Our cooking success continues.
Only one near death experience this week, not including my woefully overcooked pork chops on Monday. It was a fat fire. It happened on Tuesday, when the rat man was here. Presumably his respirator would have saved him if we’d all succumbed to smoke inhalation, so he could have phoned for help if nothing else. It’s some small consolation. From this experience I have learned: 1) that cooking fires aren’t just the province of drunken men having fry ups in the middle of the night – inattentive daughters can achieve the same effect; 2) a little bit of oil makes a surprisingly large amount of smoke; 3) burnt cooking oil and bacon makes a stubborn combination when trying to clean a frying pan; and 4) just how much smoke does that fire alarm need to sound the alarm?? (That last one is certainly a worry).
Anyway – what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, onwards and upwards, etc etc. I’m fully confident we’re going to survive another week. And they said going to the supermarket would be the most dangerous thing we did in lockdown! Little did they know…
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