I’m fairly sure of myself when I’m in a kitchen. I use the word “fairly” because last night, I nearly burned down my building.
It happened like this:
I bought a pkg of chicken thighs at the grocery store. I like chicken thighs -insert whatever joke you like- they’ve got a nice amount of meat, and it’s dark and full of flavor. Here is where my culinary disaster came into play.
How are you feeling right now?
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Somewhere in the middle — and that's okay.
I decided to roast my thighs -again, insert- which turned out to be one of the lamest ideas I’ve had in the kitchen. I thought about all the times that I’ve roasted chicken breasts, sprinkled with sweet curry powder, earthy rosemary, or spicy cumin; and they’ve been great. What I forgot about this time however, was the fat content in chicken thighs.
In the usual fashion, I cranked up my oven and drenched them in olive oil to make them nice and crispy. Then I went and took a shower…I emerged to find my entire apartment in a blanket of thick smoke. All the olive oil, combined with the high level of fat in the meat seemed to have started a little fire in my oven. I took them out immediately- almost setting fire to my oven mitts- and swiftly closed up the growing fire in my oven. I waited, with baited breath, as my own little inferno engulfed itself and died down.
I’m filled with shame as I write this to not have put two and two together BEFORE my potential catastrophe. I guess momma was right when she told me time and time again “Never leave a candle unattended – or an oven for that matter.”
