Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967 Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 It's been a while... HALF BREED PETE and the RHUBARB PIE One springtime many years ago, Hank and I decided we were long overdue for a visit to our ol’ pard, Half Breed Pete. So, after a warning phone call, we packed up our toys and toothbrushes and hit the road for the drive from Pacifica to San Luis Obispo. Several hours later, we found ourselves at Pete’s girlfriend’s house in Los Osos. We’d never met Chris before, but to our absolute delight she turned out to be a great cook, and was just plumb tickled at the opportunity of puttin’ on a spread for her beau’s buddies. And that’s where the troubles started. After we stuffed ourselves silly we retired to the “sittin’ room” to visit, relive some memorable adventures, and have dessert. Hot, blue-ribbon quality, Strawberry Rhubarb Pie. Served up with a scoop of homemade ice cream and hot coffee! Just the memory makes my nostrils flare and mouth water. But it also sends shivers up my spine. Chris cleared the wreckage of dinner and dessert, and excused herself, sayin’ that she had a test the next day and needed to get to bed early. With that, she left us to our own devices - something she would have NEVER done had she known us better. Especially Hank. Well, with our bellies full but our minds still sharp, we soon realized that we needed some post-meal libations. Oddly enough, we discovered in the kitchen all the components necessary to construct multiple batches of strawberry daiquiris. Not our normal sauce, mind you, but certainly adequate. So there we were, a-drinkin’ daiquiris and visitin’, on into the wee hours, when someone came up with the brilliant observation that re-heated leftover rhubarb pie would go along with them strawberry daiquiris just fine! With that, Pete and Hank shambled off to the kitchen with a promise of returning soon with a fresh batch of drinks and that wonderful pie. And I foolishly let those two go off alone together. Then, about eight minutes later, a most amazin’ thing took place. I just happened to look up at the closed folding door that separated me from the kitchen, when suddenly, appearing almost in slow motion, it bulged toward me like a soft spot on an old tire. Thin sheets of flame licked briefly but frantically through the gap surrounding the door and the seams between the panels. At the same time, the entire house shook, accompanied by a VERY loud ka-boom-WHUMP! The windows all rattled (at least one cracked), and several carefully hung pictures crashed to the floor. My first thought was, “Oh my GAWD!! They’ve been playin’ with black powder and have blown themselves to BITS!” I struggled to my feet, and stumbled off to the kitchen. Now, before I tell you what happened, I have to describe these characters: Hank was the embodiment of Yosemite Sam. About five-foot nine and built like a fireplug, with flowing mustachios, boots, jeans, vest, and usually a hat. Looking like the SASS marshal himself. Pete, on the other hand, looked kinda like a six-foot one Fidel Castro with a broken nose. (Legend has it that Hank presented him with the beak several years prior in a college football game, but we have yet to see supporting evidence). Hank was well barbered; Pete had the Fidel whiskers, bushy eyebrows, and not long but shaggy hair. It seems that when they went into the kitchen, Pete set about arrangin’ the fixin’s for another batch of daiquiris, while Hank walked over to the stove and twisted the oven knob to 350 degrees. He then followed Pete around the room, chattering at him while Pete worked on the drinks and gathered up the rhubarb pie. After a while, Pete wandered off in the direction of the stove with pie in hand. He set the pie on the counter near the stove, and, while hank rambled, dropped to his knees in front of the stove. Hank stopped talking, and began to watch intently, wonderin’ just what the heck Pete was a-doin’ on the floor. Suddenly, Pete yanked open the oven door, pulled a large Blue Diamond ‘Strike Anywhere’ from somewhere behind his whiskers, and sez “Hank, did ya light this yet?” Well, Hank hadn’t. All he had done was turn the thing up to 350 degrees, or at least opened a gas supply capable of fueling the oven to that temperature. “Uh, nope....” Hank said. “But what I did do was....” And before he could complete the sentence, Pete leaned his whole upper body into the oven (it was quite large), reached all the way into the back, and struck that Strike Anywhere. Hank later described what happened next. When Pete apparently fired up that Blue Diamond, it ignited the gas in a most convincing manner. Hank said that, again almost like in slow motion, a gigantic ball of blue flame expanded out of the oven like a cartoon balloon, totally engulfing Pete’s entire upper torso, then proceeded outward to expend itself against the far wall and door to the parlor. Hank was momentarily too stunned to speak. A few seconds later I crashed into the room, and was greeted by a bewildering sight: Pete, on his knees, with his whole upper body in the oven. Hank standing over him, an astonished expression on his face, sayin’, “Pete. Pete! Are ya okay? Pete, are ya awright? Pete? PETE!?” I was dumbfounded. I instantly grasped what must have happened, and with dismay I realized that my old pal Pete was dead. Done in by a rhubarb pie. Then, we saw movement. Pete was alive! Standing behind him, I watched with horrified fascination as Pete gradually backed out of the oven. Sagging to his haunches, he slowly turned toward us. What I saw next almost defies description. Pete, crouched on the kitchen floor, with an incredibly altered countenance. His eyebrows were all but gone. His eyelashes were curled to a fair-thee-well that could never be achieved by any of the fairer sex. His hairline was severely receded, with the hair remaining on the front half of his head standing straight up. He’d not need a barber for months. His beard, that wonderful, full, Paul Bunyan-proud shrub, was reduced to little more than a Van Dyke. His forehead and cheeks glowed darkly with a thin sheen of soot. And he was smoking! Thick tendrils wafted up from his chin past his temples, reminiscent of a picture I had