Last Mother’s Day I was treated to the nicest thing; with one small minor exception. A teensy mistake that very nearly set the house ablaze.
Bake Not Broil
It all came about because my 18 year-old son has hit upon the world’s greatest cookbook. I’d share the title but I can’t. While he has given me permission to reveal this little ditty he says he’d prefer me to keep the title of the cookbook secret. I gather he wants to impress his housemates and assorted pals with his newly acquired cooking skills come September. Fine. I can say though that while I’ve merely glanced at the pages it has inspired my lad to learn to cook. Hence it’s the world’s best cookbook. Ever.
This cookbook-that-shan’t-be-named has a five ingredient recipe for Osso Buco. It was the perfect thing to make for the best mother in the world me on Mother’s Day. We agreed to shop for the meat and wine (of course he had me at wine) after our splendid Mother’s Day morning of a walk along the scenic ocean seawall and the delicious lunch at my new favourite cafe.
Once we returned home at about 2:00 that afternoon things got interesting. A very important Stanley Cup playoff game was on and he had to leave the house by 4:15 to get to his hour and a half swim club coaching job. I found the situation a bit tricky with regards to dinner prep time. But then again how long would it take to throw just five things together? I gently prodded him into at least thinking about the time frame.
“Mom. No worries. I’ll do it.”
Fine. Of course he would.
By the time 4:00 rolled around and the attention was still on hockey I knew we wouldn’t be eating until quite late that night. The recipe called for a two-hour cooking time. We’d be lucky if it was ready by 8:30. But so what? It was just so kind of him to cook; I resolved to keep my mouth shut.
At 4:05 there was a flurry of activity in the kitchen. The popping of a wine cork, the unwrapping of the meat, and the clanging of pots.
“Can I use the dutch oven instead of our frying pan? I think it’s a better size.”
Of course.
“Come and see if I’ve poured enough wine in here please.”
Yup. And bonus. He’d left me enough for at least two healthy glasses. I was more than thrilled to witness the concoction being slipped into the oven by 4:20. We were now running just a few minutes late.
After quickly setting the alarm I picked up my car keys and reached for the kitchen door handle. But wait. What was that peculiar spitting noise emanating from the oven? Not to mention the unfortunate smell. After flying down the hall to shut off the alarm I zipped back into the kitchen. My chef was standing out in the backyard frowning and waving his phone at me. “We need to go now!” being the obvious inference.
I hate being late. With my mind on the time I opened the oven door. Huh. The black knob of the lid was sparking. Odd. The pot must be sitting too high. I took out the middle rack and placed the pot lower and off to the side. My son was now pounding on the back door. Time. To. Go.
Eight minutes into the drive something was niggling at me. The spitting and the decidedly dreadful smell were really odd. What caused that?
Oh dear god no.
“You set it for 350 degrees right?”
“Yup. Can you focus on your driving please? And go a bit faster? I’m gonna be late.”
I couldn’t let it go.
“On Bake right?”
“No. Broil. Bake is for cookies.”
Time absolutely stopped. Oh sweet Jesus. We had a dutch oven broiling away in a gas oven set at 350 degrees in an empty house. What was that black lid knob made of? Could it melt and somehow cause a fire? It I kept with the game plan I wouldn’t return home for a good thirty minutes. Gripping the wheel even tighter I spat out the problem. Sparing nothing. My lad is no fool. He grasped the situation immediately.
“Just drop me at the skytrain. It doesn’t matter if I’m late.”
After hurling him out the door at the nearest rapid transit station (a good five minute ride from the pool) his last words floated in through the open car window.
“Text me once you’ve made things all safe.”
I did. Once the oven was off and the windows and door were opened as wide as they could go.
As soon as the pot and the oven had recovered I tried again. At bake not broil. We sat down to dinner at 9:00.
Yes. Bake not broil.
45 Responses
As my mom always said it is the thought that counts. Yet, somehow I don’t think that would have made you feel better during this one at all!! But still, trying to remain calm and see the positive still 😉
Very tricky I must say. Thankfully we dodged a bullet on this one Janine. And the meal was meltingly delicious!
Oh wow – “text me once you’ve made things all safe” – if you write a book, that should be your title. It kind of sums up modern parenting and I absolutely love it. Glad your meal turned out well!
Ohhhh thank you for that title idea. Love it. Think you’re on to something with the modern parenting idea. How very different from just a few years back ‘eh?
I’m going to have to thank those DoseGirls for sending me to your blog!!!
This story made me laugh (after knowing y’all were all safe, of course!!).
And, I know we will be friends because you like wine!!!
Oh Kim yes. Huge thanks to the Dose of Reality gals for bringing us together! They are absolute gems. Now that the fire threat is over I’ve got the wine chilling so do run on over for a glass or six. Heck we’ve got a lot in common already. We can talk writing, running and wine. Looking forward to discovering more of what we have in common too!
