There were two things about the tanker truck that caught my attention.
First was the Perdue name and logo plastered on the back end of the gleaming steel cylinder. I expect to see the name of a chicken processor on a tractor trailer loaded with metal chicken transport cages. I really never expected to see the name on a rolling vat of liquid.
The second thing I noticed was the content labeling - vegetable oil.
I tried to picture the size of the fry baby that someone at Perdue was going to be filling. I guess "baby" would have no place in the description of an industrial chicken fryer. Then my thoughts turned more realistic and....
You guessed it... I got to wondering.
Just how many chicken parts can you fry with a tanker truck full of vegetable oil?
According to Wikipedia, a tanker truck holds anywhere from 5,500 to 9,000 U.S. gallons of liquid.
Let's see, figure about 3 tablespoons of oil in the bottom of a frying pan large enough for five chicken breasts.
There's 256 tablespoons in a gallon, so a tanker truck with a 9000 gallon capacity would yield 2,304,000 tablespoons.
2,304,000 divided by 5 gives us 460,800.
So nearly half a million chicken breasts can be fried up with a tanker truck of vegetable oil.
Whew, I'll sleep better tonight knowing that answer!
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day
It takes a special kind of person to be a really good mother.
Who else but a mother could love a baby covered in vomit just as much as when the baby is cooing and laughing?
Who else but a mother would admire the frog her son carried home in his pocket?
Who else but a mother would patiently teach a daughter to brush her hair one hundred strokes a day?
Who else but a mother would even touch the clothes that have been hiding under a child's bed for a month?
Who else but a mother would cook healthy meals night after night even though her children come up with two hundred and twenty reasons not to eat the vegetables?
Who else but a mother stands ready to embrace a child that has turned his or her back on her?
Who else but a mother accepts a Mother's Day phone call as apology for endless weeks of silence?
When you talk to your mother today, remember to thank her for being special - then call her next month to tell her again.
Happy Mother's Day to all of the mothers out there.
Who else but a mother could love a baby covered in vomit just as much as when the baby is cooing and laughing?
Who else but a mother would admire the frog her son carried home in his pocket?
Who else but a mother would patiently teach a daughter to brush her hair one hundred strokes a day?
Who else but a mother would even touch the clothes that have been hiding under a child's bed for a month?
Who else but a mother would cook healthy meals night after night even though her children come up with two hundred and twenty reasons not to eat the vegetables?
Who else but a mother stands ready to embrace a child that has turned his or her back on her?
Who else but a mother accepts a Mother's Day phone call as apology for endless weeks of silence?
When you talk to your mother today, remember to thank her for being special - then call her next month to tell her again.
Happy Mother's Day to all of the mothers out there.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Horse Teeth
I'm sure you've seen the latest trend in advertising on automobiles - white lettering applied to the rear or side windows. The fad started with the "In Memory of" announcements and has since spread to business advertising.
I was following a Toyota Corolla today. The rear window was filled side to side and top to bottom with business info for Equine Dentistry. I guess the good thing about being a horse dentist is that, unlike a farrier, you don't have to pull around a wagon load of equipment.
What, I wondered, does a toothbrush for a horse look like? I thought of one of those gag pencils that are about three fingers thick and pictured one with some monster bristles on the end. I imagined the bristles would need to be a cross between a coarse scrub brush and a wire brush - after all, horses must get some serious plaque buildup.
And just how to you get a horse to curl its lips back so that the teeth can be polished? Does it require teamwork? Does the horse hygienist stand with brush poised while a partner tickles the horses belly to prompt a lip curling giggle?
Those two words - Equine Dentistry - raised so many questions that I just may have to audit a few veterinarian classes.
I was following a Toyota Corolla today. The rear window was filled side to side and top to bottom with business info for Equine Dentistry. I guess the good thing about being a horse dentist is that, unlike a farrier, you don't have to pull around a wagon load of equipment.
What, I wondered, does a toothbrush for a horse look like? I thought of one of those gag pencils that are about three fingers thick and pictured one with some monster bristles on the end. I imagined the bristles would need to be a cross between a coarse scrub brush and a wire brush - after all, horses must get some serious plaque buildup.
