This is the first in a series of posts I hope to bring to you once a month—on the 1st Monday of the month, schedule permitting.
The title of the post should pretty much cover it, but I’ll explain anyway.
Once a month, I shall post a scenario. A ‘what if’ scenario.
Some may be sensible (yes, I can be sensible), some may be middle of the road, and some may be so far off the wall you’ll wonder if I’ve lost my mind.
Then all you have to do is imagine it is YOURSELF in the scenario and leave a comment detailing what YOU would do. Not written as a character. But written as yourself.
It’s not hard. We all read crazy novels. We all get lost in the scenes. We all have the ability to picture ourselves there besides the characters we love, yes? This is no different.
Here’s your first scenario:
You’ve been to the market to purchase the ingredients for Coq au Vin (people who are crap at cooking, feel free to use artistic license and pretend that you aren’t). Everyone (who can cook) knows that the dish tastes best if you go fresh, but the geezer you usually buy your herbs off is wrapped up in bed with a cold (according to the wart-nosed banana seller on the stall next door), so you strolled around until you stumbled across a new vendor—with rock bottom prices, which meant you went home a happy bunny.
You’ve browned your chicken. Your shallots and mushrooms are in. The wine is stinking the house out like a vinegar factory. And the time has arrived to add those flavoursome plants that you’ve chopped to within an inch of their greenness and bundled into a muslin sack that puss-in-boots would approve of …
But the second they hit the pot, merge with the liquid, steam spirals up like a rouged transparent corkscrew, mushrooming as it hits the ceiling. Before you can say now-there’s-something-you-don’t-see-every-day-crikey-what-the-hell-was-in-those-herbs, the entire kitchen is consumed by billowy plumes, leaving you blind to all but the pot into which you are staring as though you’ve never seen the darn thing before in your life.
I’d imagine a little “What the heck?” might ensue right before the stir of your wooden spoon has the opposite effect and every ounce of fog is sucked right back into the herbed pouch like you’ve hit the button on rewind.
As you lift your head in a ‘Huh?!?!?!’ kinda moment, a huge shadow eclipses with enough bulk to land in your right periphery … and you just know that someone (or something) is standing behind you …
So … what do you do?