Smorons; and, On Onions

Perhaps those of you who participate(d) in seasonal/annual activities will understand this: the sophomore experience.  You return for a second season of marching band/water polo/Lepidoptera conference convening, and there’s a mix of comfort, because you’ve been there before and know what to expect, and a tinge of disappointment, because the iconic characters that shaped your first impressions might not be there, because some of the newness and discovery inevitably can’t happen twice, and any changes seem a slap in the face to the sacred original.  (Did you make it through that long sentence?  Great.)  Hopefully, this feeling is tempered by the benefits of not being a complete nube—already having friends, knowing roughly what to expect from said activity, a modicum of confidence in your abilities.

Returning for a summer season on the Ice has been all of this, plus extra (um, sorry, hold on, I promise it gets better) disappointment.  Suffice to say lots of looking forward to something while playing a nostalgic loop in your head means reality will land on your lap with a bit of a thud.  Also suffice to say (as I’m not supposed to reflect negatively on the program), there are lots of changes in the kitchen and we are working hard (i.e.: struggling furiously) to accommodate the new sky-high expectations. 

Most earth-shatteringly so far: I only get to be on egg line one day a week.

Enough gloom.  All the cooks in the kitchen are cool and we get along and support each other, so there’s a jolly togetherness.  And when the boss “didn’t realize” my first day was supposed to be my weekly day off, and encouraged me to stay since I was already there and in my uniform, at least the same thing happened to two other people so we could all bust ass seven days in a row together. 

The most entertaining thing to me in the kitchen so far has been the return of smelling like I work at McDonald’s.  It doesn’t matter what I’m making.  Whether I just chop fresh peppers or stand over the grill, I will reek of greezy onions before the day is over.  I decided to start taking note of what time of the day I was saturated with allium scent, and reached a record yesterday at minute 8 into the day when I incautiously dumped onion powder into a container for barbeque sauce and it foomped up in a dust cloud.  The corner of my room where I put my laundry bag radiates greezy onion like rapidly increasing atomic fission, increasing exponentially as the week goes on.

Also this week in onion fun, our cases of scallions must have frozen, are consequently a bit yellow and wilted, and…disturbingly snot-filled.  I have come across this in rare instances before, but it is still quite alarming to pull off the unwanted outer layer and, instead of a crisp snap, release a resigned little gush of clear scallion phlegm.  

And I will leave you with this sexy potato sack from the veggie cooler.