And just how to you get a horse to curl its lips back so that the teeth can be polished? Does it require teamwork? Does the horse hygienist stand with brush poised while a partner tickles the horses belly to prompt a lip curling giggle?
Those two words - Equine Dentistry - raised so many questions that I just may have to audit a few veterinarian classes.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Cinco Sombrero
Happy Cinco de Mayo. The annual celebration of the day Mexico defeated the French - along with the annual celebration of the discovery of Tequila.
Well, okay, the second part might not be quite accurate - but there does need to be a day for celebrating the world's foremost alcoholic beverage.
It is on May 5th every year that people of all backgrounds descend on Mexican themed restaurants to consume the best of Mexican cuisine and copious amounts of Margaritas. I was one of those people. I got so caught up in the moment that I donned an enormous sombrero and posed for a roving photographer.
I have to tell you, it requires some well developed neck muscles to support a hat measuring three feet in diameter. Those sombrero's are heavy. No wonder it's a south-of-the border tradition to indulge in an afternoon siesta. It 's either that or commitment to wearing a neck brace.
Well, okay, the second part might not be quite accurate - but there does need to be a day for celebrating the world's foremost alcoholic beverage.
It is on May 5th every year that people of all backgrounds descend on Mexican themed restaurants to consume the best of Mexican cuisine and copious amounts of Margaritas. I was one of those people. I got so caught up in the moment that I donned an enormous sombrero and posed for a roving photographer.
I have to tell you, it requires some well developed neck muscles to support a hat measuring three feet in diameter. Those sombrero's are heavy. No wonder it's a south-of-the border tradition to indulge in an afternoon siesta. It 's either that or commitment to wearing a neck brace.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
To Wash or Cut
I think it's save to wash my car now. That is to say, I think my car will actually stay clean if I was it. For a while there it had been a losing battle.
A string of eighty degrees forced every tree, shrub, and flower into simultaneous bloom. The result was bright green pollen lying so thick on motor vehicles that it looked like every car and truck was growing fur.
I first noticed the fuzzy coating even before I left the house one morning. A nearby streetlamp provided just enough illumination for me to see the roof of my car looked like it was sporting a buzz cut. I half expected I would be able to feel short strands of - something - brush against my palm should I run my hand just above the metal of the car.
That very evening I swiped my debit card at the local car wash, chose the super bubbly option, and pulled forward to let scrubbing bubbles and water jets do their work.
I arrived home the proud owner of a shiny clean car - and woke the next day to discover I would need to take my vehicle to the barber shop.
At least I didn't feel like I was the object of attention on my way to work. Every car I passed had the same brilliant green hair as mine.
A string of eighty degrees forced every tree, shrub, and flower into simultaneous bloom. The result was bright green pollen lying so thick on motor vehicles that it looked like every car and truck was growing fur.
I first noticed the fuzzy coating even before I left the house one morning. A nearby streetlamp provided just enough illumination for me to see the roof of my car looked like it was sporting a buzz cut. I half expected I would be able to feel short strands of - something - brush against my palm should I run my hand just above the metal of the car.
That very evening I swiped my debit card at the local car wash, chose the super bubbly option, and pulled forward to let scrubbing bubbles and water jets do their work.
I arrived home the proud owner of a shiny clean car - and woke the next day to discover I would need to take my vehicle to the barber shop.
At least I didn't feel like I was the object of attention on my way to work. Every car I passed had the same brilliant green hair as mine.
Monday, May 3, 2010
The First Boiling
I eat my breakfast on the go these days. I'm a firm non-believer in fast food so at the beginning of each week I mix up a large bowl of fruit salad and hard boil nearly a dozen eggs. I put a single serving size container of fruit along with a banana and two eggs in an insulated bag every morning and spend what would otherwise be down time at red lights eating portions of my breakfast.
It was while I was hard boiling eggs this weekend that I got to wondering - who came up with the idea of hard boiling eggs in the first place?
