Disgruntled Chef, Or Farmer H Plot?

When we got back to the Mansion with The Pony on Thursday, I was in the throes of cooking our Christmas dinner, which was scheduled for Saturday evening. Friday was a whirlwind of roasting and deviling and salading and casseroling and baking. As you might imagine, slothful Mrs. HM did not want to whip up supper for Farmer H and The Pony.

The Pony said he'd like to have Chinese food for supper, so Farmer H swung by there on his way home from carousing all day and pointedly not-helping get the feast ready. According to Farmer H, there were several phoned-in orders ahead of him. That's understandable for a Friday night. Farmer H said food kept going out the door, yet he saw no sign of our order being prepared. He went to the counter several times to inquire. You might imagine how well that went over.

Anyhoo...The Pony had Sweet & Sour Chicken, Farmer H had Hunan Chicken, and I had Hunan Pork. The Pony was nearly done with his supper when I came out to the living room after a much-delayed shower. Farmer H was at the kitchen counter, mumbling that his food didn't look like chicken. He opened mine, I presumed from glancing at his back shielding the containers, and declared that no, this one wasn't chicken more than the previous container.

Farmer put his dinner ON A PLATE, after I'd spent all day cooking and washing up two sinks of dishes as I went along. Seriously. My kitchen was pristine, yet now I'd have a greasy plate to wash later that night, or first thing on the day of our Christmas dinner. The point being that within arm's reach was a stack of sturdy cardboard-paper-plates. Sweet Gummi Mary! Is Farmer H so hoity-toity that he can't eat his carry-out Chinese food on a sturdy paper plate?

I left mine in the foam container. Not because I was making a snide point about dirty dishes, but because I did not feel like standing for one extra second to scrape out the contents onto a sturdy paper plate. When I got to my dark basement lair, and dug into my meal, I was surprised by the spiciness.

I know that HUNAN is spicy. It's usually just right. I often separate out some of the black pepper beans to tame it. This time, I was weak with hunger, having subsisted all day on two slices of bacon stolen from the 7 Layer Salad, and a torn egg white used to scoop the clinging deviled egg filling from the side of the bowl before washing. I didn't have the time nor the energy to sort through my Hunan Pork.

But I DID. While sitting in front of New Delly. It was that, or have my head explode in a fireball. Look at how many black pepper beans I found in my Hunan Pork!

That, my friends, is excessive pepperage! That's about 1/4 of the meal! Made of black pepper beans! When I went back upstairs, I asked Farmer H if his Hunan Chicken was extra spicy this time.

"No. Not really. About the same."

"Did it have a lot of black pepper beans?"

"Not that I noticed."

"Well, mine was FULL of them! They must have put all the peppers in the pork, and not many in the chicken."

Here's the thing. Did that Chinese chef put all the black pepper beans in one dinner, to get even with Farmer H for daring to inquire as to the readiness of his order (several times)? Or did Farmer H take some peppers out of his meal and put them into mine while I was still in the shower?

I tend to think the former. Because even though Farmer H would probably not pass up an attempt to kill me, he's pretty lazy about picking things out of food, unless it's GREEN peppers, which he despises.