Oh, I Set That on Fire Too

It occurred to me after I posted about my most recent oven-fire activity, that I also forgot to tell you about the other thing I set on fire last month.  Well, technically I didn't set it on fire.  But it did burn.  And it was again cookie-related.  What's really interesting is that I don't burn food--just stuff that shouldn't be burned in the first place.  Guess I'm just special that way.

So, again, I'm in the kitchen making cookies.  These particular cookies were covered with a chocolate ganache that I made in a small pot on the cook top.  Since I've got the electric stove and the flat cook top, I occasionally forget to turn off the burners (or I turn on the wrong burner. Like when I turned on the burner under the slow cooker and melted some of the bottom off. It's not my fault--when there's no flame it's hard to tell what's going on!).  Anyway, I took the ganache off the stove, prepped my cookies and went about my business.  At one point I used a potholder and when I was done I placed it on top of the stove.

Apparently I placed it on the burner that was still on (low) because a few minutes later I smelled something funny and turned around to see my potholder smoking.

Crap.

Before Dave could notice (luckily he was in the basement), I turned off the burner, turned the vent on high and took the potholder outside on the deck.

I texted out this photo with the message "didn't actually set the kitchen on fire."  When Dave came upstairs, I told him I needed a new potholder.  He asked why and I told him to look on the deck.

The good news is at least I didn't have the potholder on the burner with the plastic grippy side down.  The bad news is that I think these were a wedding gift (Sorry, Kate!  It was well used while it lasted!).

I've asked Santa for a new potholder.  Or a new stove.  Whichever fits in my stocking.

Oops, I Did It Again

I'm so late posting this, but last week was in.sane.  Just terrible.

So remember when I told you the story of setting the oven on fire?  And how I told you if it happened again I'd tell you.

Well, consider this me telling you I set the oven on fire again.

Not good enough, huh?  Fine, I'll give you the full story.

Despite the fact that Dave thinks I do this to convince him to get me an industrial oven, I didn't do it on purpose.  I waited until the day after Thanksgiving this year to spend the day rolling out all my cookie dough for shapes and cookie cutters.  I was nearly done with my Old Fashioned Sugar Cut-Outs and was rolling out Linzer Tarts when I glanced from my rolling station to the oven. 

Where I saw a spark.

Dave was in the kitchen, so I opened the door and sure enough, there was a flame sparking from the electric heating coil.  

Again.

Me: Fire!

Dave (upon hearing the proper word for the situation) popped into action.  I told me to turn off the oven and ran for the fire extinguisher.  After completing my task, I immediately thought of how to save the cookies cooling on the racks and the dough rolled out on the kitchen table.  Luckily, with no electricity, the sparked subsided then stopped without using the fire extinguisher (and more importantly, without loosing any cookies or having to clean up the mess from the extinguisher). 

And that's the story of how I came to finish baking cookies on Black Friday in my toaster oven, one painful sheet at a time.  Because I'm resourceful.  And because the appliance store was closed that day and Dave couldn't get a replacement coil until Saturday.

So Saturday morning, Dave calls the appliance store as soon as they open to make sure they have the part in stock.  Then he made me go pick it up and pay for it (at least I supported Small Business Saturday).  The guy at the appliance store was very nice, recognizing that he must have just talked to my husband on the phone.  I explained that since I was the one that broke it (again), I had to come and get it. 

Back at home with the new part in hand, Dave put my oven back together and the baking commenced.  Here's hoping I can go longer than 6 years on this one.


PS: Yes I was tempted to video the whole thing, but I didn't want Dave to yell at me.  Later he asked me why I didn't video it.  D'oh!

Umm...Fire?

In Tuesday's post, I mentioned that if I ever set the oven on fire again, I'd tell you.  Well, this prompted a few people to ask, "Again?"  Implying there had been a first instance.  So even though it happened 5 years ago, well before I turned 30, I suppose it's a good enough story to share with you here.

When Dave and I were still dating, we were long distance for about 2 years.  We would make the 7 hour drive to visit about once a month or so.  This included one Thanksgiving weekend that I came to visit Dave.  Since Thanksgiving is a great bunch days off in a row, perfect for cookie baking, I decided I would make a few batches during my visit.

Dave had moved into the house about a year prior, and while he's pretty handy in the kitchen, he hadn't really used the electric oven all that often.  Less than a handful of times in the year.  In I march, ready to bake, and really gave the oven a workout, having it on for a few hours while I bakeds batch after batch of cookies.  Busying myself in the kitchen, Dave was in the living room watching TV or playing video games.  I had several cooling racks full of cookies, having just completed a batch of Peanut Butter Cookies, and just starting on a recipe of Oatmeal Cranberry.  My first two sheets of oatmeal cookies were in the oven when the timer went off and  I opened the oven door.

There was a flame.

In the electric oven.

So I did what any logical person would do.  I shut the door.  I stood there for a second and thought, "Surely that wasn't a flame."  Assuming the flour had officially gone to my head, I chalked it up to me seeing things, and opened the oven door again.

Nope, there's still a flame in there.

Me: S#!T!

Dave: (no response)

Me: S#!T! S#!T! S#!T!

Dave: (no response)

See, here's the thing.  Even at this early stage in our relationship, and only seeing each other for a few days each month, Dave had already become immune to my use of the word S#!T!.  Turns out I use it so frequently that when Dave would ask, "What's wrong?", my standard response was, "Nothing."  It became a new twist on crying wolf.  Only I was crying S#!T! and needed to find a way to get his attention.  So I searched my vocabulary for a word that would express the dire situation unfolding in the oven.

Me: FIRE!

Dave, boy scout and lab safety professional that he is, sprang to his feet and practically jumped over the couch.  He grabbed the fire extinguisher (I'm not sure I knew where that was) and asked where the fire was.  I opened the oven door and then immediately began opening doors and windows to blow the smoke out, sort of stunned and a little scared.  I just set my boyfriend's kitchen on fire!

I should have gotten Dave these cookies from www.sunflowerbaking.com

After the fire was out and the smoke cleared, Dave calmed me down and we went about cleaning up (all those poor, innocent, extinguished cookies) and figuring out what had happened.  Apparently at some point in the oven's life prior to Dave, someone had a messy oven episode and something had dropped onto the heating element in the oven (the black oval shaped thing on the bottom of the oven that turns red when it gets hot).  Whatever the mess was got stuck on the element and was never cleaned off.  It had never been a problem before since Dave never left the oven on for that long.  But since I had the oven cranking for so many hours, eventually the goop just combusted and when it did, the element caught on fire as well, completely ruining it.

Luckily, Dave is also very handy and knows how to fix things.  This was the day before Thanksgiving. So the day after Thanksgiving, he called a local appliance store, explained what he needed and started to give the serviceman the part number.  The guy at the store actually rattled off the last few digits of the part number and said, "Yeah, I've got one of those left.  We always have a few people who need one of those the day after Thanksgiving."  

It made me feel better to know I wasn't the only one in town to set the oven on fire that weekend.