Farmer H has many hidden talents that he neglects to reveal.
I'm sure you recall his love of hot dogs. That's not a talent. But hot dogs need buns. I guess you could say that Farmer H is a bun man. I had no idea! I found out completely by accident.
Farmer H keeps planning to grill hot dogs on Gassy G, but then changes the day. It's due to weather, or working late on the $5000 house, or mowing the yard before it rains the next day to shoot those blades up higher than pre-mow. As you might imagine, Mrs. HM's buns are taking the hit.
Our package of hot dogs lasts longer than the buns, as long as Farmer H isn't snacking on them. I used to buy the most delicious buns at The Devil's Playground. My sister the ex-mayor's wife tipped me off when I ran into her one day on the bread aisle.
"See these? With blue on the label? I always get them. Feel. Yeah! They're SO FRESH!"
For a couple years now, I've been buying those buns. A few weeks ago, I noticed that they didn't feel as soft. I probably felt every pack of those buns. Which is a lot, considering there were three shelves of them. Their dates were good, but they felt stale. I bought a pack anyway, because those are my go-to buns. When we ate them, they were firm, and the light brown part on top crumbled. The taste was not great, if you consider that there really is a different taste to different brands of plain white processed hot dog buns. I think The Devil has been monkeying around with his baker.
Lucky for me, I had a bag of Country Mart's generic buns in the cabinet. They were still a couple days from the expiration date. So we ate them once Farmer H finally grilled those hot dogs. Juno, Jack, and Copper Jack got The Devil's Buns. "Here ya go, fleabags! Sorry they're like Styrofoam!"
I'd bought more hot dogs, a giant pack of 20, and have been feeding them to Farmer H now and then on auction nights. He backed out of grilling last week, due to a little tornado warning. So I roasted the hot dogs on a pizza pan in the oven. I told him,
"I bought more of those Devil's buns, and they feel really stale. It's still three days until they expire. I also have some of the Country Mart buns. They're way softer, but the date passed two days ago. They look okay to me."
Farmer H loaded up his hot dogs with slaw and a side of Maple Bacon Beans. I was writing out some bills while sitting on the short couch, just an end table away from him in the La-Z-Boy.
"How were those buns? Okay? So I know if to use them."
"Yeah. They're fine. I knew they would be. I didn't smell any mold."
"WHAT? What are you talking about? Smell the mold?"
"Yeah. I can smell the mold. That's how I tell if bread is moldy."
Farmer H is full of bull! I can't even count the number of times he's started eating something, then started sputtering that the bread was moldy. Usually his own fault, for being too lazy to open the cabinet for proper bread, but instead raiding the package on the counter, which is DOG BREAD!
If only I'd known how valuable his schnozz was! I could have set him up as a perfume tester, or better yet, a quality control expert for men's deodorant!
Or he could live in France and hunt/sniff for truffles. That kind of work would keep him away from the house for extended periods, and often.
ReplyDeleteThat would be a terrible shame...
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteHeh, heh! I am picturing Farmer H on his hands and knees, with a handler at the end of his harness, and wearing a muzzle to protect the truffles. To keep from soiling the knees of his pants, perhaps he should only wear his tighty-whities.
I know how much you love France. Perhaps YOU could be Farmer H's handler. You wouldn't even have to rent him a used swimsuit at the nude beach! His tighty-whities could suffice, although he'd probably volunteer to go au naturel... Anything to avoid wearing a swimsuit that has housed other men's "boys."
Aaaaaaargh!
ReplyDeleteDouble aaaaaargh!
I have now gouged out both of my mind's eyes. But rest assured, I will get revenge. Plan on being forced to look at an unsettling photo at some point. It will be a picture of something that is real and is spectacular(ly) disturbing.
I can smell mould too. I'm allergic to it so I've learned to tell what that particular smell is. I'd be useless as a perfume tester or wine taster, but if there's anything mouldy around, I'll let you know. I can smell a rotten potato in the middle of a 5kg bag too, often telling my customers to go back and get a different bag.
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteOh, my poor mindless-eyed Madam! You forget that I LIVE WITH FARMER H, and not much can be as unsettling as what I've seen over the past 30 years.
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River,
I have no doubts about your nasal acuity. Farmer H, though, has eaten too much moldy bread to have this ability. Surely he'd have avoided it if he'd been able to tell it was moldy. And if he could smell it, WHY DIDN'T HE?