Thursday, June 19, 2014

Smoking Me Out of the House and It's 92 Degrees

Some days, dammit, it just don't pay.

Here I was runnin' from the kitchen to the phone in my office to catch a final interview for a story I was doing, leaving meatballs on the stove at high-ish heat. I really do know better than to leave a heating pan alone, but I thought, "This'll just be a minute."

Five minutes later, I'd finished the interview and that wonderful copper frypan was smoking like a building afire. I ran to it, took a hot pad and grabbed the brass handle, which is always hot when it's cooking. The sink is right there, so I poured water into the smoking pan, which amplified the smoke problem, filling the kitchen with acrid and thick smoke. I spilled liquid all over the area (a bitch to clean up), ran outside with the pan and sat it on top of the grill.

I did not take a photo, but wish I had because the pix here ain't anywhere near what I'm talking about. Magnify this one by about seven.

Now I'm airing out the house. It's 92 degrees outside and I have all the doors and windows open. Lovely.


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