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Killed anything with a whisk lately?


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This was quite something... Just got comfortably settled out on the porch, beautiful sunny morning, with my coffee and new wireless laptop and opened the browser to my start-up page -- where besides the news headlines I have some eGullet headlines via RSS. There, lo and behold, I read Andiesenji killed a rattlesnake with a WHISK!

Andie you've made it to the big time. You and your whisk, on the front page. A culinary adventure like no other.

And thanks Rachel. :smile:

Life is short; eat the cheese course first.

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Have retitled this topic to make it more general: anybody killed anything else lately, or ever? I don't mean slaughtering a chicken or a lobster. I'm talking about using kitchen utensils for domestic self-defense, such as against an invading rattlesnake or perhaps a burglar. Fat Guy tried to kill a mouse with a cast-iron skillet once but he (Fat Guy, that is) was too slow.

Ellen Shapiro

www.byellen.com

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I fended off a pit bull with the lid of my old Weber grill and a grill fork several years ago. My dogs were in the house and people were coming and going through the gate and had left it standing open. I heard a noise and turned around and saw this big pit bull stalking me and grabbed the (very hot) lid of the grill and pushed it toward the dog. It actually hit his muzzle and must have burned it because he turned and ran.

I called animal control and they picked the dog up because it had been running lose for some time and had killed a couple of small pets.

When the officer came to take a report from me I showed her how I defended myself and she said that was a good idea, difficult for a dog to get around something that size and shape.

"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!" Terry Pratchett

 

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A former colleague, long ago, used a kitchen knife to keep a gang of thieves out of her house.

She was living in Papua New Guinea (not at all a safe place to be living) at the time, and her husband had left on a business trip that lasted several days. She thought the gang had probably been watching the house for some time, as the very night after he left they tried to break in.

The ground floor of the house had bars on the windows, but upstairs there were no bars as the windows were (theoretically) too high to reach. There was, however, a large tree that did allow one of those windows to be reached. She was downstairs, heard the sound of breaking glass, grabbed the closest thing to hand, which was a kitchen knife, and raced upstairs.

A pane of glass had been broken, and she could see a person's hand coming through the hole trying to undo the latch to the window. So she slashed at that hand with a knife, and drew blood, and the hand withdrew.

The person/people in the tree did not leave, however, but stayed in the tree the whole night waiting for her to leave the room, or relax her vigilance, or to fall asleep inadvertently. Several times in the course of the night a hand again reached through the opening in the glass to try to open the window. Each time, she slashed at it.

Finally, at daybreak, the thieves left the tree.

If they had managed to come in, she told me, they would almost certainly have raped her, and may indeed have raped her and then murdered her (this is by no means an exaggerated fear given conditions in that particular place at that particular time).

Needless to say, they did not continue living in that house for long after that.

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I almost killed something, in fact someone, in fact my brother Ian. Does that count?

My parents delegated, and my mother rightly felt that if she had two children up to the task she could share a last glass of wine chatting with Daddy while Ian and I did the dishes. This was non-negotiable: Ian scraped and washed, I dried, put away and wiped down the counters. We did it, and we hated it, and Ian seized the opportunity to drive his big sister mad.

That night, my parents had gone to their favorite hangout after Friday dinner, leaving battling siblings over the dish sink. I was twelve and Ian was nine. He deliberately whistled a song I loathed under his breath. I asked him to stop, and he didn't.

I'd wipe that snarky smile off his face! I picked up the big chef's knife I was drying and lost it. I chased him around the house, yelling, blood-lust pumping my arteries.

He was faster on his feet than I was, and really really scared. At some point sanity returned. But, I confess, I had seriously snapped.

I see my brother about once a year, and I have to say that although I didn't wipe the smirk off his face back then, he must have been afraid, because after a couple of drinks he always says: "Hey, Muffie, remember the time you almost killed me?"

Margaret McArthur

"Take it easy, but take it."

