Here was the true quandary: to pull the ferret out meant enduring more bites, more chili, and the distinct possibility of getting his hand stuck. To leave the ferret meant dismantling the wall with a sledgehammer, which his landlord would not appreciate.
The quandary was this: Frank had to find Beans before the ferret either (a) died of capsaicin overdose, (b) smeared chili onto every porous surface in the apartment, or (c)—most pressingly—crawled into a heating vent to die, which would perfume the entire house with the smell of rotting ferret and ghost pepper chili for the rest of the summer. the frank and beans quandary
The neighborhood potluck that evening was chili-less. Frank brought a bag of store-brand tortilla chips and a haunted look in his eyes. Sheila told the story to everyone. Beans spent the night in a cardboard box, wearing a tiny, improvised cone made from a coffee filter, plotting his next move. Here was the true quandary: to pull the
It came from the wall.
The quandary presented itself on a Tuesday. Frank had made his "Famous Five-Alarm Memorial Day Chili" for a neighborhood potluck. It contained three types of beans, ghost peppers, and a secret splash of espresso. It was, by all accounts, a masterpiece. He’d left the pot on the counter to cool, lid slightly ajar. The neighborhood potluck that evening was chili-less