Who knew making dinner could be so dangerous?

Culinary Disaster

by Meghan Elizabeth Brunner

                “Hey, Dale! Where are you going?” Gadget called as her friend passed her open workshop door.

                “Oh, I got bored, so I thought I’d go make something in the kitchen.”

                Dale? In the kitchen?! This smells like a disaster in the making. I better keep an eye on him. “Mind if I join in? I’ve been working up here all day. A change of scenery might be nice.”

                “Sure, if you want.”

                “What are we making?” Gadget asked, trying to sound non-chalant as they walked down the halls.

                “Oh, I dunno. Dinner, I guess.”

                Uh, oh. “Like what?”

                By that time they had shut the kitchen door behind them. “Nothing with cheese. I get sick enough of that when Monty’s cooking.”

                “I know what you mean!” Something easy, something easy... “How about spaghetti?”

                “Okay. You start and I’ll get some Coo-Coo Cola for us.”

                “Right,” Gadget assented and began assembling the pots and pans they would need.

                “Heads up!” Dale exclaimed as ice cubes crashed to the floor, skittering in all directions. He hurried to gather them up before any had a chance to melt. “What flavor do you want?”

                “It doesn’t matter,” Gadget replied absently. “They all taste the same to me anyway.”

                “Gravity must be really strong today,” he told no one in particular when the can of soda slipped and crashed to the floor. “One Coo-Coo Cola coming up!” He opened the can. The contents sprayed all over the ceiling. “And I do mean up!”

                “Whoops! Oh well, we can clean that up later. I’m sure we’ll make more of a mess before we’re through. Just get another can,” Gadget said cheerfully, pulling a container of pre-prepared sauce from the cupboard.

                Of course, the manufacturers of spaghetti sauce didn’t make rodent-sized portions any more than the Coo-Coo Cola company did. The Rangers had long since decided that their size shouldn’t be any reason to prevent them from having all the conveniences of ready-made food. They just bought the smallest size it came in and put it in containers Gadget had specifically designed for that purpose. The process did have a few drawbacks, though; for one thing, there always ended up to be so much of whatever it was that the Rangers got quite sick of the stuff. The other was that it was hard to find room for so many containers.

                Not to say that Monterey was entirely happy with the fact that he wasn’t making everything from scratch, but the others had convinced him that when they were all tired after a case it would be easier for him to just dump something in a pot and turn on the heat. They had left out the argument that when they were all tired after a case they wanted to be sure dinner would be edible.

                By the time Gadget finished dumping the sauce in a pot and the noodles in water, Dale had gotten the sodas ready. “Here ya go.”

                “Thanks.” She set the sauce on the burner next to a larger empty pot and turned on the heat. “How about we make some taffy?”

                “Okay.”

                They went about the tedious task of getting it ready, and when the candy was ready to be put in the pressure cooker Gadget reached for the dial.

                “Oh, please let me set it!” Dale begged, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes.

                “Sure, I don’t see why not,” she said, trying to console herself that there wasn’t that much to it.  “Just -”

                “I know,” he assured her hurriedly, turning the knob up a little before hesitating. “What’s that noise?”

                “What noise?”

                “That kind of hissing?”

                “I don’t know, but my sauce still isn’t warming up!”

                “Oh, no!” Dale chuckled, turning up the pressure cooker as far as it would go before running over to shut off the burner and remove the lid to the empty pot. Steam poured out. “Congratulations, Gadget. You managed to burn air,” he informed his friend, trying to control his laughter.

                “Air?” she asked helplessly.

                “Don’t take it too hard,” Dale comforted. “I’ve done it too.”

                Somehow I don’t find that very comforting, she thought.

                Dale’s eyes widened as he looked at the pressure cooker, then to Gadget, who had already turned and was getting her sauce on the heat. He back to the home-made appliance; something was very wrong. He didn’t remember it trembling that way before... “Uh, Gadget? Gadget?”

                “What?” For some reason the alarm in his voice hadn’t quite registered; she didn’t bother to turn around.

                “Gadget!” There was a real note of urgency there now.

                “What, Dale? I’m trying to -” She only had time to turn, a look of dread replacing her slightly annoyed expression.

       BLAM-O!

                “Oh, yuck!” Gadget wrinkled her nose in disgust as she took a step and had to pry her foot off the ground. She gazed around the taffy-strewn kitchen. “This is not going to be fun to clean up. You okay, Dale?”

                Two eyes appeared above a counter, “Well, it missed me, if that’s what you mean. What next? Cake?”

                “Yep.” Dale wants to cook... Well I’m going to make sure he gets something right.

                Meanwhile, Monterey Jack and Zipper had just returned from meeting a cheese ship at the docks to find Chip on the sofa pouring over the pages of an extremely well-read book. The mouse knew it had to be about the adventures of Sure-Luck Jones. “Good book?” he asked needlessly.

