So, last night I tried something "new" in the kitchen. It's called cooking. I was making these yummy chicken breasts and a cheesy potato casserole and grilled broccoli. YUM. However, during the "pan frying" of the chicken, somewhere in my brain, I thought it would be OK to pour cool chicken stock into the SIZZLING HOT pan to scrape the yummy brown bits off to make my rue. Ummm, not so much. My lovely brown bits bellowed into smoke and turned from brown to black in a split second. Meanwhile, the fire alarm is going off, Abe is holding Luke's ears so as not to deafen my child, and my grandmother (bless her heart) is opening every door and window trying to fan out the smoke....then the Firetruck shows up. I walk outside, shamefully, and invite the guys in for dinner. Needless to say, they declined.
Dinner was yummy, but did get a little hairy there for a minute.
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