Schrödinger’s Breakfast
Posted by Blue Man on 13 May 2008 at 09:34 am | Tagged as: Ramblings
How in God’s name are you meant to know when to stop buttering a crumpet?
A nanosecond after spreading the butter, it melts and falls down the holes, leaving it in an uncertain state somewhere between butteredness and non-butteredness. You could potentially collapse the probability waveform by biting into it, but unbuttered crumpet is like eating a bathroom sponge so it’s probably better safe than sorry. So you put on some more butter, which goes the way of the first. So you try some more butter. And some more, only stopping maybe half an hour later when you realise that your crumpet is now an island floating in a sea of cooling yellow grease.
Crumpet is a fun word to say. Crumpet crumpet crumpet.
And frozen crumpets are bastards. I have a sizeable scar on my left hand caused when trying to jimmy apart two frozen crumpets, (which, to continue your physics theme, were seemingly joined at the quark level), with a butter knife.
Imagine how hard you have to stab yourself with a blunt-ended butter knife to end up with a one-inch long scar.
Having jabbed a fork into my eye as a six year old I’m now onto spoons in my crusade to injure myself with all forms of cutlery.
I’m now onto spoons in my crusade to injure myself with all forms of cutlery.
You could try and gouge your heart out with one.[/Rickman]
I am currently observing a new experiment with Holly (my 2 year old daughter for those that don’t know) which is effectively a Pavlovian Hot Crossed Bun scenario. It’s no probabilty conundrum, but it’s cute.
I have Hot Crossed Buns for breakfast - I have done for years. Holly likes Hot Crossed Buns. She knows I have a cup of tea with my buns. Every time she knows I am in the kitchen and hears the kettle turning on (”CLICK”), she comes up to the childproof gate and says “can I have some bun please daddy?”.
She’s a bit clever, my girl.
Any other science in breakfast foods out there?
Samuel keeps ncking my Special K, even though he “doesn’t like it”. I don’t get anywhere near his Coco Pops.
No, that’s not a euphemism, sickos.