VeraBlue
Executive Chef
Friday afternoon I rushed home from work, getting in about 3:45pm. I was planning to make a triple layer cheesecake for the weekend. The cake has lots of cream cheese and sour cream, and a bit of calibut semi sweet for the chocolate layer. Then, I start running around with the rest of the laundry, put fresh linens on the bed, vacuum the living room and with 10 minutes of baking time left, all I had to do was put the last layer on the cake, sour cream with sugar, raise the temp to 450 for 10 minutes and it would be finished.
Just as I was about to do that, Lou came in. Early
. I didn't expect him till 6pm, and it was barely 5. I still had work clothes on, still reeked like the kitchen at work.. and for some strange reason, the oven was making the kitchen just a bit smoky.
There was a wind advisory for the weekend, and after apologizing for still beig so unladylike, I pressed him to put all the things into the garage that could become projectiles in the next 24 hours. I also asked him to turn the oven off in 10 minutes and just open the door. I was going to jump into the shower, a much needed diversion.
I wasn't in the shower for 60 seconds when I heard all the windows on the lower level being thrown open. Strange, to be sure, but I just kept on lathering myself, it felt that good
. Maybe he was hot, I told myself. Although, my eyes were stinging, and I didn't recall getting any shampoo or soap in them. Still, I put it out of my mind.
When I got out of the shower, there was a Dark and Stormy cocktail waiting for me on the dresser. Yay for me! Every drink deserves a toast, so I queried what we were drinking to. "To not having to call the fire department to put out the fire in your oven" Lou said matter o' factly.
I pressed him further. Seems that lovely lamb I roasted the week before left more than a heavenly aroma in the house. It left a nice layer of grease at the bottom of the oven. It was smoking as I cooked the cake at 350 but turned down right incendiary at 450
. He mentioned fire again, and something about the bottom of the cake being licked
. He then proceeded to throw water into the oven. We've since gone over what is correct to throw in the face of a grease flame, but I also appreciated that my 100 year old tinderbox of a house is still standing. Thank you, I'll take a water mess over inferno, anyday.
Lou hoped the cake would be alright. He mentioned that licking again. I was more concerned that he hadn't put the pilots out! I do hate lighting pilots. We didn't get to eat the cake on Friday night. First, we were too buzzed from all the rum and the bottle of wine to have any room left for rich and creamy desserts. Second, it was actually still too warm to cut.
We did get around to having a couple of slices on Saturday night, however. And, through the bourbon, three course dinner, bottle of wine....we were able to detect just the slightest flavour of fire on the top, sour cream layer. We looked at each other, and both said at the same time "tastes like fire".
I am happy to report that if you just scrape the top layer off, all you do is waste the sour cream topping, but none of the other creamy deliciousness was affected.
Nothing like a little excitement to get the weekend off to a good start. Have I ever mentioned that some people refer to my home as 1313 Mockingbird Lane?
Just as I was about to do that, Lou came in. Early
. I didn't expect him till 6pm, and it was barely 5. I still had work clothes on, still reeked like the kitchen at work.. and for some strange reason, the oven was making the kitchen just a bit smoky. There was a wind advisory for the weekend, and after apologizing for still beig so unladylike, I pressed him to put all the things into the garage that could become projectiles in the next 24 hours. I also asked him to turn the oven off in 10 minutes and just open the door. I was going to jump into the shower, a much needed diversion.I wasn't in the shower for 60 seconds when I heard all the windows on the lower level being thrown open. Strange, to be sure, but I just kept on lathering myself, it felt that good
. Maybe he was hot, I told myself. Although, my eyes were stinging, and I didn't recall getting any shampoo or soap in them. Still, I put it out of my mind.When I got out of the shower, there was a Dark and Stormy cocktail waiting for me on the dresser. Yay for me! Every drink deserves a toast, so I queried what we were drinking to. "To not having to call the fire department to put out the fire in your oven" Lou said matter o' factly.
I pressed him further. Seems that lovely lamb I roasted the week before left more than a heavenly aroma in the house. It left a nice layer of grease at the bottom of the oven. It was smoking as I cooked the cake at 350 but turned down right incendiary at 450. He mentioned fire again, and something about the bottom of the cake being licked. He then proceeded to throw water into the oven. We've since gone over what is correct to throw in the face of a grease flame, but I also appreciated that my 100 year old tinderbox of a house is still standing. Thank you, I'll take a water mess over inferno, anyday.Lou hoped the cake would be alright. He mentioned that licking again. I was more concerned that he hadn't put the pilots out! I do hate lighting pilots. We didn't get to eat the cake on Friday night. First, we were too buzzed from all the rum and the bottle of wine to have any room left for rich and creamy desserts. Second, it was actually still too warm to cut.
We did get around to having a couple of slices on Saturday night, however. And, through the bourbon, three course dinner, bottle of wine....we were able to detect just the slightest flavour of fire on the top, sour cream layer
. We looked at each other, and both said at the same time "tastes like fire". I am happy to report that if you just scrape the top layer off, all you do is waste the sour cream topping, but none of the other creamy deliciousness was affected.
Nothing like a little excitement to get the weekend off to a good start. Have I ever mentioned that some people refer to my home as 1313 Mockingbird Lane?
Why ... Andy!
), and proceeded to baste the heck out of the bird with sauce.