Studs Terkel

1912-2008

A sensational tennis blog from freakyfrites

margaretmcarthur.com

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Trapped a squirrel that had chewed through a screen to get to freshbaked cookies with a stock pot, weighed down with a Dutch Oven containing a few heavy cans until Paul got home. I don't know what he did; I left the house and left The Deed to him.

Susan Fahning aka "snowangel"
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I've seen more than one Rodent Of Unusual Size whacked with a broom or mop handle until no longer able to complain about the abuse.

Katie M. Loeb
Booze Muse, Spiritual Advisor

Author: Shake, Stir, Pour:Fresh Homegrown Cocktails

Cheers!
Bartendrix,Intoxicologist, Beverage Consultant, Philadelphia, PA
Captain Liberty of the Good Varietals, Aphrodite of Alcohol

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Not a cooking utensil, but a good story--my 76 year-old mom has been having some heart troubles, and the doc put a halter monitor on her for 24 hours. I called her, when the day was over, and asked her how the day had gone, and if she had had an episode.

"No," she said, "But I don't know how accurate that reading is going to be. I had to kill a snake."

Well my Mom is not one of those Missourians who think they have to kill every snake they see, so I asked why.

She told me it was a 30 inch copperhead, and it was curled up between the two recliners in the living room. She also told me she couldn't kill it on the carpet--the carpet was too soft, so she had to carry it outside to kill it. With a hoe, not a whisk.

My snake-o-phobe brother-in-law will never visit her again. Could be a good thing.

sparrowgrass
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I have a germaphobic sister and a 100 year old house. When she came to visit last Christmas as she stepped over the threshold into the dining room there was the largest cockroach on the planet...just sitting there, in the DINING room where 15 of my nearest and dearest are about to have Christmas dinner. I thought "well that is an exceptionally brave roach..I guess it's so big it thinks it's BADDDD!" As my sister clutched her heart I leaned over to do the roach crunch dance and the damn thing didn't move. I realized it was, in fact, already dead. Bengel did the job again, but I'm sure because of it's superroach size it just took it a while longer.

As I checked myself in midstep, I looked at her and asked her politely not to disturb it as "I leave it there as a warning to the others".

After dinner, as I was rinsing dishes I caught sight of a mouse, silently eyeing the leftovers on the island. Damn...this was sure to condemn my home to the "filthy" catagory in my sisters mind, and be the last time the family gathered under MY rodent/roach infested roof. So I did what any normal, champagne addled woman would do. I burned a piece of bread under the broiler, ran everyone out of the house with the smoke, trapped the offender under a colander and threw the cat in the kitchen and shut the door. Sent hubby in a while later "to see if the smoke cleared" and clean up rat guts. Everyone had dessert and went home. I still wonder what I should have done, but thinking fast AND smart don't often coincide with me. Does killing mice with colander and cat qualify as murder by utensil?

edited to add: I am owned by the Leroy Brown of cats.

Edited by highchef (log)
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Love your story, highchef!!

My tale isn't of dispatching an unwanted visitor with a kitchen utensil, but the kitchen-related aftermath.

This happened to my sister a while back. During the middle of the night, she heard a ruckus coming from her living room: the cat was running around and making noise. My sister yelled at the cat, but the cat didn't quiet down. So she dragged herself out of bed (she was sick with the flu at the time) and went into the living room, where she saw that the cat had cornered a mouse and was feignting at it. The cat hadn't even touched the mouse, when the mouse up and died. ("Probably of fright," my sister said.)

Well, what to do? She knew that if she left the mouse there, the cat would drag it around the house and play with it all night. But she didn't want to have to get dressed (besides her being ill, it was the dead of winter) and go outside to throw it in the trash.

So she did the only thing she could do, running fever in the middle of the night. She carefully picked it up with a plastic baggie and put it in the refrigerator... which is where she discovered it the next morning!

SuzySushi

"She sells shiso by the seashore."

