Contributor: Miles Gough
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Can you believe it, I was a out getting fresh air. I know. I went out and didn’t even light up my smokes. I needed to cleanse my nostrils. I am the kind of guy that only sees the outdoors as a place to run through to get to the liquor store. As far as I can see, the natural environment is a placeholder until we can zone a few more cigar bars and mini-marts. But I have been working in the dangerous world of weaponized gasses and I just had to go out. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The birds need to shut the fuck up, but the outdoors is okay for a change of pace. Wouldn’t want it to do it that often, you know camping is not a four letter word, but its still pretty obscene.
Yeah, I’ve been working in natural gas, but in a valid way. I ain’t helping the environment, I’m causing havoc, or at least trying to. Couple weeks back Nolan, the sommelier at the Cavendish Club, came to me with an idea. You know how he is this crazy movie nerd. He pairs wines to Jean Claude Van Damme movies. He tried to pair reds with Steven Segal movies but it turns out that the only things goes well with those masterpieces is Schlitz in a can.
Nolan came to me and said he had a way to make some money selling weaponry. He showed me this French movie to explain his idea and I’m in hell, because this shit has subtitles and middle aged guys in a big house. The plot is they came to this house to eat themselves to death with fine French bullshit food. Whatever. Why kill yourself on foie gras and truffles when Big Macs and super sized fries are so easy to get? Anyway, I’m being tortured by culture and finally the movie gets to the end and one the guys farts and farts and farts, like for two minutes he’s farting and then he keels over and is dead.
Nolan was like, “That’s it, That’s what we need to do. We need to make a food that will make you fart to death. We can package it as Silent But Deadly Cuisine and sell it to folks who want to do a little nefariousness and get away with it. No matter how nasty the fart is, the evidence will be cleared by a good breeze. The medical examiners will look for poison in the food, but there is no poison, it’s just plain food.” He told me I was the guy to make up a dish that could fart a man to death.
This was stupid, so yeah, I had to do it. I did my research, looked into what could make a guy fart so long their whole system would shut down. I used some special skills with it, the kind I know. I had to create food that was hard to digest and it would be stuck in the colon making bacteria. I pan seared a small cut of prime rib. I made a sauce for it using five different beans and cream. I sweetened it with sorbitol and some other fructose. I placed it all on a bed of au gratin potatoes. I also got my hand on an enzyme that slowed digestion of food so that it this packet will wind up in the colon almost undigested.
This seemed like the ticket, but shit, I wasn’t going to test it. Nolan had a guinea pig in mind. There was this asshole who always ate at the Cavendish who was rude and nasty. So Nolan gave him my dish as a treat for being such a great customer. The asshole acted like of course he deserved this special treat. I tell you. Why we cooks haven’t killed all our customers already in one big hibachi massacre is beyond me.
Nolan served it to this asshole and he sucked it up but fast, and you know, he didn’t die. Did he fart? He farted. Ever been to the elephant house at the zoo? Kind of like that he farted. But he didn’t even complain of cramps or discomfort. And the worst part, he loved the food. Told everyone to order it, that it was a wonderfully earthy dish every gourmand should eat.
I went over to the Cavendish today to check on Nolan. Is he pissed at me. He asked me why I couldn’t fail and make a shitty dish? He’s in hell; the place stinks like you never sniffed. And everyone is ordering my dish as a special. All I can tell you buddy, don’t go to that neighborhood and light a match. Something might explode.
Wait. Maybe something will explode. Okay, so I can’t kill someone by farting, but what if they can flame throw those farts? We can have ourselves a decent weapon that no one can frisk you about. Yeah, that’s the way I’ll go with it. You know me, making lemonade out of lemons. Foul stinky ass lemonade, but still lemonade, brother. Got to go, I got to find an igniter that can fit comfortable in a fella’s underpants.
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Can you believe it, I was a out getting fresh air. I know. I went out and didn’t even light up my smokes. I needed to cleanse my nostrils. I am the kind of guy that only sees the outdoors as a place to run through to get to the liquor store. As far as I can see, the natural environment is a placeholder until we can zone a few more cigar bars and mini-marts. But I have been working in the dangerous world of weaponized gasses and I just had to go out. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The birds need to shut the fuck up, but the outdoors is okay for a change of pace. Wouldn’t want it to do it that often, you know camping is not a four letter word, but its still pretty obscene.
Yeah, I’ve been working in natural gas, but in a valid way. I ain’t helping the environment, I’m causing havoc, or at least trying to. Couple weeks back Nolan, the sommelier at the Cavendish Club, came to me with an idea. You know how he is this crazy movie nerd. He pairs wines to Jean Claude Van Damme movies. He tried to pair reds with Steven Segal movies but it turns out that the only things goes well with those masterpieces is Schlitz in a can.
Nolan came to me and said he had a way to make some money selling weaponry. He showed me this French movie to explain his idea and I’m in hell, because this shit has subtitles and middle aged guys in a big house. The plot is they came to this house to eat themselves to death with fine French bullshit food. Whatever. Why kill yourself on foie gras and truffles when Big Macs and super sized fries are so easy to get? Anyway, I’m being tortured by culture and finally the movie gets to the end and one the guys farts and farts and farts, like for two minutes he’s farting and then he keels over and is dead.
Nolan was like, “That’s it, That’s what we need to do. We need to make a food that will make you fart to death. We can package it as Silent But Deadly Cuisine and sell it to folks who want to do a little nefariousness and get away with it. No matter how nasty the fart is, the evidence will be cleared by a good breeze. The medical examiners will look for poison in the food, but there is no poison, it’s just plain food.” He told me I was the guy to make up a dish that could fart a man to death.
This was stupid, so yeah, I had to do it. I did my research, looked into what could make a guy fart so long their whole system would shut down. I used some special skills with it, the kind I know. I had to create food that was hard to digest and it would be stuck in the colon making bacteria. I pan seared a small cut of prime rib. I made a sauce for it using five different beans and cream. I sweetened it with sorbitol and some other fructose. I placed it all on a bed of au gratin potatoes. I also got my hand on an enzyme that slowed digestion of food so that it this packet will wind up in the colon almost undigested.
This seemed like the ticket, but shit, I wasn’t going to test it. Nolan had a guinea pig in mind. There was this asshole who always ate at the Cavendish who was rude and nasty. So Nolan gave him my dish as a treat for being such a great customer. The asshole acted like of course he deserved this special treat. I tell you. Why we cooks haven’t killed all our customers already in one big hibachi massacre is beyond me.
Nolan served it to this asshole and he sucked it up but fast, and you know, he didn’t die. Did he fart? He farted. Ever been to the elephant house at the zoo? Kind of like that he farted. But he didn’t even complain of cramps or discomfort. And the worst part, he loved the food. Told everyone to order it, that it was a wonderfully earthy dish every gourmand should eat.
I went over to the Cavendish today to check on Nolan. Is he pissed at me. He asked me why I couldn’t fail and make a shitty dish? He’s in hell; the place stinks like you never sniffed. And everyone is ordering my dish as a special. All I can tell you buddy, don’t go to that neighborhood and light a match. Something might explode.
Wait. Maybe something will explode. Okay, so I can’t kill someone by farting, but what if they can flame throw those farts? We can have ourselves a decent weapon that no one can frisk you about. Yeah, that’s the way I’ll go with it. You know me, making lemonade out of lemons. Foul stinky ass lemonade, but still lemonade, brother. Got to go, I got to find an igniter that can fit comfortable in a fella’s underpants.
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Author:
Miles Gough
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