.) Undaunted, I carefully measured out towering piles of things like coriander seeds, cardamom, cumin seeds, peppercorns and cloves. Dubiously, I eyed the stated "4 to 6 Tbsp crushed red chilies," but decided that once putting my hand to the spice grinder, I should not look back. Undaunted, I heated up my trusty cast iron frying pan, and, when it was nice and toasty, poured in the mixture. You know, the one containing peppercorns and 4 to 6 ridiculous tablespoons of crushed chilies. That one.
Reader, I could not even breathe. The fumes rising from this pan were noxious, killing. My lungs filled with microscopic bits of chilies and peppercorns, and I literally stopped breathing. The pain was immense. Gagging, I ran to the front door, threw it wide and drew in great gulps of air -- all the while holding the smoking frying pan, carefully shaking continuously as instructed. (Because what a shame it would be to waste all those fab spices. Obviously.)
At that moment, the mail lady (who refrains from walking on my lawn) came trotting up the driveway with a lovely crisp box of Shaklee supplies. "Here you go!" she chirped, thrusting the box into my free hand. "Have a great day!"
"Khanks," I choked, tears streaming down my face, my whole body convulsing with paroxysms, and unattractively jiggling along with the frying pan.
To make a long story short (too late!), my whole house is now filled with toxic fumes, and none of us can breathe -- and I made the Berbere four hours ago. My 7 year old daughter is wandering around, eyes red and watering, with thick material tied around her nose and mouth.
"Come on," I said bracingly. "It's not that bad!"
"But I have young lungs," she said, coughing.
Whoopsy.
As I tottered home, clutching my white paper Shoppers Drug Mart prescription bag, I was seized by another blinding flash of inspiration: why not make Doro Wat, the Ethiopian chicken stew that I've been wanting to try? "Yo, BRING IT," I thought to myself, in the manner of the hip person I clearly am not. Doro Wat? Hello. No harder than chicken soup, spicier, and infinitely more exciting. With great enthusiasm, I dragged my sorry hiney into the kitchen, stopping only to knock back a dose of antibiotics, and started seizing various spices from the cupboard.
Predictably, I had no Berbere, the Ethiopian spice mixture required in many of their dishes. (NOT to be confused with Beriberi. Clearly.) Undaunted, I carefully measured out towering piles of things like coriander seeds, cardamom, cumin seeds, peppercorns and cloves. Dubiously, I eyed the stated "4 to 6 Tbsp crushed red chilies," but decided that once putting my hand to the spice grinder, I should not look back. Undaunted, I heated up my trusty cast iron frying pan, and, when it was nice and toasty, poured in the mixture. You know, the one containing peppercorns and 4 to 6 ridiculous tablespoons of crushed chilies. That one.
Reader, I could not even breathe. The fumes rising from this pan were noxious, killing. My lungs filled with microscopic bits of chilies and peppercorns, and I literally stopped breathing. The pain was immense. Gagging, I ran to the front door, threw it wide and drew in great gulps of air -- all the while holding the smoking frying pan, carefully shaking continuously as instructed. (Because what a shame it would be to waste all those fab spices. Obviously.)
At that moment, the mail lady (who refrains from walking on my lawn) came trotting up the driveway with a lovely crisp box of Shaklee supplies. "Here you go!" she chirped, thrusting the box into my free hand. "Have a great day!"
"Khanks," I choked, tears streaming down my face, my whole body convulsing with paroxysms, and unattractively jiggling along with the frying pan.
To make a long story short (too late!), my whole house is now filled with toxic fumes, and none of us can breathe -- and I made the Berbere four hours ago. My 7 year old daughter is wandering around, eyes red and watering, with thick material tied around her nose and mouth.
"Come on," I said bracingly. "It's not that bad!"
"But I have young lungs," she said, coughing.
Whoopsy.
8 Fellow Bletherers:
That's hilarious!!!!
Get well soon.
Y'know what I almost included in your Christmas spice box? Berbere. Epicure sells it (but only until Feb 28).
That's hilarious, I'm laughing so hard. Especially that picture of childy wearing a cotton mask. I want to say "I can imagine the smell, in a dry frying pan", but I really can't.
That was priceless..sorry!! The image I had of you with the smoking frying pan, in one hand and your shaklee products in the other gave me fits of giggles!!
~~~
Have you ever used coloidal silver? My ears were bugging me last month and I sprayed a couple of sprays in my ears and 1 drop in my mouth for a couple of days and the ears cleared up.
Bet you're getting excited.
Did it at least taste good??
ahh ya, how was it HOT? or just good? and do you have any left ;) I LOVE hot food!!
It was good, actually. I didn't use much of the berbere, in deference to young and sensitive palates, so it wasn't too hot. Seriously, though... spicy food is all well and good to eat, but not to inhale. Yowza.
I DO know what that smells like! Hubbie and his sister once did that with too many chopped up chili peppers and drove me out onto the apartment balcony, in February, in Ottawa. We were all crying from the fumes and unable to breath.
The young lungs have my sympathies :)
(But did it kick the ear infection on it's way out?!)
Once I smelled a low country boil packet of spices a little too close.
Red Pepper burns up the nose so badly!
My remedy? I shoved a good bit of strawberry jam up my nose. I figured if it cools the mouth, why not the nose? It worked!!! I did hide while taking my remedy.
Post a Comment