My eGullet Foodblog: A Tropical Christmas in the Suburbs

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So she did the only thing she could do, running fever in the middle of the night. She carefully picked it up with a plastic baggie and put it in the refrigerator... which is where she discovered it the next morning!

:blink:

Talk about something that makes you go "EEEK!!"

I personally would have flushed him, but I can understand not thinking clearly when feverish and half asleep.

Katie M. Loeb
Booze Muse, Spiritual Advisor

Author: Shake, Stir, Pour:Fresh Homegrown Cocktails

Cheers!
Bartendrix,Intoxicologist, Beverage Consultant, Philadelphia, PA
Captain Liberty of the Good Varietals, Aphrodite of Alcohol

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I'd wipe that snarky smile off his face! I picked up the big chef's knife I was drying and lost it. I chased him around the house, yelling, blood-lust pumping my arteries.

Alrighty then Maggie, we'll just be calling the men in the nice white suits now..

Jason Perlow

Co-Founder, The Society for Culinary Arts & Letters

offthebroiler.com - Food Blog | View my food photos on Instagram

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So I did what any normal, champagne addled woman would do. I burned a piece of bread under the broiler, ran everyone out of the house with the smoke, trapped the offender under a colander and threw the cat in the kitchen and shut the door. Sent hubby in a while later "to see if the smoke cleared" and clean up rat guts. Everyone had dessert and went home. I still wonder what I should have done, but thinking fast AND smart don't often coincide with me. Does killing mice with colander and cat qualify as murder by utensil?

edited to add: I am owned by the Leroy Brown of cats.

I have actually had to do the opposit, the cat lets out that hideouse meeeorw that means my mouth is is full of mouse then drops the stunned thing in front of me. So far twice I have thrown a bowl over the mouse, then slid a magazine...usually gourmet under the whole thing then throw the mouse outside to recover or not

good kitty old log cabin

tracey

The great thing about barbeque is that when you get hungry 3 hours later....you can lick your fingers

Maxine

Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.

"It is the government's fault, they've eaten everything."

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Does attempted murder count? I was working at my kitchen counter and caught a shadowy movement out of the corner of my eye at the other end of the counter. It turned out to be a mouse, but when I turned to go after him he scurried into one of the burners on the stove. So I figured, hey, if I turn on the burner I can kill the mouse! (No, I did not give much thought to what the cleanup task would be like in the event of success). So I turned it on, the mouse ran out of the burner and down the side of the cabinet, and away. He was fine.

Steven A. Shaw aka "Fat Guy"
Co-founder, Society for Culinary Arts & Letters, sshaw@egstaff.org
Proud signatory to the eG Ethics code
Director, New Media Studies, International Culinary Center (take my food-blogging course)

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I'd wipe that snarky smile off his face! I picked up the big chef's knife I was drying and lost it. I chased him around the house, yelling, blood-lust pumping my arteries.

Alrighty then Maggie, we'll just be calling the men in the nice white suits now..

If we are confessing attacks on humans I supposed I should admit to the time, shortly after we were married, when my ex tiptoed into the kitchen on his stocking feet to "surprise" me.

He grabbed me around the waist and unfortunately for him, I was holding a large cast iron skillet.

I swung around and managed to fracture his left collar bone and his jaw.

This was prior to the advent of 911 so I drove him to the hospital, told the ER people what had happened (because he couldn't talk) and then had to answer a lot of questions from the police who had, of course, been called by the ER nurse.

Later, when they were talking to my husband I heard one of the cops say, "Buddy, I think you should make a lot of noise before you approach her if she doesn't know you are there. And don't take out any big insurance policies!"

In spite of that we remained married for several years. He told the story many times and always said that it was entirely his fault. The fact that he was much, much bigger than me (a dedicated body-builder) made it seem funnier than it actually was, at least to me.

