Tuesday, June 14, 2011

Bartholomew Templeton Eats a Waffle

Behold:  the second installment in the Bartholomew Templeton character arc.  In other words, here's another story featuring my newest multipurpose character!  I must have been pretty hungry when I started writing this...well, they always say life imitates art.  Or in this case, art imitates life!

            Breakfast.  The most important meal of the day.  Most people skip it, but not Bartholomew Templeton.  He knew his medical facts, and he wanted to take good care of his body.  Doing hand weights every day after a bowl of dry cereal only takes weight loss so far:  not very.
            Now, Bartholomew knew of the breakfast fact, but he did not ever think it through.  He never paused to think and realize that by “breakfast,” the doctors mean a “healthy breakfast.”  No, our gentleman Templeton just knew he was supposed to eat a breakfast.  And boy, did he have the most fabulous breakfast in mind!
            No dry cereal for him today.  No 8 ounce glass of orange juice.  Today he is going all out.  Then surely all the doctors would congratulate him on the good breakfast decision he made.
            “I know what I’ll do,” he said to himself.  “I’ll make the most epic waffle there ever was!”
            And so his breakfast making began.  First, he pulled out his beloved friend, the waffle iron.
            “Oh, Mr. Waffle Iron, you look so dirty.  I need to bathe you…in batter.”
            “Thank you, Bartholomew Templeton.  I can’t wait to have my body smothered in flour and eggs,” replied Mr. Waffle Iron.
            As the he poured the gooey batter—which he always kept a batch of on hand just in case it was needed—into Mr. Waffle Iron (he named him, not me), he pondered what else could go on his supreme waffle.
            “The fridge is a good place to start.”  He opened the refrigerator door and let the cool blast of air drift over his body.  He sighed.  It was such a wonderful sensation.  Very refreshing.  Around the lines of can’t-wait-for-another-glass-of-that-iced-tea refreshing.
            “What’ll it be today?” asked The Fridge in its gruff, booming voice.  It liked to amplify its size with its voice to take command of the kitchen.
            “I need something tasty for my ultimate waffle creation.  What have we got in the leftovers department?”
            The Fridge shot open its two bottom drawers.  It flashed its lights and said, “looks like that spaghetti is still mostly fresh.  And the meatloaf smells deeeelicious.”
            Bartholomew removed these two food items and patted The Fridge on its side.  The Fridge purred.
            “Thanks for the advice, The Fridge.”
            “Anything I can do to help you, Bartholomew Templeton.”
            He took his leftover spaghetti and meatloaf (his mother’s recipe) to the other side of the kitchen, where Mr. Waffle Iron sat happily cooking.
            “Ready to go in Spaghetti?”
            “We’re squirming in anticipation,” said all the pasta strands in unison.
            “Wait—where’s Meatball Mary?”
            A large meatball emerged from under the spaghetti.  “Here I am!”
            “Oh, good.  This waffle of awesomeness would have lost some of that awesome without you there to add your meatiness.”  He tapped Mr. Waffle Iron on the head.  “Time for more!”
            Bartholomew poured Spaghetti on top of the batter, with Meatball Mary tumbling out after the pasta.
            “Wheeeeee!” exclaimed Meatball Mary.
            “Meatloaf Man, are you good to go?” asked Bartholomew.
            The meatloaf sprouted two arms, two legs, and two beady eyes, and a mouth opened on what must be his head.  This mouth spoke, “Yes, sir.  I am ready for this mission.  I believe my training will serve me well in this dangerous operation.”
            “Er, right you are, Meatloaf Man.  In you go!”
            With a nice juicy splat, Meatloaf Man was on top of Spaghetti, Meatball Mary, and the batter.  They all simmered nicely in Mr. Waffle Iron.
            “Keep them coming, Bartholomew Templeton!” said the silver waffle maker.
            Bartholomew looked around the kitchen for the next contribution to his nutritious breakfast.  He spotted a bag filled with vegetables on the counter.
            “Hmm.  I must’ve forgotten to put these in The Fridge when I got back from the supermarket yesterday.  Well, the better for my ultimate waffle!”
            Carl Carrot and Lenny Lettuce jumped up and down in anticipation.
            “Pick me first!” shouted the always demanding, slender carrot.
            “No, I’ll taste better on a waffle,” countered the leafy cabbage cousin.
            “Don’t you two fret,” said Bartholomew.  “You’ll all end up in the same place in due time…in Mr. Waffle Iron!”
            “Hooray!” cried the vegetables.  And sure enough, they were both placed into Mr. Waffle Iron on top of Meatloaf Man, Spaghetti, Meatball Mary, and of course the batter.
            “That waffle looks delicious,” boomed The Fridge.
            “I’m glad you think so, too!” said Bartholomew.  “I can’t wait to dig in!  But it needs something else….”
            He began opening cabinets to find the missing ingredient.  No, not glass cups.  Forks are used for eating the waffle, not to be eaten in it.  Pots and pans are high in iron, but not the right texture.  Ah, the seasoning cabinet, this could be promising.  Sorry, Salty Sally, today’s not your day:  Meatloaf Man already has enough sodium in him.  Cool Cat Cinnamon could work well, but there must be something else that could balance the vegetables better.  We can’t mess up Carl and Lenny’s contributions to the waffle.  Wait, that’s it!
            Bartholomew took a golden bottle from the cabinet shelf and carefully brought it over the Mr. Waffle Iron.
            “What do you think of this?” Bartholomew asked his companion, who was beginning to steam, both in excitement and because the waffle was almost done cooking.
            “I think it will be the perfect final ingredient for your waffle,” confirmed Mr. Waffle Iron.
            Without further contemplation about what this seasoning might do to the taste of his waffle—not that it really mattered by this point—Bartholomew poured in an overflowing tablespoon of crushed mint leaves.  They rested gently on top of the bickering Carl Carrot and Lenny Lettuce, Meatloaf Man with his beady eyes, Spaghetti with all of its many strands, Meatball Mary and her tasty meatiness, and the gooey batter.
            “Wow, what a creation,” exclaimed Bartholomew.  “Cook it up, Mr. Waffle Iron!”
            In just a few minutes, the platinum press turned off its light.  The sensational waffle was finished.
            “All ready, Bartholomew Templeton,” said Mr. Waffle Iron.
            Bartholomew carefully removed the steaming waffle from his friend and tenderly placed it on a clean, white plate.  He picked up a fork.  It sparkled in the kitchen’s fluorescent light.  He brought it down with a quick stab.  The crispy surface of the waffle broke with a satisfying crunch.  Then it was the knife’s turn.  With a sure stroke, it cleanly separated two sides of the waffle.  The first piece rose on the sharp tips of the fork.  It entered Bartholomew’s mouth.  He moved his mandible and masticated slowly, to fully appreciate the taste of his waffle creation.  A swallow.  Then a pause.  A long pause.  Still pausing.  Wow, what an awkward pause.  OK, someone should really say something now.
            “Well, how is it?” asked The Fridge curiously.
            “It’s…it’s…it’s delicious!” exclaimed Bartholomew. 
            “Huzzah!” shouted The Fridge, Mr. Waffle Iron, and the remnants of Meatball Mary, Spaghetti, Meatloaf Man, Lenny Lettuce, and Carl Carrot.  If the batter and mint could talk, they would have shouted “huzzah,” too.
            “This must be the best breakfast in the world.  So I must be the healthiest man alive!” declared Bartholomew.  Keeping this in mind, he devoured the rest of his “nutritious” breakfast.
            Bartholomew Templeton had succeeded in making a scrumptious waffle.

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