I love a good spinach roll. Yesterday the veggie CSA arrived with a whole bunch of beautiful plum tomatoes. I thought of the lovely spinach growing in my garden and mozzerella cheese in my fridge. I lovingly made bread dough out of an organic whole wheat and oat flour blend. It was a bit dry, so I kneaded in plenty of extra olive oil to make it soft. Meanwhile, the children were NOT napping, so my cooking was punctured by frequent trips up the stairs with comments such as “get out from under your bed.” At any rate, I went out to the garden and carefully plucked the outside leaves of spinach so the plants would keep producing. I chopped up that lovely produce, rolled out my crust, and seasoned with some basil and paprika. I spread out the cheese and veggies and rolled them all up, pinched the edges, brushed on some olive oil (I’m out of garlic, or I would have sprinkled it on top). Turned on that oven and popped those beautiful rolls of spinach-y goodness into the oven.
Ten minutes pass. (“Can we get up yet?!” “Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? MMMMOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY?’ “He’s out of bed! Mommy! He’s got a toy! Mommy!) End nap time.
Hm…what is that coming out of the top of the oven? Smoke. Its ok, I know I have a dirty oven. That happens from time to time…..though usually only at high temperatures…huh? Open oven. Wow. That is a lot of smoke. Close oven. Well, Mr. Ringmaster reheated those hamburgers in the oven last night and I see some cheese that somehow got on the bottom of the oven, that must be it.
Start setting the table, playing with the kids….open all the windows, can’t believe there’s still smoke. Open oven ::WHOOSSHH:: Fire. Close oven. With surprising calmness, I plop the baby in the excer-saucer and pull it to other side of the kitchen and pull out the fire extinguisher from under sink. I vaguely remember calling for the boys to go outside.
I haven an argument with my brain, “leave the door closed, it will go out,” “then why hasn’t it gone out yet?” It feels like I’m standing there for an eternity watching it. I just want it out. I pick up the fire extinguisher. A piece of my brain cheers “Mommy will save the day!!” The rest is going “how do I spray this thing?”
I rip apart the plastic thingy on the top and I’m still not sure how but I got a “PFSHHH” of white fire extinguisher stuff out. Probably should have opened the oven first. Open the oven, struggle for a moment to duplicate the “PFSHHH” (man it sprays out fast). The dust clears and the fire is out. I look outside where I told the boys to go, and they are standing there, still, quiet, just waiting. Yes! Score one for school fire drills. I must remember to tell their teachers about that. I revel for a moment in the sight of my older boys standing still. Then I turn back to the kitchen, and this is what my dinner looks like.
Well that’s depressing. I call Mr. RIngmaster. He claims responsibility as he reheated those burgers right on the rack instead of on a sheet pan and did not clean out the oven. The smoke and flame was from the grease left behind. I may have, at this point, cried. Mostly because those lovely spinach rolls were now expensive garbage (hey, cheese is expensive). Also because my kitchen was a mess. Though I will admit at the same time I was thinking “Woohoo! Take a picture, this will make a great blog post!” (Like I ever have a shortage of things to write about.) Mr. RIngmaster brought home a couple pizzas. There was a beer left in the fridge. It worked out.