It’s really appropriate that we can begin this venture into bottled unpleasantness with a pig’s butt. Because, let’s face it, if a pig thinks there’s something more interesting than whatever is in your bottle, you’ve done something wrong. Pigs don’t really have standards. They eat compost soaked in buttermilk, you feed them anything and it basically becomes pig. But not whatever this is. Or was.
In an act of transcendent optimism, they gave the bottle a spigot. Really. Personally, I’d feel more comfortable if the makers had done what they could to limit the egress of the glop inside, but maybe they thought they knew better.
I think it’s trying to escape :( I just hope that spigot holds.
I think I finally understand why people donate these things to Goodwill. It’s because Austin discontinued their annual “hazardous chemical disposal day,” and now there’s no environmentally responsible way to get rid of the stuff. You don’t want to just throw it into a landfill. That would be giving it a food source.
If *I* was trying to make a flavored oil, I’d go for something zippy. Peppers, sure. Rosemary? Definitely. Discretely-tied bundles of winter savory? Oh yes.
Not my first choice. BTW, that IS a sharpened, focused image. You try getting a crisp photo of five-year-old deliquiescing cauliflower. Not actually possible. Of course, if cauliflower is there to add a little zing, what would make this even better would be celery. That’s a flavor explosion!
Frequently these bottles contain sad, sad little peppers. This one too. But these are particularly sad because they’ve been fed through a food processor before being left to drown and turn gray. And that’s just an unkindness to peppers.
In closing, as the carrots set slowly in the west, we remember our quiet time with the bottle of sludge, and know that, while we leave the Goodwill housewares department, we will carry some part of it with us as we return home, and know that, some day, we will come back to these majestic non-food-product oils again to see the hula hoop of life wobble ever down the driveway of inevitability, pursued by the five year old of destiny. Wherever we are, we are home.
Goodwill on South 1st and Slaughter, Austin