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Since retiring from
his fight against injustice, the Human Torch had found life unfulfilling. He
spent his days sitting in the backyard, whistling at the birds and clicking
at the squirrels, then frowning as they fled from his flames. His life was
bleak and without purpose. His mother had also noticed this particular
boredom and for his past five birthdays she had given him presents meant to
encourage hobbies. Three years ago it was a model rocket. Two years ago it
was guitar lessons. Last year it was a stamp book. These were all thoughtful
gifts, but Mrs. Human Torch, who was sweet, but senile, had forgotten that
her son’s body was covered in volatile photoelectric solar cells. The model
rocket melted before he could get the decals on. The guitar strings singed
and snapped as he strummed his first chords. The stamp book… well, that was
just silly. For this most recent birthday the Human Torch received from his
mother five weeks of cooking classes. Reclined on his fire-retardant
chaise-lounge, the Human Torch found himself depressed. Why did his mother
think a man with a fiery epidermis could have hobbies like a normal person?
Why couldn't she just give him some proton-altered socks? But he knew he
must at least try the cooking classes.
His first cooking lesson came and, to his own surprise, the Human
Torch was thrilled. He was charmed by the energy of the kitchen. The head
chef in his great big hat, the aromas, the little stations set up for each
student—gleaming pots and pans, piles of ingredients, spices. It was all so
exciting. Here was something he really wanted to be good at. It was the
first time he’d felt this way about anything since battling villains like
Asbestos Lady. But when it came time to begin preparing the dish for that
day’s lesson—chicken curry with chickpeas—the Human Torch melted a plastic
spatula and set fire to all the ingredients. The odor of burnt garlic (as
well as rosemary, ginger and melted spatula) pervaded the room and the head
chef told the Human Torch that he was not welcome in the class. The Human
Torch was crushed.
At home, the Human Torch thought about the purpose he had felt when
he was cooking and he was more miserable than ever. But suddenly, he had a
plan. He went to the store to buy what he needed and when he returned, he
called up his friends. That evening, Toro, the Sub-Mariner, Captain America
and a few members of the Avengers Squad had a barbeque in the Human Torch’s
backyard. The Human Torch lay on his chaise lounge with a metal grill over
his chest. With a (fire-retardant) spatula in his hand, he flipped the
burgers and hot dogs while chatting happily with his superhero friends. He
grilled the meat as a sculptor sculpts; the perfect pinkness in each burger,
just the right charred shell for each hot dog. Everyone agreed that it was
the best barbeque they’d ever had and the Human Torch invited them all back
for the following week. An especially lovely time was had by Mrs. Human
Torch, who enjoyed the sight of her happy son as well as a perfectly grilled
veggie burger.
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