I was given a marijuana-laced cookie last summer as a ribald birthday gift. Stuck it in the freezer, forgot about it till recently.
In the spirit of experimentation, I decided to eat it when Le Duc and I settled in to watch "Breaking Bad" on DVD.
Perhaps it was Walter White's adventures on the dark side that instigated my desire to do something slightly transgressive. (Our house has hosted its share of pot-smokers, but I don't smoke anything, and my last experience eating it went back four decades.)
Cute little SkorBar cookie, what harm could it do? I nibbled half (best be on the safe side) and settled in to watch Walt battle disease and deceit.
In less than an hour, the walls glowed, the sound boomed and swooped–and we were watching on a laptop. Uh oh.
I cast my mind back and realized I was stratospherically high. When I informed Le Duc, he said, "Really? You'll be OK in a little while, but right now you just need to distract yourself. I'll go downstairs and download some of those Anthony Bourdain shows you like." ("No Reservations", how ironic.)
I lay there, waiting– he did not. Not. Not. Return. Oh my God, I thought, he's gone out and I'm stuck here in this state! My paranoia spun dire scenarios while the walls hulaed. Where is he, where is he...what's in this cookie, maybe it's laced with something else?
I couldn't read, couldn't walk to the bathroom and kept reciting my address, just in case. (I didn't know what case, but it seemed wise.)
The hours seemed to drag. Whom should I call when I can't even speak?
In fact, six minutes had elapsed.
The cookie wore off gradually while an ecstatic Bourdain lay merry waste to mounds of Brittany's glorious seafood, lacy crepes, buttery pastries.
Unlike this chef who eats anything and never gets sick, the cookie and dinner ended up in the toilet.
Breaking bad, not so good. I've returned to my drug of choice, Lindt Fleur de Sel chocolate bars.