I imagined a Cro-Magnun man breaking open an ostrich egg, wrinkling his lip in disgust as viscous, opaque fluid trickled down his forearms, and saying Matilda we need to figure out a better way of preparing these things.
Perhaps the first cooking attempt was to place the egg in the crook of a forked branch and hold it over newly discovered fire - only to have the branch burn through and the egg fall into the hot coals where it burned to a crisp.
Approach number two might have been to crack the egg open on a hot rock that formed part of the fire ring and wait for the egg to sizzle. While the ants and grubs that sizzled along with the egg might have provided an extra protein source, I imagine they might have upset Matilda's delicate stomach.
After those flawed attempts, it was probably in disgust that "Cro" tossed the third egg into the boiling water used to clean the serving stones. Then along comes Matilda who shoots Cro a look of disgust for fouling the stone water. Matilda scoops the egg from the pot and tosses it aside.
Imagine the grunts of surprise when the egg landed on the ground with a solid thump and Matilda and Cro peeled away the cracked shell to discover a perfectly cooked egg.
It was while I was hard boiling eggs this weekend that I got to wondering - who came up with the idea of hard boiling eggs in the first place?
I imagined a Cro-Magnun man breaking open an ostrich egg, wrinkling his lip in disgust as viscous, opaque fluid trickled down his forearms, and saying Matilda we need to figure out a better way of preparing these things.
Perhaps the first cooking attempt was to place the egg in the crook of a forked branch and hold it over newly discovered fire - only to have the branch burn through and the egg fall into the hot coals where it burned to a crisp.
Approach number two might have been to crack the egg open on a hot rock that formed part of the fire ring and wait for the egg to sizzle. While the ants and grubs that sizzled along with the egg might have provided an extra protein source, I imagine they might have upset Matilda's delicate stomach.
After those flawed attempts, it was probably in disgust that "Cro" tossed the third egg into the boiling water used to clean the serving stones. Then along comes Matilda who shoots Cro a look of disgust for fouling the stone water. Matilda scoops the egg from the pot and tosses it aside.
Imagine the grunts of surprise when the egg landed on the ground with a solid thump and Matilda and Cro peeled away the cracked shell to discover a perfectly cooked egg.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Morning Orchestra
It was still half an hour before actual sunrise but the lime yellow glow on the eastern horizon had the morning orchestra tuning up.
A dozen gray feathered geese, trumpeting out in turn one after another, paraded single file from the south end of the pond to the north; their black necks punctuated by white slashes at their chins giving them the appearance of a tuxedoed horn section filing into the orchestra pit.
From the surrounding trees crows called out raspy, non harmonious notes. Between caws they flew from branch to branch in interrupted upward spirals as though in hopes the discovery of just the right perch might allow their shrieks to come out on key.
A flock of seagulls circled overhead, screeching out high pitched counterpoints to the deep, throaty trumpets of the geese.
All at once, as though an unseen conductor had tapped a podium with a baton, the cacophany rose three octaves as the geese broke into pre-liftoff run, the crows rose like a shadow from the tree tops, and the gulls broke from a tight group into ragged formation.
In a matter of seconds all were gone.
The remaining silence was louder than the echoing bang of a gong.
A dozen gray feathered geese, trumpeting out in turn one after another, paraded single file from the south end of the pond to the north; their black necks punctuated by white slashes at their chins giving them the appearance of a tuxedoed horn section filing into the orchestra pit.
From the surrounding trees crows called out raspy, non harmonious notes. Between caws they flew from branch to branch in interrupted upward spirals as though in hopes the discovery of just the right perch might allow their shrieks to come out on key.
A flock of seagulls circled overhead, screeching out high pitched counterpoints to the deep, throaty trumpets of the geese.
All at once, as though an unseen conductor had tapped a podium with a baton, the cacophany rose three octaves as the geese broke into pre-liftoff run, the crows rose like a shadow from the tree tops, and the gulls broke from a tight group into ragged formation.
In a matter of seconds all were gone.
The remaining silence was louder than the echoing bang of a gong.
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