Edited by andiesenji (log)

"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!" Terry Pratchett

 

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This is a stretch, but I want to join in. Mice have been mentioned. I have mouse phobia, and when we lived in Delaware I insisted on killing all mice that we discovered, usually with D-Con. Russ did not approve, being the compassionate person that he is about all things living, even bugs. I say kill. But anyway, one day there was a dying mouse sitting on our couch and I was scared and literally sat on top of the kitchen table for almost an hour waiting for him to get home from work, to dispose of it. Kitchen table.... a kitchen thing... Oh well, that's the closest that I can come up with.

Life is short; eat the cheese course first.

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A friend of mine on the Chilehead list emailed me this story that happened a few years ago to his oldest brother who is, well, slightly, shall we say eccentric (read paranoid--lot's of stuff), it does fit in with the thread on animals raiding the larder:

"Anyways, my oldest brother has been staying at my grandma's 100 year-old house while grandma is in the nursing home. Now this brother is so nutty that we barely even will talk to him because he's so far out in paranoia-land to even be around him, you catch a bit of it--if you get my drift.

So he's been telling grandma for a week someone's been sneaking into the house while he's asleep and he'll hear things crash around but by the time he gets downstairs, no one is there and the doors and windows are still locked and maybe the person is coming up through the old coal chute that leads down into the cellar under the house.

Hmmm. Through that little biddy old coal chute? Even grandma is gettingready to write him off. But two nights ago he hears the noise and comes creeping down the stairs and in the hallway leading towards the living room is this black slimey trail. YIKES!

So my brother grabs the only weapon at hand, a 4 or 5 gallon cast-iron pot grandma used to use for a flower pot and heads down the hall; bravely following the black-slime trail towards the living room to meet his doom, except when he hits the light switch, instead of braining a burglar, a big old buck raccoon rares back on his hind legs and *screams* at him. And my brother _flees_ the scene. I mean, hey, this is after all, in downtown Bloomington, Indiana and you can only be preapared for so much.

But wait a minute, old bro thinks, this is _my_ home. I can't surrender my home to a wild animal, especially here in downtown Bloomington. So with a breathfull of courage my brother runs back into the living room shrieking and screeching the War-Cry of The Damned, and the danged raccoon turns to run, but he's cornered. KA-BLAM. The cast-iron pot goes right over the top of the raccoon and my brother immediately slams his butt downon the pot bottom for weight and the raccoon is captured, in the middle of my grandma's house, in the middle of a city, at 1:00AM

And there my brother sat, wondering what he was supposed to do then. Andhe sat. And he sat. And finally, he ran out of cigarettes and knew the moment of reckoning was at hand. So he tilted a chair over on the pot to hold it down and got a towel and a laundry basket full of dirty clothes. Then he just sort of *edged* that towel underneath the pot until it had the entire opening covered, then he yanks up on the towel and pot and lifts the captured raccoon up and drops the whole upside-down shooting match, towel, pot, raccoon and all into this laundry basket.

All of this time the raccoon's not saying a thing. So my bro, an environmentalist of the old school, decides it's cruel to keep the raccoon in the laundy-basket full of dirty clothes with a cast-iron pot on top ofit, so he takes it out and *wires*, mind you, the whole lash-up onto the handlebars and basket of this rickety old bicycle of his, and he takes off for a city park to dump the raccoon out--hoping of course that raccoons don't have a powerful homing instinct--at THREE O'CLOCK IN THEMORNING--RIDING A BICYCLE THROUGH DOWNTOWN BLOOMINGTON WITH A WILD RACCOON LASHED TO THE HANDLEBARS!

"I didn't have anything illegal on me," he said.

Well, about halfway to the park he says all of a sudden-like this raccoon goes berserk, screaming, thrashing around, snarling like a tiger, and this is all on the handlebars right in front of my brother's face in the laundry-basket under the cast-iron pot, so acting normal for once, my brother peddled harder. And then he said, the most god-awful screaming he'd ever heard emanated from beneath that pot over the laundry basket, and just like that; all got quiet.

