Clogged

Ah, hell.

There's hair all in the drains. How am I supposed to have Gir clean the vegetables if there's hair in the drains? He's gonna take it out and braid it all and nothing will get done.

It's all golden and shiny. At first I figured it must be Torbjorn...but when I was, um, supervising Gir's rescue I noticed that not a hair was out of place. How much Aquanet can one man use? He had to go through the air conditioner vents and there was not one mussed tress when he came out.

Evie's hair is all gone now. Of course, didn't she have brown hair? I never looked that close. Amazing Steve had flowing golden hair. But I can't imagine him slipping down the drain pipes.

Guess it's off to get a flashlight....

Flammable vs Inflammable

Apparently, they do mean the same thing, as our gracious leader so delicately pointed out.

That being said, here is a list of things that are definitely not my fault while you were away:
1. The front door being locked=Gir. He thought'd it be funny. By the time we figured out you were standing outside, the exterior turret guns were out of bullets and Bloodthirsty Teddy had found Nacho Cheese from somewhere--hence the carpet.
2. Everything else that went wrong.
3. The reason there is no pudding for dessert is that someone broke into the locked freezer and tried to poison your portion with the mint julep.
4. I think it was Amazing Steve--who is not amazing, but is still, unfortunately alive and probably the one who did the whole julep thing.
5. Whatever Gir did.

Tracking Gir

Well, Gir should be easy to find without putting a tracker on him.

Apparently, he has decided to practice a Moonlit Sonata for Evie. So I'm keeping him in the freezer.

A New Smoker

Scallops are wonderful smoked. Because true smokers are fairly expensive and not in The Secret Bunker's budget, I took advantage of the recent explosion in the laundry room.

Admittedly, cotton does not have the same smokey flavor as hickory (or even Pine Sol), but there is a certain clean flavor to the scallops now. Much better than that time I had to use Camels (cooking school is not as straight-forward as you'd think...). The fact that the bomb was actually a cuckoo clock did give a woodsy scent to the whole affair.

An Infestation

Well, I think that we've been invaded. I'm still not entirely sure by what, but ever since those violin cases have been moved to storage, I've been noticing a strange whining sound in the freezer. To my experienced ear, it sounds like a person (minion perhaps?) is bound and gagged to a metal chair with duct tape. However, we here at the Secret Bunker know better than to use duct tape in the freezer. Last time it took forever to get the gum off of the ice. We had to defrost everything.

So, no, definitely not a human being trapped freezing in the ice box.

I think it might be rats. I'll just wait a couple hours to make sure that the little bastards freeze. Then maybe they can be roasted. (Sorry guys: Still haven't made it to the grocery store--Whole Foods was all out of fresh figs and miso the last time I was there and they still seem to have trouble locating the manager. Guess it's off to the Circle K. Again.)

Grocery List

Well, now that the kitchen is out of commission for the moment, I should really get to restocking the larder.

• Ducks (14 fresh)
• Carrots
• Pine Nuts (remember not to serve to Iron John, allergies, you know)
• Peanut Butter
• Beer
• Brandy
• Gin
• Brown paper bags
• Flour
• Rollos
• Cheez-Its
• Bourbon

En Flambe

Fire is the oldest tool in a chef's aresenal. That charred flavor adds a certain something to every meal. Or every bunker. No worries, I'm sure the smell will come out soon.

In the end, as in the beginning, it was Red Shirt's fault. I told him that brandy was not the proper liquor and that he should not have set the campfire in the middle of the pastry station. Now he's covered in unrisen souffle dough and some strange pie filling that melted onto his skin. I won't go into details, but the incident went something along these lines:

Me: Don't do that.

Red Shirt: What? It's just a little brandy.

Me: But you're not supposed to add it to the fire. You're supposed to--

(sound of liquid hitting metal)

Red Shirt: AUGHHHHHHH

(sound of writhing on the floor in pain)

Me: I'll go get Dr. Foxtrot.

So, dinner was delayed another two hours and fourteen perfect ducks were toasted--I can still hear their last quacks in my dreams. Now that repairs are almost completed in the infirmary, we're gonna need the crew over here.