The water I was splashing into the roaster gathered up in little shrinking drops and reminded me that the pig-hocks I brought home for Sunday dinner were going to rate throwing out unless we got the oil smell out of the pan.
"Tell you what you do," I said to Lottie. "Get me all your cleaning soaps and stuff and let's see what we got."
Lottie is always trying out some new handy-dandy little kitchen helper compound, so she hefted up quite an armload. Now, when I was in high school, I really liked chemistry. "Charlie, Boy Scientist," my pals used to sneer at me. But I was pretty good at it, and I been reading the science magazines right along ever since. So I know what a detergent is supposed to do, and all about how soaps act, and stuff that most people take the advertisers' word for.
"This one," I told Lottie, "has a lot of caustic in it, see?"
She nodded and said that's the one that ruined her aluminum coffee pot. She remembered it specially.
I poured some very hot tap water into the roaster and shook in the strong soap powder. "This is to saponify the oil," I explained.
"What's saponify?" Lottie asked.
"That means to make soap. Soap is mainly a mixture of some caustic with fat or oil. It makes sudsy soap."
"But we got soap," she said. "Why don't you just use the soap we got?"
We went into the business of soap-making pretty deep. Meanwhile, I read some more labels and added pinches of this and that detergent and a few squirts of liquid "wonder-cleaners" that didn't say what was in them.