Kim on the left, excited over the "Enjo."
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| From Discovering Australia |
With excessive notice in advance, Kim invited me to an "Enjo Party" (pronounced INN-yoh). Between too much notice to engineer a scheduling conflict and the temptation of good food, there was little way out. I figured it would be like the Pampered Chef parties my mom used to host, where Chad and I would spend the evening running back and forth from the house, disrupting the party, and salting slugs along the footpath where the party guests would soon exit. Except this time I'd have to stay still and feign interest (fail). And there'd be fewer slugs.
The Enjo Party opened with a gruff Aussie named Rachel who sprayed mists and shared her life's passion for the different varieties of Enjo. Friend Joanne asked me, "what do they call Enjo in the States?"
"A rag", I replied.
Maybe more like shag toilet seat covers and bathroom floor mats. Or Muppet fur.
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| From Discovering Australia |
As Lena and Jim are quite thorough, the rag demo failed in the kitchen. Rachel led the more attentive guests to the bathroom, evidently in search of a recent blowout that her blowout-specific rag could conquer. There were even $50+ rags to wipe your fruit and vegetables. What did we ever do before?
Guests can barely contain the urge to place an order following the car demo
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| From Discovering Australia |
Without soap, Rachel used the rag to wipe her car clean of dirt donated by her home driveway. Rachel's dirt cleared away beautifully. I was initially impressed and thought, "Dad may like this," until I noticed her fingers left streaks just as white as the rag.
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| From Discovering Australia |
So clearly I wasn't sold, but apparently I will do anything to make friends and chow down.
Albeit quite expensive, the Enjo was perfect for removing dust from the ribs of Kim's dining skeleton.
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| From Discovering Australia |
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