High on Fumes
Today I had one of my oldest and best friends over for a day of lazy Christmas chilling. I cooked Spaghetti Bolognese - this I am usually very good at. I mean it's hardly rocket science, but in all my years I have only ever screwed it up once before and that was the first time I made it (I left the paper on the back of the mince so people were picking that out of their teeth for hours, but I was 14, that's allowed right?) but today for some reason my head was not screwed on right and there wasn't much space to prepare and...
Well basically it went like this; (Events happen in real time and are only very slightly exaggerated)
We were watching youtube vids and waiting for the water to boil, when I hear a very unusual and loud 'pop' coming from the kitchen.
Thinking this might just be trapped water evaporating under the pan I ignore it. Ten seconds later there is another loud pop, followed by a series of even louder pops (think someone slapping a bare arse with a wet ruler) - so I run to the kitchen and all hell breaks loose.
Accidently I had turned the wrong dial and my black plastic chopping board with all the prepared ingredients on was smoking/melting/burning all over my hob, running like liquorice over the oven doors, onto the floor and taking with it a mosaic of finely chopped onions, bacon and mushrooms.
...You know that 5 seconds of absolute panic where your brain searches frantically for a solution to the problem but fails miserably because you ARE NOT PREPARED FOR THIS EVENTUALITY!!!!?? yeah. hardcore.
Anyway, after dancing on the spot and squealing like a moderately alarmed meerkat, I threw on some oven gloves, pulled the chopping board (puddle of goo) off the hob by its one solid corner and threw it in a plastic bag...which started melting also - and do bear in mind that as plastic cools it goes like taffy, so I am shovelling strands and strands of black spider web beaded with massive hot globs into a bin-bag which is simultaneously melting against my leg and FOR SOME REASON I AM WEARING BEACH SHORTS IN DECEMBER and I am having trouble coordinating this effort because I am also wearing an enormous oven glove. Tried tying your laces drunk? It was like that. But worse. And with pain.
So; bag got thrown into another plastic bag and then into the bin.
I wanted to take a picture of its impressively fucked state but really...the smell and pressing fire hazard prevented this. By this point the kitchen was filled with smoke, my friend was trying to help but literally the kitchen is the size of Harry Potter’s Cupboard Under The Stairs and it doesn’t accommodate two people. My boyfriend started shouting - you know the usual; ‘What happened?’, ‘What’s that smell?’, ‘Why did you do that?!’ and I am shouting back, ‘OH YEAH, I DID IT ON PURPOSE, I THOUGHT I'D JUST SPICE UP OUR EVENING BY BURNING THE HOUSE DOWN AROUND US!!!!!!’
My friend, at this point, is not sure if laughing is 'too soon'.
I spent the next 40mins chiselling plastic off of my floor/hob/oven/fridge/sink with a butter knife. The stench of melted plastic filled my tiny flat; we had to open up all the windows and put on all the extractor fans because we were all choking on the fumes. This, being England, meant that it was FREAKING COLD outside (snow and everything). So we were shivering and choking and hungry.
Then of course my sauce had over-condensed so I had to add more red wine because I was out of tomatoes and was too stressed to realise that half a cup of water would have been a better idea. I had to re-chop all the ingredients and when I served it the beef was overcooked, the sauce was closer to puree, and we all had the taste of chopping board in the backs of our throats.
To top it all off my boyfriend very enthusiastically said that it was the tastiest SpagBog I'd ever made. and meant it. seriously.
Must have been the excessive alcohol content. Or maybe the liquidised plastic.
FML.
Well basically it went like this; (Events happen in real time and are only very slightly exaggerated)
We were watching youtube vids and waiting for the water to boil, when I hear a very unusual and loud 'pop' coming from the kitchen.
Thinking this might just be trapped water evaporating under the pan I ignore it. Ten seconds later there is another loud pop, followed by a series of even louder pops (think someone slapping a bare arse with a wet ruler) - so I run to the kitchen and all hell breaks loose.
Accidently I had turned the wrong dial and my black plastic chopping board with all the prepared ingredients on was smoking/melting/burning all over my hob, running like liquorice over the oven doors, onto the floor and taking with it a mosaic of finely chopped onions, bacon and mushrooms.
...You know that 5 seconds of absolute panic where your brain searches frantically for a solution to the problem but fails miserably because you ARE NOT PREPARED FOR THIS EVENTUALITY!!!!?? yeah. hardcore.
Anyway, after dancing on the spot and squealing like a moderately alarmed meerkat, I threw on some oven gloves, pulled the chopping board (puddle of goo) off the hob by its one solid corner and threw it in a plastic bag...which started melting also - and do bear in mind that as plastic cools it goes like taffy, so I am shovelling strands and strands of black spider web beaded with massive hot globs into a bin-bag which is simultaneously melting against my leg and FOR SOME REASON I AM WEARING BEACH SHORTS IN DECEMBER and I am having trouble coordinating this effort because I am also wearing an enormous oven glove. Tried tying your laces drunk? It was like that. But worse. And with pain.
So; bag got thrown into another plastic bag and then into the bin.
I wanted to take a picture of its impressively fucked state but really...the smell and pressing fire hazard prevented this. By this point the kitchen was filled with smoke, my friend was trying to help but literally the kitchen is the size of Harry Potter’s Cupboard Under The Stairs and it doesn’t accommodate two people. My boyfriend started shouting - you know the usual; ‘What happened?’, ‘What’s that smell?’, ‘Why did you do that?!’ and I am shouting back, ‘OH YEAH, I DID IT ON PURPOSE, I THOUGHT I'D JUST SPICE UP OUR EVENING BY BURNING THE HOUSE DOWN AROUND US!!!!!!’
My friend, at this point, is not sure if laughing is 'too soon'.
I spent the next 40mins chiselling plastic off of my floor/hob/oven/fridge/sink with a butter knife. The stench of melted plastic filled my tiny flat; we had to open up all the windows and put on all the extractor fans because we were all choking on the fumes. This, being England, meant that it was FREAKING COLD outside (snow and everything). So we were shivering and choking and hungry.
Then of course my sauce had over-condensed so I had to add more red wine because I was out of tomatoes and was too stressed to realise that half a cup of water would have been a better idea. I had to re-chop all the ingredients and when I served it the beef was overcooked, the sauce was closer to puree, and we all had the taste of chopping board in the backs of our throats.
To top it all off my boyfriend very enthusiastically said that it was the tastiest SpagBog I'd ever made. and meant it. seriously.
Must have been the excessive alcohol content. Or maybe the liquidised plastic.
FML.