once seen of Blackbeard the Pirate, he with smoldering matches stuffed in his ears. Pete turned his face. With an expression that at the same time displayed pain, bewilderment, and humiliation, he looked up at Hank. “Oh, DAMN, Hank!” And that’s all he said. Hearing that, and seeing that scolded pup look on a head that could only be duplicated by Warner Bros, I lost it. I couldn’t help myself, and the guffaws burst forth. With the tension broken, Hank immediately joined in, and we soon had tears the size of road apples rolling down our cheeks. Pete, looking more hurt and insulted than before, shuffled to the table, sat down, and sulked. Neither Hank nor I could talk. Any attempts to get words out past our laughter just caused us to choke. Spotting a hanging mirror that had miraculously survived the explosion, I pulled it from its nail and propped it on the table in front of Pete. “Pete! Ya GOTTA look!” I gasped. After a moment, he stole a peek at the mirror, then looked away. Then another quick glance. Eventually, he stared at the still-smoking apparition lookin’ back at him. The corners of his mouth started to twitch. They curled slightly. And finally, despite the pain, they formed a smile accompanied by a low chuckle. Then all hell broke loose! Chris, awakened by the blast and beginning to comprehend, boiled out of her room armed with a short piece of two-by-four, which she hurled at Hank, narrowly missing his head. She shrieked “Blankety Blank It, Hank! That’s my Boy-Friend that got blowed up, and IT AIN’T FUNNY!” She gave Pete a sorrowful and sympathetic come-hither look, and returned to her boudoir. “Uh, fellas....” Pete said. “Yeah, we know” I responded. “We’ll find our way over to your place and sleep. You just stay here and let Chris nurse ya back to health.” With that, Hank and I grabbed our sleeping bags and ventured forth into the night. And we never did get our rhubarb pie. Chris’s Rhubarb-Strawberry Pie Pie crust for double crust pie 2 cups rhubarb, diced 2 cups strawberries, cut up 1 ¼ cups sugar ¼ tsp salt ¼ cup tapioca 2 tsp butter Put the bottom pie crust in a 10 in pie pan. Mix up the strawberries, rhubarb, sugar, tapioca, and salt Scrape it into crust, then dot it with butter. Pinch on the top crust, poke a few steam holes and bake at 425 degrees for about 10 - 15 minutes, then back off to 375 for the next half hour or so or until crust is golden. Serve with vanilla ice cream or strawberry daiquiris. Use extreme caution if served with daiquiris. Deep-Dish Pie Pie crust for double crust pie + 3 cups rhubarb, diced 3 cups strawberries, cut up 1 7/8 cups sugar (Just under 2 cups) 3/8 tsp salt 1/3 cup tapioca 3 tsp butter Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Subdeacon Joe Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 The book, Hardpan! Write the danged BOOK! Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Sedalia Dave Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 6 minutes ago, Subdeacon Joe said: The book, Hardpan! Write the danged BOOK! +1000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967 Posted March 31, 2021 Author Share Posted March 31, 2021 Workin' on it. Meanwhile... some faces to go with the names. Hank (with our frat brother Ray G.), and Half-Breed Pete (either before the explosion or after the whiskers grew back) Hardpan Chris Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cider Creek Shootist Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 1 hour ago, Hardpan Curmudgeon SASS #8967 said: And that’s where the troubles started Now my sides hurt and it's yer falt ...............thank you . Would love to buy a copy of that book when ya get done scribblin Cider Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Pat Riot Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 That’s a funny one Hardpan. Years ago on a camping trip me and my three buddies awoke to a chilly morning. While I was getting ready to make coffee on the camp stove our friend Dana volunteered to build a fire. He piled up a bunch of wood and I commented that he needed kindling. He grinned and said “Don’t worry about it. We are going for the quick start method.” I figured that I didn’t like people telling me how to build a fire so I would just leave him alone. I figured if he screws it up I will step in and fix it. Anyway, I got busy with the coffee, but I noticed Dana fill up a bean can full of Coleman fuel and toss it on the pile of wood all the while yammering at our friend Dave about people fooling around with kindling and such. I ignored what was going on while I cracked eggs to make scrambled eggs when I looked up and saw Dana leaning over the pile of wood to strike a match. I yelled “No!” But it was too late. Dana was engulfed in a fireball for a split second. Dana always wore a ball cap. He wore eyeglasses. He had shoulder length hair. He wore a mustache and goatee. Dana jumped backwards and fell over the cooler and landed flat on his back in the sand. The smell of burning hair was nauseating. We ran over and helped him up. His mustache, goatee and eyebrows were gone except for some ashy fuzz. His hair that stuck out from under his ball cap was all gone except for his hair in the back. He had a burnt Mullet. We let him use up a couple of gallons of water washing up. Boy did he look funny. The next weekend Dana showed up to go rock climbing with a very short haircut. If he had eyebrows you would not have been able to tell anything was amiss. Oh, the fire did burn very nicely after his accident. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Alpo Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 In the Boy scouts we used to talk about "Girl Scout firewater", AKA gulf-light charcoal starter fluid. None of us would ever use anything like that. We were proud of our pyromaniac fire-making abilities. But we talked about people in "other troops" who used that. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Birdgun Quail, SASS #63663 Posted March 31, 2021 Share Posted March 31, 2021 ..... I'm glad I just went to the bathroom before I read Hardpan's preamble to the recipe for Chris’s Rhubarb-Strawberry Pie!!! . Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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