                “Yep,” the leader replied absently.

                “Where are the others?”

                “Oh, about eight, I guess,” he said offhand.

                “About eight?” Zipper repeated, puzzled, turning to his “best mate,” who could only shrug. Getting a straight answer out of the detective when he was reading a favorite book was as likely as Monty giving up cheese; nothing short of an explosion could get Chip to forsake his fantasy world.

                “Well, think I’ll go make dinner, ‘kay?”

                “One-ten.” He didn’t glance up.

                “Isn’t that supposed to be ‘ten-four’?” Zipper asked.

                “Sometimes I wonder what questions he’s answering.”

                Monty grinned mischievously and called slightly louder than normal, “The world’s been invaded by mutant slugs who’re standing with our arch-enemies at the foot of our tree demanding we surrender or they’ll blow up the galaxy. I’m gonna go find a spaceship sos we can escape before the nuclear bomb explodes in half an hour, okay?”

                “Whatever. Just make sure you’re back in time for supper. I think Monty’s making that weird stuff with the cheese and marshmallows, and if you’re not here he’ll save some for ya. If possible, that junk tastes even worse re-heated than it does the first time around.”

                Zipper snickered at the indignant look in his friend’s eyes as Chip fell silent oncemore, oblivious to the fact that his commentary had fallen on the wrong ears.

                Before the resident chef could open his mouth for a snappy comeback an explosion shook Ranger Headquarters to its roots.

                Chip looked up sharply. It took him a couple seconds to focus on his surroundings, but as soon as he had he vaulted the couch and ran as fast as he could to the kitchen door, the other two hot on his heels.

                Monty tried to open the door. “It’s locked! Gadget? ‘Zat you, luv?”

                Gadget ran to the door. “We’re fine,” she called.

                “Do ya need any help?” Monty yelled back anxiously.

                “Gadget, I don’t think we have enough flour to -” Dale began, but broke off with a gasp.

                His fellow chef turned and started at the strange spectacle; Dale’s face was totally white except for his two dark brown eyes. “No, I don’t think we have enough flour,” she said with a perfectly straight face, “seeing as how you’re wearing most of it!”

                “Luv? Yer sure ya don’t want me to come in and lend a hand?”

                “I don’t think you ought to come in,” Gadget advised. “It might be hazardous to your health.”

                Dale looked into a shiny pot and laughed so hard he fell over. It was a good five minutes before he could talk again.

                “I must’ve missed one of the ice cubes,” he explained sheepishly.

                “Well, we’d better get started on the cake if we want to get done. There should be more flour in the storage cupboard.”

                They started dumping the ingredients in, trading off every other one until Dale said, “Gadget? Where does Monty keep this one?”

                “Baking soda? Um... in that cupboard over there, I think.”

                “Okay.” But when he checked, there was none to be found. Well, the recipe doesn’t call for much; I’ll just leave it out.  Cheerfully he went to the next ingredient.

                “Looks like we’re set!” Gadget smiled as she added the egg.

                “All right,” Dale grinned. “Let’s get dangerous!”

                Gadget cocked her head inquisitively.

                “Sorry. I was watching Darkwing Duck this morning. Ya know, I think it would be fun to be a cartoon. Chip and Dale -”

                The inventor couldn’t help but stare. She knew Dale was a little loopy, but certainly he couldn’t think he was a cartoon. “What?!”

                “The guys we were named after! Chip’s mom and my mom were good friends and really liked the shorts. Anyway, we were both born around the same time so they named us Chip and Dale.”

                I am definitely going to have to check this out with Chip later! Gadget thought.

                “Anyway, the original Chip and Dale had all sorts of fun. Hey, I know! We could sell our adventures to Disney!”

                Gadget couldn’t help but smile as she imagined Chip’s reaction to Dale’s latest brainstorm. “Right. Like you in the kitchen.”

                “Naw. That would end up in a fan magazine or something.”

                Gadget raised one eyebrow, but decided to let it pass as she secured her goggles and turned on her latest invention: a high-powered mixer. All thoughts of chipmunk look-alikes vanished from her mind about two seconds later as batter flew every which way. Dale let out a yell and ducked behind the counter.

                “Gadget! Turn it off!”

                “I can’t! It’s stuck!”

                A knock on the door.

                “Luv?”

                “Gadget? Dale?” Zipper wondered.

                “What’re you doing in there?” Chip called.

                “Nothing!” they chorused innocently.

                “You’ve got to unplug this thing while we still have some batter left!” Dale hissed, hoping those outside wouldn’t be able to hear him.

                “What’s going on in there?” three voices demanded from beyond the door.

                “Nothing you want to know about!” Dale informed them.

                “I can’t take my hands off this thing or the batter’d go all over!”

