Hair Brownies

 Scott was an amazing person in every way.  He did have one downfall, though.  Perhaps curse would be a better word.  He had a curse, and it was this: if ever there was a foreign object in food, that food would find its way onto Scott's plate.  Always.  Every time.  

I lost track of the times he found hair in his food in restaurants.  The most recent occurrence was when we were in Missoula.  We were having dinner at a nicer restaurant there, which shall remain anonymous.  We had each received our entrees and were happily dining away when I noticed Scott's face change.  He went from pleased to disgusted.  I saw him look down at his meal, reach into the sauce, and pull out a very long, very dark, very curly strand of hair.  He held it up for all to see, then dropped it on the floor and pushed his food away.  The waitress immediately came over and apologized profusely, comped us the dinner, and offered to make a meal for us to take home.  Scott politely declined.  

A few years ago, we were on a river trip with a group of 14 other people.  We all took turns cooking dinner on those big trips, and this particular night was not our turn to cook.  The guy who prepared dinner did an amazing job.  The food was delicious and simple.  He even made dessert.  He had cooked some sort of fruit crisp in the Dutch oven.  Scott loved fruit crisp, so he was excited for dessert to finally be served.  The chef for the evening cut into the crisp and dished up bowls for everyone, then passed them out.  Scott accepted his bowl with delight.  He took one spoonful, then another, his face full of joy.  Then came the disgusted expression.  He reached into his bowl, dug around with his spoon, and dislodged a giant moth.  The moth had been well-cooked and disintegrated into the crisp as Scott tried to dig it out.  He put his spoon in the bowl and set the whole thing aside.

 The episode that stands out the most in my mind, and the one that Scott and I started referring to as the "hair brownie incident," happened several years ago.  We were invited to a potluck at a friend's house.  There were several people there we didn't know, along with a few familiar faces.  We ate a delicious barbecue dinner with all the sides while chatting with our friends.  Then it was time for dessert.  Someone had brought a pan full of delicious, gooey, fudgey chocolate brownies, and I couldn't wait to dig in.  I cut one piece for me and another for Scott, took both pieces outside where he was sitting, and we settled in to enjoy.  I took a bite of mine.  Spectacular.  I took another bite.  Even better.  I looked at Scott as he took his first bite.  He chewed, then stopped.  I could see his mouth working something around.  He reached up, grabbed the end of something in his mouth with two fingers, and pulled.  A very long, well-baked hair came out, covered in tiny bits of brownie.  I gagged.  Scott grimaced.  He pushed his plate aside.  

"I'll go get you another one," I offered as I jumped up and went back in the house.  I cut another brownie from a different section of the pan and took it back outside to Scott.  He studied it, hesitant for a repeat.  He looked at me, looked at the brownie, looked back at me.

"What are the odds you get another hair?" I asked.  "I didn't have one in mine.  I'm sure it's fine."

He looked at me, looked warily at the brownie, then picked up his fork.  He cut in, took a bite, and started chewing.  I watched, waiting for him to exclaim how delicious it was.  Instead, once again, I saw his mouth start working.  His face twisted into disgust as he once again reached up, grabbed something from his mouth, and pulled.  And once again, a very long, well-baked hair came out.  

"No way," I said and started laughing.  "No way!"

Scott shook his head.  "I think I'm done with brownies."