Who knew ... ? You'd think, you'd just think, that a potholder would be fireproof. You'd just think.
Tonight was baked potato night. I'd dubbed it that myself because, if I hadn't, those 24 baked potatoes sitting on my kitchen counter would've gone to waste. Yes, I'd found a bargain at the grocery store a few weeks ago and had planned on eating one every night for, uh, 24 days. Well, 12, if Rick joined me for dinner, which is rare lately. He tends to eat his lunch at 4:00 when I'm arriving home from work leaving me to dine by myself each night.
So, anyway. I turned the oven on and loaded four of those potatoes onto the top rack. I figured I'd bake four and save myself the trouble of cooking again for, oh, four days. Yep, that worked for me.
And bake, those potatoes did. Bake and bake and bake. But not ten minutes into the process, the kitchen began to smell. Vial. And smoke began to pour out of the oven vents. Ooh, it was really smelling now!
I tore open the oven door and eyed my beloved potatoes. But they looked just fine. The rest of the oven did not, however. It was then that I noticed all of the scorched food in the bottom of the oven that I had failed to clean up earlier. I have no idea what I cooked previously, but it was there... charred, on the bottom of the oven. It looked pretty crunchy. Actually, I love burned food (especially if it's on the top of lasagna) so honestly, it looked pretty tasty, too.
I knew, if I was to enjoy the rest of my evening, smoke-free, I had to get those crumbs out of there.
So, I quickly grabbed my favorite oven mitt and removed the bottom rack so that I could get at those pesky crumbs. And I knew I had to do it quite carefully since I was not in the mood for a burned and scorched arm... which, yes, I was perfectly capable of giving myself.
Oven mitt on, I reached for the bottom rack. And I guess I aimed wrong... because before I knew it, my thickly padded, tan-striped oven mitt was on fire. And my hand was in it. See, I told you I was perfectly capable of maiming myself.
I carried the rack to the stove and set it down quickly and yanked my hand out of that oven mitt. The oven mitt flew to the floor but not before sparks flew everywhere. Everywhere. You'll be happy to know that granite does not burn. I am happy to know that, too. Neither did the tile on my floor. I was also happy about that. Sparks may've been a flyin' but I really only lost my cute oven mitt. And one of Elizabeth's birthday gifts. Yeah, probably shouldn't have been keeping that on the kitchen counter. Near the oven. So I may not've lost much, but I did a lot of stomping around though. I stomped on everything that a spark would land on. I stomped the heck out of my oven mitt. There was nothing I could do to save it. And Elizabeth's gift is a bit singed. And squished. I stomp hard, you know.
So... if the kitchen was smelly before... you should've smelled it after the oven mitt joined in. P.U.
I finished cooking the potatoes although I'm not sure why. I guess just so that I wouldn't be called a quitter.
Rick is the only one who ate one for dinner tonight. I don't know why, but I had lost my appetite.