                “As if it isn’t anyway!” Dale muttered.

                “The only thing you can do is try to unplug it!”

                Using a nearby plate as a shield, Dale advanced on the plug and heroically pulled it from the socket. The mixer stopped.

                Gadget brushed some now-brunette hair from her eyes. “Wow! I guess it still has some bugs left in it.”

                “I’ll say! You weren’t kidding when you called it high-powered!”

                “Well, there’s enough left to make at least some cake, if not quite as much as the recipe said.”

                “All right,” Dale agreed as his partner dumped it in a pan and stuck it in the oven.

                “I guess I should get some rags so we can start cleaning up this mess,” Gadget sighed.

                “Like that?!” Dale caught her by an arm. “Gadget, you’re not even blonde anymore!”

                This isn’t fair. Dale doesn’t look any different from normal -- except for a little flour -- and I’m covered with taffy and cake batter!

                “There’s only one thing to do!”

                “What?” A distinct sense of dread settled in her middle.

                For an answer, Dale grabbed the sink’s spray-hose, aimed, and turned the water on.

                With a startled yelp Gadget scooped some taffy off the wall and threw with practiced aim.

                Somewhat surprised, Dale turned off the water. All thoughts of cleaning gone, the chipmunk countered, and soon the two of them were more taffy than fur. It might have gone on longer if the buzz of the oven timer hadn’t interrupted their fun.

                “You know,” Gadget observed as she pulled it out, “I know we didn’t start with all the batter we should have, but this doesn’t seem to be quite as tall as the one in the picture... Dale, are you sure you didn’t leave anything out?”

                “Nope. I put everything in. Except one,” he confessed, pointing to the book. “Baking soda. Monty didn’t have any, so I didn’t bother. It was just a little. I didn’t think it made any difference.”

                Gadget attempted to cut through the “cake,” but it didn’t work. “Baking soda, Dale, is what makes the cake rise. Since there wasn’t any, it didn’t rise and ended up so hard that it can’t be cut.”

                “Well, all that’s left is cookies. I’ll get the recipe. Monty says that no one can screw it up.”

                “I’m not so sure about that.”

                Dale worked on baking for five minutes while Gadget gathered the dishes. Then the chipmunk turned to the mouse. “What’re ya supposed to do once you dump the ingredients in?”

                “Oh no! Dale, didn’t you read the whole recipe? Everything -- even the chocolate chips! -- you dumped it all in!”

                “I wasn’t supposed to?”

                “No! I guess all you can do now is mix it up.”

                “Okay.”

                Both turned back to their occupations. A loud snap preceded a shrugged, “Oops! Oh well.”

                “Oops what?” Gadget turned around in time to duck something Dale thew over his shoulder. “You broke a wooden spoon?!?! Look at how thick it is!”

                “I didn’t think it would snap so easily!”

                “Well, try my mixer. It should- The sink’s overflowing!” With one pounce Gadget shut the sink off and stuck a pot under the waterfall.

                “I’ll clean it up,” Dale volunteered. “Maybe you can save the cookies.”

                Gadget stuck in her beaters and turned on the juice. The high-strung invention, which had flipped cake all over the place willingly enough, bent under the strange concoction.

                Both stared in openmouthed awe at Dale’s creation.

                “Is there a toxic waste disposal site anywhere near here?” he asked weakly.

                “When’s dinner?” queried Monterey from the other side of the door.  “I’m starved!”

                Dale and Gadget burst into a fit of laughter.

                “Dinner will be a little late, I’m afraid,” Gadget managed, once again next to the door.

                “Whoops!”

                “Whoops what?!?!” the inventor asked, frazzled.

                Dale pointed to the refrigerator where a bunch of noodles -- perfectly shaped into the form of a pot -- was stuck. “Spaghetti’s done.”

                “So’s the sauce! It’s boiling over!” She ran over to avert the latest catastrophe.

                Dale sidled up to the door. “How do you guys feel about PBJs, salads, and instant brownies?”

                “Sure, I guess,” Chip said.

                “It takes you that long to make instant brownies?” Monty sounded skeptical.

                “Uh... no, we’ve... um... been... um...”

                “Expressing our artistic talent,” Gadget whispered loudly, attempting to pry the noodles off the fridge.

                “Expressing our artistic talent,” he agreed lamely and turned from the door, only realizing what he had said after a moment. “Expressing our artistic talent?”

                Gadget shrugged, placing one foot firmly on the door to the appliance and leaning back with all her weight. “Did you have a better idea? Why did you ask if they wanted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? My spaghetti’s fine!” Or at least, it would have been if I hadn’t been so busy trying to keep you from blowing us all to kingdom come that I forgot about it.