Yikes indeed. Yes, he admits it gave him the creeps, but onward he went with his mission and when he got to the park, he put down the kick stand, let loose of the bike for an instant, and the whole rig fell over on its side. He didn't say who was moving faster when the laundry-basket full of clothes and raccoon covered with a cast-iron pot hit the ground, but my guess is it was a draw.

Well, the raccoon might have gone faster but it was tangled in all of my brother's dirty laundry, none of which was repairable because of the shredding that had taken place while the raccoon should have been enjoying the ride. But it took a while to chase the line of abandoned clothes through the park and recover it all, and my brother said it was daylight before he got back home.

So why am I telling you all this? Because there's a moral hidden in here somewhere, I'm not sure what it is, but it certainly puts problems in the pepper patch in proper perspective; unless you are, of course, a lunatic.

And why else am I telling you this? No lie. My older brother called my other brother , and told him he thought he heard a noise downstairs and wanted to know if he could come over and check it out--he said he had no desire to tangle with another raccoon and he was hunkered down up in the bedroom loft for the rest of eternity, if need be.

So my brother called me since I lived closer and asked if I'd go help my loonier brother out. "Hey?" I said, "I'm getting my lung cut out on Monday. I don't *need* this."

No lie again. My brother said "Yeah, but maybe you could just throw some of those habeneros you grew in there and if the 'coon eats one, he won't come back."

"WHAT?" I said "IT WON'T COME BACK IF IT EATS HABENEROS? THE DAMN THING DOESN'T WANT HABENEROS. IT WANTS ANOTHER RIDE ON THAT F*****G BICYCLE!"

And as of right now, I swear, that is where the matter stands."

Edited by =Mark (log)

=Mark

Give a man a fish, he eats for a Day.

Teach a man to fish, he eats for Life.

Teach a man to sell fish, he eats Steak

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Good Heavens =Mark - that story is insane. That fellow is insane.

He's lucky the thing wasn't rabid and went after him like the bunny in Monty Python's Holy Grail. :laugh:

We used to have a racoon that lived in the corner sewer outside my house. Every day at dusk the Mama 'Coon and three baby 'Coons would waddle out and we'd hear the trash cans all over the neighborhood being upended. Strong little buggers they are.

Katie M. Loeb
Booze Muse, Spiritual Advisor

Author: Shake, Stir, Pour:Fresh Homegrown Cocktails

Cheers!
Bartendrix,Intoxicologist, Beverage Consultant, Philadelphia, PA
Captain Liberty of the Good Varietals, Aphrodite of Alcohol

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OK People right now ....I mean right this second there is a frog on my office floor under a bowl!!!!!!!

the cat brought it in of course....and as soon as I finish my cig I am going to grab it with the BBQ tongs and fling it back in the lake where I presume it belongs...

I dont think it is alive

:wacko:

tracey

The great thing about barbeque is that when you get hungry 3 hours later....you can lick your fingers

Maxine

Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.

"It is the government's fault, they've eaten everything."

My Webpage

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OK People right now ....I mean right this second there is a frog on my office floor under a bowl!!!!!!!

the cat brought it in of course....and as soon as I finish my cig I am going to grab it with the BBQ tongs and fling it back in the lake where I presume it belongs...

I dont think it is alive

:wacko:

tracey

I think that qualifies as death by cat and bowl and tongs. That's a winner! (don't be surprised if it's only 'playing dead'. My experience is that it's only truly dead when the head is off and that's not always the case as in my duck, Donald. Long, sad story.)

edited for punctuation. please don't grade me.

Edited by highchef (log)
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I dont think it was dead ....Ya know every day I have to give "his" dog 5 pills dipped in peanut butter and cook it 4 meals yes I now have to cook for the dog,.... but will he get the frog for me hell no its "my" cat :rolleyes:

oh well

The great thing about barbeque is that when you get hungry 3 hours later....you can lick your fingers

Maxine

Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.

"It is the government's fault, they've eaten everything."

My Webpage

garden state motorcyle association

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