My house has been on the frequent fire list of the local fire station for years. My husband loves to joke that around five in the evening, the fire-fighters go on high alert - just in case.
Whenever he hears a siren, he loves to say, “Get a move on! Mary’s cooking!”
He also loves to tease me: even after nineteen years of marriage and twenty-six years of knowing each other, when it’s my turn to cook, I still forget that he likes to eat bread with dinner.
“I am a Spaniard!” He will say, “We eat meals with bread. Always bread on the side.”
“Even if you are having pasta for dinner? They’re both starches….”
“It doesn’t matter. Bread is a must.”
The other evening I was making dinner - all cooked and nothing burned, as it happened - and just as we were sitting down, I realized that I had no bread. I grabbed some out of the freezer. My husband took it from me with a smile, “Ahhhh, so you remembered! You do love me!” He gave me a kiss on the cheek, I half-glared at him, and he put some thick slices in the toaster. He turned the toaster-knob to its darkest setting.
“Sit down. I will get it for you when it is done,” assured our son.
We sat down and started to eat our lentil soup. Then smoke rose from the toaster and the smell of burning bread overcame the smell of the soup.
“I smell something burning! I smell BREAD burning!” joked our children in stereo.*
I jumped up, grabbed my cell phone, and called 911.
“Please don’t have the fire department come! It’s just the toaster!” I knew from past visits that once the alarm rang, the fire department took about four minutes to get to our house.
“I am sorry, ma’am, the trucks have already been dispatched.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said and hung up quickly, “Okay, everyone, tidy up. The firefighters will be here in two minutes.”
In exactly two minutes, the hook and ladder truck and the auxiliary vehicles pulled up to our house. I had the door open for them.
“Hello! How have you been? What is it this time?”
“Oh! Look! See that? That is the burn mark from another fire!” explained the lead firefighter to a rookie.
“Well, this time it's just the toaster, and it’s all under control. And, THIS time it was my husband making toast.”
*Please see blog on burning bread:
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/bread-on-the-grill
Blogs on Fires:
Fire #1
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/the-first-fire
Fire #3 (Sad thing is I can’t remember the details of fire #2, but I know there was one)
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/fire-brand
Fire #4
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/the-fourth-fire
Whenever he hears a siren, he loves to say, “Get a move on! Mary’s cooking!”
He also loves to tease me: even after nineteen years of marriage and twenty-six years of knowing each other, when it’s my turn to cook, I still forget that he likes to eat bread with dinner.
“I am a Spaniard!” He will say, “We eat meals with bread. Always bread on the side.”
“Even if you are having pasta for dinner? They’re both starches….”
“It doesn’t matter. Bread is a must.”
The other evening I was making dinner - all cooked and nothing burned, as it happened - and just as we were sitting down, I realized that I had no bread. I grabbed some out of the freezer. My husband took it from me with a smile, “Ahhhh, so you remembered! You do love me!” He gave me a kiss on the cheek, I half-glared at him, and he put some thick slices in the toaster. He turned the toaster-knob to its darkest setting.
“Sit down. I will get it for you when it is done,” assured our son.
We sat down and started to eat our lentil soup. Then smoke rose from the toaster and the smell of burning bread overcame the smell of the soup.
“I smell something burning! I smell BREAD burning!” joked our children in stereo.*
I jumped up, grabbed my cell phone, and called 911.
“Please don’t have the fire department come! It’s just the toaster!” I knew from past visits that once the alarm rang, the fire department took about four minutes to get to our house.
“I am sorry, ma’am, the trucks have already been dispatched.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said and hung up quickly, “Okay, everyone, tidy up. The firefighters will be here in two minutes.”
In exactly two minutes, the hook and ladder truck and the auxiliary vehicles pulled up to our house. I had the door open for them.
“Hello! How have you been? What is it this time?”
“Oh! Look! See that? That is the burn mark from another fire!” explained the lead firefighter to a rookie.
“Well, this time it's just the toaster, and it’s all under control. And, THIS time it was my husband making toast.”
*Please see blog on burning bread:
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/bread-on-the-grill
Blogs on Fires:
Fire #1
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/the-first-fire
Fire #3 (Sad thing is I can’t remember the details of fire #2, but I know there was one)
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/fire-brand
Fire #4
http://www.keepmaryoutofthekitchen.com/blog/the-fourth-fire
 The toaster. |  The firefighter was so excited to see the familiar burn mark on our kitchen floor. |
RSS Feed