                Dale raised his eyebrows, crossing to give the noodles a firm smack. They wobbled but remained firmly in place. A brainstorm striking him, Dale pulled himself up to straddle the formation. It didn’t budge. “Do you really think eating this is a good idea?” he asked from his perch, pointing to the blackened sauce. “The noodles probably taste like rubber, and what’s left of the sauce hasn’t been classified by science. PBJs and salads don’t need cooking, and even I can make instant brownies.”

                “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

                “What could be easier? You put in the powder and the wet stuff, then mix it and bake it. There’s no way to mess it up.”

                “Okay, then. I’ll get the brownies. You start on the salads.” Not even Dale could ruin a salad.

                A full five minutes of peace and quiet passed before Dale finished the salads. Setting the metal bowl on the nearest available surface -- the stovetop -- he turned to get the jelly from the cupboard. For a couple minutes he occupied himself with fixing sandwiches.

                Gadget, confident that everything was finally going well, went to stick her creation in the oven and let out a strangled scream that was overridden by a burst of laughter. Her ever-presence of mind kicking in, she set the uncooked brownies on the counter and turned off the stove before grabbing a pair of hotmits and removing a slightly-scorched bowl.

                “What?” asked Dale, turning to her, bread and knife still in hand.

                “Dale,” she said, her voice trembling with laughter that she refused to let past her composure, “today we have burnt air, killed a cake, and broken a wooden spoon and my high-powered mixer. We have decorated the room with grape soda, salt-water taffy, cake, spaghetti sauce, and noodles. But this -- oh, this! -- is the crowning achievement.”

                “What’s that?”

                She proudly displayed the wilted, slightly blackened remains of the vegetables. “Dale, you have burnt the salad.”

                “How did I do that?”

                “I don’t know. I guess you set it down on the stove and bumped the knob to turn it on.”

                “Well, we’ll just have to get rid of it.” He tried to act dignified, like it was a common mistake.

                “Right. I’ll toss it,” Gadget volunteered.

                Dale, meanwhile, decided to help by putting the brownies in the oven. This batter is way too thick. With-out hesitation he dumped the remainder of his Coo-Coo Cola in, stirred it up, and stuck it in the oven. Twenty minutes, the box says. Well, I don’t want to wait that long! I’ll just put it in for twice as hot.

                Ten minutes later found the sandwiches ready and the buzzer going off. “That’s not right,” Gadget frowned. “It couldn’t have been twenty minutes all ready!”

                “Nope!” Dale beamed proudly. “I put it in at twice as hot. It was a little thick, too, so I thinned it out.”

                Gadget’s heart couldn’t help but drop as she retrieved the bubbling sludge from a smoke-filled oven. “I guess we’d better add this to the cake and the cookies.” She tried not to sound too downcast. Looking at her battlestained partner, then at herself, she couldn’t help but add, “I think I’m more of a lost cause than you are. Try and clean yourself up in the sink while I go take a quick shower.”

                “How will you get up there without the others seeing you? They’re camped right outside the door!”

                “I’ll just climb out the window. I think I’ll get you a clean shirt on my way back.”

                “What if someone sees you outside?”

                “What are the chances that they’d recognize me?” With that she pried open the window and scampered outside.

                Half an hour later, Dale emerged triumphantly with the peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches, Gadget in tow. At the table, she was the only one who didn’t scarf down the food. She just sat there staring at it, looking like she wanted either to laugh or cry but was unsure of which. As Dale chattered on about how well everything had gone, she recalled the mess that awaited them. Just thinking about it made her very, very tired. One thing kept playing through her mind. The soda... it must have been an omen. And then the taffy. We should have quit while we were ahead.

                “Hey, are you all right?” Chip asked in alarm, taking her hand in his. “Boy, are you cold!”

                “No fever,” Monterey murmured as he pressed his hand to her forehead. “Still, maybe you should go to bed, okay?”

                That’s all I want to do! “But the kitchen...”

                “That’s okay. I’ll take your place. You just get some rest, all right?”

                She bit back a smile. He didn’t know what he was volunteering for. He had no idea... “That’s okay. I’ll go get started.” She tried not to feel like she was going to the guillotine as she trudged to the kitchen and carefully closed the door. She gazed at the devastation blankly, not sure where to begin. Here’s another rule for your list, Chip: Never Let Dale in the Kitchen! she proclaimed in her mind. “Oh, Monty! I will never ever complain about your cooking again!”

Author’s Note:

   See? I don’t have to always write depressing stuff. (But if you were hoping for it, wait a while. There’ll be more.) I don’t always have to write fiction, either. In fact, this story is a result of much unintended research -- but do not attempt to verify it. You won’t enjoy the ensuing mess. It’s only funny when you’re reading about it. They say to write about what you know...

   ***  A heartfelt thanks to Jeff Pierce for the use of his theory regarding Chip and Dale being named after the stars of the cartoon shorts. ***