So on Saturday I was trying to make french fries - simple enough, right? - for the first time in years, to have with the sirloin patties I was grilling. I apparently let the oil get too hot as, when I immersed the first batch, the oil ended up all over and down inside my stove, and caught fire. I got the surface flames extinguished right away, but the fire under the cooktop took a few minutes. You'd think that eleven years of Air Force safety briefings would have taught me to have an extinguisher in my kitchen, BUT NO! I finally realized that I could probably smother the thing by covering each burner with a pot lid, and a few seconds later it was all over but the cleanup.
It would've been easy enough to misinterpret my "almost burned down the house" Facebook comment as hyperbole, even if you saw it. A simple supper was ruined, of course, but I really am grateful I didn't burn the house down; I was growing concerned for a minute there. I suppose I should also be thankful, given our current finances, that I didn't destroy the range. In truth, I partly wish I had. Then I'd've been forced to buy a new one and make everything work out, somehow.
As recently as Wednesday there was still residue on at least one of the burners, as I walked in to a very smoky house after work while Teri was trying to cook dinner. No such problem for me last night, though, which was a relief as we had the grandkids here by then.
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