That time I almost burned the house down

One day, my cat was sick.  That day was Sunday.  She hadn't kept any food down for a day or so, so I decided to boil some chicken to see if that would sit well with her.

Then she got worse.

Off to the emergency vet we flew, me fighting back tears and her meowling in protest ("meowl" is a real word - at least it is after you've heard the sound that comes out of her when she's traveling).

An hour into our wait to see the emergency vet, I get a phone call from Sous Chef, who was traveling at the time.

Apparently, sweet dreams are made of these...

"There's been a fire."

In my kitchen.  The damn chicken clucked me over.

Luckily, Calphalon makes a good pot, and the fire was contained to said miracle vessel.  Unfortunately, burning chicken/tempered metal doesn't smell very good.  Hence the two giant jet-engine-powered air suckers that are HEPA- and crystal-filtering every single solitary molecule of oxygen in my house.

We won't be needing our Sharper Image sound machine for the next couple days, that's for sure.

Have you ever been camping, and when you come home and unpack your bag, the smell of campfire wafts up from your clothes and you are instantly transported back to that magical evening under the stars, warming yourself by the crackling flames?

My house smells like that - except instead of campfire, it smells like incinerated flesh and whatever Calphalon cookware is made of (I think they use the same thing in submarines).  And the smell is everywhere.  In the carpet, in the window blinds, in the vents.

Yes, the vents.  So no A/C.  In June.  In Maryland.  In sane.

It probably comes as no surprise when I tell you that I'm taking a wee break from the stove top.  This hiatus coincides nicely with the lack of air conditioning - there are few things more uncomfortable than standing over a hot stove on an even hotter day (says the girl who has, thankfully, never been truly tortured).

Salad for dinner.  Fresh lettuce, broccoli, cucumber, and blueberries from the CSA.  Soft-boiled eggs from the Sous Chef (who works outside every day, so a few more minutes in front of the stove doesn't phase him).  Crisp, chilled wine.

Summer solace.  No fire necessary, thank God.

P.S.  Kitty's doing better.  She enjoys yelling at the noisy green-and-red-eyed monsters.