I
was the dishwasher at a small Mexican restaurant.
This
restaurant made excellent cheese enchiladas and chile verde.
The
secret was in the sauces.
These
“secret” recipes came from the parents of the owner’s wife
Suzy.
Rafael
was the owner.
Ralph
told me that he was once offered a million dollars for these secret
recipes.
I
began my mornings at the restaurant by shredding a couple boxes of
lettuce.
While
I shredded lettuce, two of the owner’s cousins and a waitress were
doing other things.
Ralph usually arrived an hour or so after our arrival.
Paula
was the name of the waitress.
Jesse
and Jesus were the two cousins.
Jesse,
a former boxer, was the older of the two cousins.
Jesse
liked to drink, and he did so every night.
Consequently,
he was groggy and slow-moving in the mornings, but always
good-humored.
One
morning while I was shredding lettuce there was a loud explosion.
I saw
red (bean) steam roiling from the kitchen, and cousin Jesse was
“roiling” in the same path as the red steam,
screaming that he was burning from hot steam that had just issued
from the exploding pot.
The
larger of two bean pots exploded because its safety valve couldn’t
open.
The
valve couldn’t open because the exhaust fan hood was not high
enough for the tall pot and its safety valve to fit under it.
Cousin
Jesus had turned off the burner where the big bean pot was sitting,
but cousin Jesse had turned the burner back on.
Jesse
thought that he had turned the stove burner off, when in fact he had
turned the flame back on.
Pressure
continued to build and build until the pot exploded.
The
top of the big bean pot is what blew off, and it shot like a missile
through the exhaust fan hood and through the two-by-four rafters.
The
big bean pot had nearly gone through the roof itself.
The
roof of the restaurant was lifted, and all of the windows had
shattered.
Fortunately,
except for Jesse’s third-degree burns, no one was injured.
Pot
pan handles were sticking out of stereo speakers.
All
the dishes were broken.
Rice
and beans plastered the walls.
Right
after I had thrown cold water on Jesse’s steaming back---(I had
yelled at him to remove his shirt, and when the water hit him he
yelled that it was too cold!)---I started looking for
Paula, calling out her name,
“Paula?
Paula?
Where
are you?”
I
looked up at the ceiling to see if she had gotten stuck there from
the explosion, but she was next door at a gas station, calling the
fire department.
I talked to a guy who lived next door. His name was Evil Cheese, and he did stunts on motorcycles. He said he thought an atom bomb had fallen on his house.
The
restaurant was condemned.
I
came in the next day to help clean up the mess, but
I
stepped on a big nail, and so couldn’t work any longer.
Ralph
the owner was kind enough to go with me to sign the unemployment
papers that said I was separated from my employment through no fault
of my own.
I
returned to the restaurant many years later.
It
had been rebuilt and was three times larger than the original.
The
chile verde and enchiladas were still quite excellent.
I
imagine the bean pots were safer, too.
IT'S
ABOUT RENEWABLE RESOURCES AND THE EXPLODING BEAN POT
