Where There's Smoke....

Last night, Gary requested that I thaw out a batch of my homemade rolls and put them in the oven for dinner. I set them out, brushed a little butter on the top and allowed them to rise before putting them in the oven. Typically, I put things in the oven and then continue doing things all over the house, relying on the timer to remind me that I have something in there. However I had a lot of papers to sort through and needed to load the dishwasher so I was right there in the kitchen while they were baking.

After about eight minutes, I noticed that smoke was coming out of the vent on the oven. Since the oven light had burned out and not been replaced, I opened the door to see what was going on. There was a full-blown fire in the bottom of my oven. Flames and everything. I closed the door and screamed for Gary to come and I think I managed to muster up the word "fire" so he would know it was serious and not like I wanted him to kill a cricket or something.

He came running in and asked me for the fire extinguisher. I informed him that we did not have one! We turned off the oven, pulled the rolls out and waited for the fire to die down. Apparently some of the butter that I had brushed on was dripping off the pan and causing this fire.

And then in his most serious tone, my husband asked me how we were going to "save the rolls". As in he still wanted me to try to finish baking the half-baked, smoke-scented rolls. (We did, and they were awful by the way.)

So now I am adding "fire extinguisher" to my list of items to get at the store this week. I am sure that once I actually have one in my kitchen, I will cease to have flames. That's how things usually work...and in this case I am okay with that.