by Brian Bakos
***
After several harrowing trips up and down the stepladder, Johnny Badger finally had enough grapes to make a batch of Punch Fabuloso. He waddled toward the door carrying the heavy bucket.
“I’m finished climbing that stepladder,” he fumed. “Next time, others will pick the grapes – or they’ll never taste Punch Fabuloso again!”
He entered the kitchen and flung open the cupboard where the other Punch Fabuloso ingredients resided in glass jugs. A wooden barrel with a removable top sat in the corner waiting to receive the concoction. Johnny ran over the recipe in his mind.
Step one: crush the grapes.
After giving the fruit a good rinse under the pump, he dumped them into the barrel and smashed them up thoroughly with a wooden paddle. A sweet fruity smell filled the kitchen.
“There! Now, what do I do next?”
He consulted his mental recipe as he added the various ingredients to the barrel.
“I’m certain this is right,” he said confidently. “Well ... I’m pretty sure.”
To tell the truth, he regretted tearing up and swallowing the recipe. It seemed like such a fine gesture at the time, very dramatic. But now he wished he still had the written instructions. Even the best memories can make mistakes, can’t they?
He held up the bottle containing the final “secret” ingredient – a dark, thick liquid that looked rather scary, somehow. The label added to the effect:
Caution! Don’t use too much of this stuff, nitwit.
“Don’ worry about that,” Johnny said confidently. “I know exactly how much to use.”
So, what was the exact amount, anyway – three teaspoons or three tablespoons? Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure.
Oh, man, he thought, if I put in too little, the Punch will taste lousy. And if I put in too much ...
He studied the frightening label. Would too much of this stuff be dangerous? Days from now, would investigators come to his house to find a pile of dead bodies heaped on the floor?
He popped open the bottle. A powerful smell wafted up into his nose.
“It’s gotta be three tablespoons,” he said between sneezes. “I’m sure of it.”
Actually, he wasn’t sure at all, but he dumped in the amount anyway. The mixture inside the barrel bubbled and boiled, sending powerful fumes into the air. Johnny felt powerful, and kind of mean – like he was King of the Universe.
“Ready or not, here it comes!”
He banged the top into place. The barrel felt warm and pulsing, as if it were alive. In a few days time the Punch Fabuloso would finish brewing. Then the truth would be known.
