I really can’t live alone. No wait, let me rephrase that: I shouldn’t live alone. If someone were here to keep an eye on me, I wouldn’t do such stupid things.
Take Saturday night, for instance. Since I resolved to keep my stove clean in 2008, I knew I was going to have to start using that smelly sponge that sits on my kitchen sink. I honestly don’t know a better way to clean without wasting a bunch of paper towels. Tonight’s dinner at Chez Cottage was ramen noodles, which I can’t make without spilling on the stove, (I like to stir them for the entire 3 minute cooking period) so it was time to make good on my resolution.
As I’m stirring, I remembered that I read somewhere that all the bacteria can be removed from a sponge by microwaving it for two minutes. Figuring that the bacteria was the source of the smell, I popped that sucker in on high for two minutes right as the ramen finished.
The result? Within 30 seconds, the smell of wet sponge became amplified through the entire kitchen. But did that make me stop the microwave? No. Of course not. I figured that the microwave’s radiation would make the smell would go away eventually. It was just a matter of sitting through the initial smell.
At the one minute mark, I realized that if I’m going to be lazy and eat ramen right out of the pot, I can’t put the pot directly on the plastic placemats. Next year, when I take them out for Christmas again, there will be one that’s warped in the center in exactly the shape of my pot, and I can remember this night. (Oh, and the sponge was still smelling bad.)
After a minute and a half of the sponge being in the microwave, the smell got even worse, and developed a bit of a mesquite overtone.
Right as the two minutes were up, I thought it would be prudent to double check on that sponge. I opened the microwave door and there was my sponge, charred and smoking. The stink was horrific, so I opened up the back door and threw the now flaming sponge into the snow. As it sat there smoldering and billowing noxious smoke, I grabbed my shovel and buried it in a pile of snow to get the fire out.
Then, it was time to return to my kitchen, which now was filled with stink and smoke. I hobbled up to the closet upstairs (still not quite in full walking mode here) and grabbed the box fan, and opened the back door and the front door to try and get some cross ventilation, because having all doors to your house open is a great thing to do in the middle of winter. Especially when you pay $3 a gallon for oil heat.
Sunday morning, the melting snow revealed all:
Obviously, one should not put a sponge in a microwave for upwards of two minutes. It is not the same as microwaving a Boca Burger. (Although some anti-vegetarians out there may say they have the same taste.) So I went back through my RSS feeds to find the article that led me to believe this was a good thing. It turns out that it was the crazy folk at the BBC who claimed microwave dishcloth cleaning was the number 6 thing they learned in 2007. Of course, silly me, I didn’t click on the link to the full article, which leads off in big bold letters:
Firefighters have warned of the dangers of zapping sponges and cloths in the microwave despite a study showing it could kill harmful bacteria.
Then it goes on to say that despite the risk of fire, microwaves make great sterilizers. But that’s way down at the bottom.
So here is what a completely sterlilized sponge looks like:
From now on I’m just going to let my stove get messy. That’s the upside of living alone. Sure, there’s no one to stop you from the extreme stupid, but there’s also no one to judge you because last month’s pasta sauce is still splattered about. Also, I’m sure my neighbors love it, because they were the recipients of the banana bread I made to try and cover up the lingering smell in the kitchen.
