It was my night to cook last night, a promise I made to my working wife at the time of my retirement. As she prepares for her retirement, we’re taking the initial steps to sell our Portland home. Tonight, we meet with the realtor to set the price and market launch date. I feel lucky that we still have a home after a scary moment in the kitchen. Kitchen Hell or Hell’s Kitchen?

I was broiling some chicken wings in the oven when I noticed black smoke curling up the wall behind the stove. I opened the door and was immediately confronted with flames that had engulfed the grease in the bottom of my pan. I first thought of water but that would have stupidly spread the fire, and grabbed the pan with some paper toweling I had nearby. Not a smart move either! Of course, the paper instantly caught on fire and burned my thumb, while the flames inside the oven continued to flourish, and the smoke alarms began to chirp. This sent the dogs into a crazed frenzy. I let them out through the back patio door and used a hot pad to move the flaming wings outdoors onto a stone slab table. Eventually, the alarms stopped and the flames died down. As it turned out, only one wing was burnt to a crisp. I had already transferred most of them into the crock pot before the fire broke out, so most of the damage was minimal – just a scare.

The dogs were cowering on the patio, while a smoky haze filled the house. Black soot covered the tile over the stove top. My biggest concern at this point was to hide this embarrassment from my wife, who was due home from work at any minute. I had saved the meal and got all the remaining wings safely in the crock pot covered with barbecue sauce. I doused the house in air freshener, turned on the fans, and opened windows and doors. Fortunately, she was slightly delayed at the office, so it also gave me time to clean the blackened tiles. Once again, my cooking attempt had turned into a near disaster. I anticipated that she would accuse me of “self-sabotage” in hopes that it would relieve me of all cooking responsibilities. Actually, I’m just started to get used to it, but incidents like this one continue to affect my confidence. I want a chance to cook again before I admit to this near gourmet tragedy.

I’m still a work in progress in the kitchen. By the time she got home, the kitchen was clean, the smoke had cleared, and I was having a glass of wine. Apparently, she didn’t notice the same odor of disaster that still filled my nostrils. Trust me, she’s good at spotting deception, while I was not about to admit anything without a prompt. I fed the dogs (fortunately, they can’t talk) and continued with dinner preparations that included corn-on-the-cob. She patiently waited for the wings to tenderize in the slow cooker without saying a single discouraging word. Ultimately, As I did the final wipe down of the kitchen, I was complimented on a great dinner.

My wife used to be a frequent reader of this blog, and often times suggested changes that she felt were too personal. Hopefully, she’ll read this some day, and perhaps by then I will have confessed to my kitchen nightmare. In the meantime, I hope we’ll get this place sold before I burn it down!