Oh Kelly, I am still laughing at this one ! Do hope your wonderful dutch oven is still intact ! I must share a family story with you, which I think will be written on my gravestone thanks to my brother . I was in high school home ec, and we learned how to make cinnamon toast in the oven ( who does that ! ) . I decided to be a great sister and offered to make it for my brother one night when my parents had company over. The recipe called for the oven to be at 500degrees ( or so I believed), so you can just imagine how it turned out ! Now, at every family dinner ( which I always cook, by the way), all my brother has to say is 500 degrees, and all the kids burst into gales of laughter !!
Poppy was ever so startled. I literally laughed out loud as I read this Jane. 500*? You? So so funny. And yes cinnamon toast in the oven? Oh my god. And your parents had company over? I can only imagine the smell and the smoke and the chaos. Love that you told your kids too. This story will live forever. Thank you so much for sharing it. Oh my god. I am still smiling …
HA. Was on the edge of my seat, to see what happened. As the world’s worst cook, or close enough, I remained mostly just impressed by how you had it going on with the cooking back and forth. Once, I put an entire cup of salt into a stuffed-crab mushroom thing, after reading to make it and skipping the “add to taste” thing. Sigh.
My lips literally just puckered Kristi. A cup of salt? Oh my my my. Do hope it wasn’t a stuffed-crab mushroom thingy meant for company. You’re not alone. One year the preschool teacher misread the recipe (she was using the one of the very popular teacher who came before her) for scones for the annual Mother’s Day Tea. She had the kids pour in a full cup of salt. One bite and I was done. Could not stop laughing and had such fun awaiting the first bites of the other moms too. Bet she always did a pre run through of class recipes from then on in.
I have gone outside to talk to a neighbor for “just one minute,” and come back in to find all the liquid boiled off and the food burnt to a crisp in the pan. I don’t think I’ve ever done the broil instead of bake thing, but give me time.
Oh yes the dreaded burnt to a crisp in the pan scenario. Have you ever had the bottom fall out? I did. Just lovely. It happened when I had dinner guests. “Uh. Yes I MEANT to have just one side dish. What smell?”
Bwahahahahahaha!! To be fair, you actually *do* use the bake setting for cookies. He was not wrong about that. 😀
I remember once I made cookies from scratch and I used 1/4 CUP of salt instead of 1/4 tsp. You know…minor details! –Lisa
No Lisa you’re right he was not wrong about that. And yes my lips are puckering up and my toes are a curling at the 1/4 of a cup of salt concept.
Hilarious! (I mean I totally get the safety aspects of this, but still you make it sound hilarious). I’m still trying to decide which is funnier: fish fertilizer explosion in the car, or near-death cooking experience…..
Great post!
THANK YOU. Yes this is my life. Always. Fish explosions in the car, near-death cooking experiences … I sometimes wonder how I’d cope with calm soothing waters.
That’s a great story. I hate that feeling – when you leave the house – and wonder what you left on, that could potentially wipe you out! Kudos to you, for raising a son who will could for you on Mother’s Day. I can’t wait for that. I have three, one’s bound to come through. Right?
Right. One is bound to come through. Fingers crossed this end that they do.
Wow! Good thing you didn’t ignore that instinct that something was “off.” I don’t even like the thought of having a slow cooker running all day when I’m not home. I only use it when I’m there – might run out for a quick errand, but I would never trust letting it run all day without being able to check on it. I think my Dad made me paranoid about that. He used to set a pot on the stove with a little oil in the bottom to make popcorn, then sit down in the living room in front of the TV waiting for it to heat up … and fall asleep! Can’t tell you how many times he burnt pots that way … or doing the same making tea. We went through about a bazillion tea pots, but fortunately, never a fire!
I know what you mean Chris. It did cross my mind when i comtemplated the whole cook me dinner thing. The osso buco called for two hours of cooking and it needed to be done while my guy was at work. I had to get him there. Then I thought about how I often turn on the ovem and bake something when I’m gardening or downstairs etc. Still it was silly. I’m the same with the crock pot. Can’t thoroughly enjoy myself when I’m out and it’s on. Always a “what if …” at the back of my mind. Can so relate to the oil in the bottom of the pan to make the popcorn! Here’s to the healthier and safer (at least for m!) air popped versions!
I had heart palpitations just thinking about that. Thank goodness you trusted your instincts! I’m glad you had a great dinner anyhow…what a story!
I know Michelle! It was really quite the mad crazy drive back home I have to say. I felt such relief when I opened the kitchen door and all was well. Won’t be doing that again.
