She picked her moment wisely. The country was distracted. The country was dark, especially inside the Superdome. Yes, it was SuperBowl Sunday. In the darkness, the canola oil glowed like Judah Maccabee’s lamp. It would take a miracle: to deep fry Seven Layer Bars and have them stay in one piece. To cook them in spattering grease without it splashing and searing the courageous/sociopathic chef’s skin. To consume them without falling to the ground, overcome with bliss, repulsion, disgust and euphoria.
Meanwhile, around this great nation, we gorged ourselves on nachos and wings, beer and cheese dip, and we watched grown men beat each other to a pulp, scream like genuine psychopaths from the sidelines, and possibly get away with stabbing someone. We ingested the grease. We ingested the chaos. When the lights went out, we snacked on pigs in blankets and waited for them to come back on.
The oil will burn. As will Rome.