A very long 10 seconds

One of Rob’s favorite stories about me and my attempts to cook involves some garlic bread, a smoke detector, and an opportunity to meet the neighbors.

Rob’s second-favorite part of the story is him answering the door of our apartment, smoke billowing out, to greet our worried and concerned neighbors with, “Everything’s OK – my wife is just cooking.” Rob’s most favorite part is how when he was summoned to the dining room by the shrill beeping of the smoke detector, he found me standing on a chair, towel in hand, trying to cover up the smoke detector to get the silly thing to stop making so much noise. Not only had it not occurred to me to open a door or window to release the smoke, I also hadn’t thought to take the smoldering garlic bread – the source of all the excitement – out of the oven. Really, my biggest concern was the noise. Smoke, fire, destruction – we would handle that later.

Fifteen years later, I’m relieved to say I react to cooking emergencies a little more logically now. I’m still a bit shaken to say I got living proof last night.

I truly was just following the directions. I’m a very insecure cook, so it’s rare and scary for me not to be following a recipe. However, despite the fact that I won the Science Award in high school (a constant source of ribbing from Rob ever since I revealed this horribly misappropriated honor), apparently there’s an assumed knowledge among cooks about hot pans and the smoke and flash points of oil. Count me, finally, in the know.

Just as the directions said, I heated my skillet on medium-high heat and added some oil so that I could sear some pork chops. Needing an embarrassing amount of detail, the recipe didn’t tell me how long to heat the pan, so I turned up the burner and went about setting the table and choosing some wine. Apparently much too long later, I added the oil and immediately wondered what the unusual smell was. I typically use a different skillet for searing, so I concluded the odd smell was pan-related. About 15 seconds later and 2 feet away, I watched in strangely slow motion as the oil in the skillet burst into flambé-style flames. They were probably a foot high and very orange.

As I processed what I was seeing, I recalled that baking soda would be a good thing to throw on the flaming pan. But my soda was buried in my pantry too many seconds away to be useful. I decided water was my next-best option. I grabbed the handle of the skillet and moved it off the stove. Terrifyingly, this did not change the height of the flames at all. I threw on the faucet and shoved the skillet under the water. As hot, slippery oil splattered out of the pan onto the floor, I suddenly wondered if I was making matters worse. I let out a short scream, looked at the ceiling, and wondered if it would catch on fire. As I looked back to the pan under the full stream of water, I saw that the flames were out and my skillet blackened. It was over.

Where was Rob during all this? In the shower. He didn’t hear the smoke detector, he didn’t hear me scream, he didn’t smell smoke until he emerged from the bedroom. All of this scares me as much as the leaping flames did.

So here are a few things I learned upon wine-soothed reflection and debriefing with a freshly showered Rob:

• We need another smoke detector right outside the shower.
• I shall now have a box of baking soda in a drawer right next to the stove.
• A pot lid could be handy to douse flames.
• The fire extinguisher under our sink would have been a handy device had I remembered it was there.

Rob, bless him, helps me handle stress and fear by incessantly making fun of something until I can laugh at it myself. Tonight, while getting back on the horse and searing some flank steak, I chuckled as I looked at the little piece of magnetized poetry that usually lives on our fridge. There, oh-so-casually attached to a metal stove burner was the word “fire.” Although our dinner tonight was a Cajun steak, I’m proud and relieved to say it was not blackened.

Added note: Here's a public service announcement video a friend sent to me after hearing my story. I continue to be grateful for how lucky I was. I did 2 wrong things: I should not have moved the pan off the stove and I should not have put water on the flames to put them out. While better than the garlic bread story, I still have much to learn in properly handling kitchen emergencies. Yikes.