As soon as I saw the title, I was simultaneously cringing and snickering. Yikes! I was laughing out loud by “oh, sweet Jesus.” You make some great memories, lady. 🙂
Oh Stephanie sometimes I wonder. Certainly learned that I must continue to take nothing for granted. Ever.
Somehow your stories always make me laugh. Even when the subject matter is serious (setting fires?) – you have a way of telling it with humor and grace. 🙂
Thank you Marcie. It’d be nice if things calmed down a bit around here for the summer however I suspect they will carry on as usual. Ah well – more writing material potential, no?
I can so relate. I still have not mastered the art of cooking much at all. And I get a kick out of watching my husband try to figure out things in the kitchen. My favorite part of your story is the quote “No. Broil. Bake is for cookies.”- love it! Thanks for the smiles!
So happy to hear the house didn’t burn down and that the meal was still grand! I think the nicest thing someone has ever done for me had to be when my favorite Auntie surprised me at Christmas with a special little gift. You see, we adults had decided long ago that Christmas was for the children and stopped buying for one another. So imagine my surprise when my Auntie hands me a beautifully wrapped gift box. I opened it and inside was the most elegant flamingo (I’m crazy for flamingos) necklace with little sparkly diamonds. I almost fainted….I did cry….and I’ll never ever forget the way it made me feel……so very special and so very loved!
Wow – that is just so very kind. Your auntie sounds like a true gem. Such a heartwarming surprise and love that the thought of the gesture still make you feel so very special and so loved. Thanks for sharing that memory Debbie.
Me, I stick to “cut up veggies, potatoes and sometimes meat, put in water, boil, season to taste..” I try to find different vegetables once in a while for the variety.
Very smart. Good advice to stick to what you know.
Yuk. I’m imagining the smell of that black plastic knob. Thank goodness you realized what was happening.
My mom has a term for that. “A kind mind.” Mine was working overtime on that drive to the pool I think Linda.
Oh gosh, how horrifying! I’m horrible at broiling anything. I almost caught my kitchen on fire trying to make homemade hushpuppies once… Since then I save that for the seafood restaurants!
Hi Caroline. Thanks for stopping by and leaving a comment. With you on the hushpuppy front. I set the oven on fire making a blueberry pie in a two piece tart pan once. My late husband was more than a tad puzzled by the white powdery stuff on the crust (baking powder that I flung in the oven to douse the flames…).
LOL! Oh, what a great story! How lucky you asked that question! I think I would have made the same mistake as your son – I’ve never used a dutch oven! Love that he said ‘text me once you’ve made everything safe’ – such a boy thing :)) So glad it was delicious and worth the wait … hope you reveal the name of that cookbook come September. Maybe you and your son could write one together called ‘Bake, Not Broil’ 😉
I know right? What if I hadn’t kept thinking about the niggling little thing and NOT asked the question. Yikes. Brilliant idea of a name for a cookboo, thank you! I will try and remember to reveal the name of the-one-that-shan’t-be-named come September.
OMG, I did that! My mother ALWAYS called it broiled chicken! Why call it that and not roasted, which is what it was! So, when my mother called and told me to prepare a chicken and get it in the oven, I did what made sense. And then left the house to pick her up. When we came home the house was full of smoke and the fire alarm was screaming. She rushed into the kitchen, ranked the broiling rack (oh, maybe that’s why she called it ‘broiled’) and tossed it in the backyard. It killed the grass. BUT, i didn’t burn down the house!
Laughing out loud here Sarah. You must be a McKenzie at heart. Broiled chicken? Of course. Now that’s a family story that I can so relate to. Hope the grass recovered.
That is so funny! Baking is for cookies. LOL! I think the fact that he’s trying is wonderful in and of itself. Not all kids want to or try to cook. I hope we find out the book because I would love to make a 5 ingredient osso busco. Thanks for sharing with Countdown in Style.
Pretty sure I can reveal the name of that-cookbook-that-shan’t-be-named come September and his return to university April. My daughter is cooking tonight. I’ll be a tad more attentive should we leave the house …
I almost set the Zen Center where I am head cook on fire a few weeks ago. Not very Zen to be sure, but it was a wake up call to how much my head was NOT screwed on.
Oh Kate I’m sorry but this is quite refreshing! We’re not the only distracted ones. Yay!
This is so sweet. I’ve made those same mistakes. I remember when I was working outside the home and a shipment was coming in C.O.D. I said, “ok, sounds good,” not having a clue what that meant. I had heard it hundreds of times and just assumed it meant it will be delivered. Well, when they dropped the shipment off and expected payment and I had to run to the accountant to cut a check and she was totally ticked off and that’s when I learned, for good, what C.O.D. meant.
Oh those accountants just love those last-minute-must-have-now checks don’t they? At least you didn’t think they were referring to some type of fish.