Sometimes Your Kitchen Decides to Catch Fire.
Well, I don't know what else to say because without pictures we can't really do it justice, but suffice it to say our Sunday was anything but boring.
We got home from church and were looking forward to a relaxed afternoon waiting for the time to come when we'd roll on over to our friends' house to watch some sporting event that was supposed to have happened yesterday (water polo, I think). We realized we were too hungry to wait for the pizza we'd been promised by the aforementioned friends, so we decided to have a light snack. Now any of you that know both Danielle and me will know that our ideas on the definition of the term "light snack" are about as far apart as Orem and that big red spot on Jupiter. Danielle's mind goes to things like bananas, apples, yogurt. Healthy things... Safe things... My mind, on the other hand, sits ill-at-ease at the mere thought of knowingly and purposefully consuming anything a dietitian might actually recommend with a straight face. No, my mind jumps to things like hot pockets, Cheetos, and (sadly for our kitchen) home-fried donuts.
I swear I've done it before, and my mom can vouch for me. But alas, it would be the absence of my mother and her plethora of common sense which would prove my downfall.
Behold, the hubris of man.
Danielle gave me the go-ahead to fry up some donuts, so I began my preparation. I poured about an inch of vegetable oil in the bottom of a pot and turned on the heat. For reasons I can neither fathom nor recall I went into the bedroom. After no more than 90 seconds I returned to the kitchen and shouted words I'd hoped Danielle would never hear me utter:
"We're on fire."
The pot of oil had found a way to ignite and I was now facing 4-foot flames shooting out the top of our stove like a stray NASA rocket had suddenly remembered our oven owed it money. I remember Danielle shouting, "What do we do!?" Me, being the level-headed ex-Boy Scout that I am responded with a wise, "I HAVE NO IDEA!"
Uh...... fire + water = no fire, right?
Then my brain started running things. Grease fires don't mix well with water. "Shut up and do what I tell you," said the brain to the body. "Turn off the stove." So I reach behind the fire and flip the knob. "Stupid, but effective. Now remove it from the burner." A small shift of the pot to the relatively cool burner next to it and I was feeling good. But I still had a bonfire in my pot. "Now smother it. And no, your hands won't work." One seriously singed frying pan later and the worst was over, but the flames under the burners were still stubbornly trying to start the party up again like those drunks who refuse to leave your house after a party. Cue the brain, "Baking soda. And remember to thank your parents for making you get all those merit badges." Done and done. Now half a tiny box of baking soda won't put out much, but it'll apparently keep things "under control."
Just as I finish applying the baking soda a police officer walks in to assess the situation. Yes, he has a fire extinguisher, but he thinks it'd be more humiliating to the firefighters if he's able to blow it out. After a few failed attempts he decides to "let them have their fun."
Now here's a small interjection: Don't hesitate to call 911 in an emergency. But when you do, you should realize that every available responder from the appropriate team will be standing on your lawn twiddling their thumbs while the one guy with a fire extinguisher douses your kitchen in a foul-smelling powder.
After taking down my name and birth date (I guess I should expect a card?), the 3 fire engines, 2 ambulances, 1 cop car and 1 fire brigade jeep all found somewhere else to be.
Sometimes, I guess bad things happen to good kitchens.
The moral of this story is this: If you're looking for a great way to make quick friends with your neighbors, light something on fire. Not a lot on fire, just a little on fire. We were able to meet our neighbors that live downstairs and watch a movie with them while the noxious fumes found their way out of our home. Now our only predicament is what kind of treat to make them as thanks for letting us sit in their living room for 3 hours. My vote? A giant bowl of ice cubes. Those are safe, right?
Update: Pictures
This is what our stove looks like right now.
This is what our pot looks like right now
This is what our blinds look like right now.
This is what our cupboards look like right now.
Our lawn looks pretty much like this but without the firemen.
