I hate to cook. I just want to put that out there. I really, really hate to cook. To get in a kitchen and cook something from scratch just kills me. I’d rather nuke something in the microwave or run down to a restaurant and get something to eat. Or I let my boyfriend cook something because he likes to cook. (And he’s a wonderful cook!) Especially in the summer. I live in Texas and it’s always hotter than hell outside, and in a kitchen where the oven and stovetops are blazing.
(I already had to get rushed to the hospital once for fainting from the heat while cooking! I had to get an IV and transfused with fluids and the whole nine. It sucked!)
But since I take care of my elderly father, I generally have to play Rachel Ray and cook the meals.
So there I was in the kitchen, making some smothered pork chops with gravy and collard greens with bacon.
I fry my chops before smothering them, and I had the last chop frying. So I left the kitchen for a second to ask my father something, I swear I don’t even remember what is was now.
I wasn’t gone long at all and when I came back, under the skillet with the chop had started burning and was flaming up.
I didn’t even smell it burning!
I blew at it a few moments, ran and told me dad there was a fire and went back and blew at it again. (I don’t know WHY I didn’t throw water or baking soda on it!)
Thankfully, with a few blows, the flames went out. But it scared me. I literally hate fire and that really shook me up.
I finished the meal with no more incidents and went to rest.
I’m glad it wasn’t any worse than that. I have a room full of Michael Jackson and pageant stuff right next to the kitchen and I probably would have died trying to save my stuff. Ha-ha.
I really hate cooking and it will be a LONG time before I make the chops again, trust me.
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