Oven Fire

Oven Fire

A golden, flaky crust, baked to perfection.  Cinnamon infused apples: not too hard, not too soft... perfect.  The homemade filling... spilling over the pie, dripping over the metal rack, and burning on bottom of the oven.  Sigh.

Overflowing pies.  Cheese dripping from pizzas.  Mostaccioli sauce exploding from it's noodles. Somehow food has a way of escaping it's container.

So yesterday I decided I would tackle the task of cleaning the beast.  The Oven.  I wore myself out... It takes a lot of effort to push the "self cleaning" button.  It had been running for around twenty minutes when Rich came downstairs.  He started to make himself breakfast while we chit-chatted.  He glanced over his shoulder and said, "huh, look-it." I peered in the oven, and there was a fire!!  To me, it was like the oven was encased in a raging inferno.  What really existed was a fire mass that was four or five inches tall.  But still!  A fire!  I stuttered, "w, w, will it burn itself out?"  He kept fixing his eggs, raised his infamous eyebrow and said, "Well.  We'll see."  Um, we'll see? I nervously shifted my gaze from Rich to the stove, drumming my fingers together as if I had to keep time to "The Flight of the Bumblebee."  All the while, he strolled about the kitchen, getting a plate, a fork, some salt, my sanity...not worried at all.  I watched the flames lick the racks for a minute and then slowly die down.  Geez.  There's a year off my life.  Scared the crap out of me.  Stinkin' fireman.  So calm.

"Honey, you put it out with your eyes." Nice.  He's so hilarious.

Well, now I know my Thanksgiving won't turn out like this, now that my oven is nice and clean.