Just before the reactor core went up, the technicians at Chernobyl were allegedly conducting some kind of experimental systems test. Experiments sometimes have unforeseen consequences. Bad consequences.
Admittedly, the pairing of two sets of leftovers that rarely, if ever, get to share the same plate is not quite on the same scale as the scorching and poisoning of millions of square miles, and is not likely to lead to mass panic and emergency evacuations, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t apprehensive about how this latest creation to stumble out of the Frankenfridge would taste.
Europe and Mexico, squished together out of sheer necessity. Well, hunger and idleness, more like. Still, “..the Mother of Invention…”, and all that. Worked for Zappa.
Even re-heating the schnitzels in the microwave seemed to be compounding the insult to the culinary gods. I then began to worry about the possible side effects that might arise when hot pork meets cold salsa straight from the fridge. Without thinking, I gave the schnitzels a liberal dousing with Louisiana Hot Sauce.
Oh Lordy, this couldn’t end well. “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
I was simply too hungry to turn back now. Abandoning what bit of common sense I have, I began to eat.
What can I say? It felt so right, it couldn’t be wrong.