I am not very bold when it comes to cooking in the kitchen. I consider myself rather inexperienced and what little I do know tends to lean on the side of 'quick' and 'easy' college style meals (translation = lots of spaghetti).
Well today when Wednesday night church activities were canceled, I decided to take a risk and told my housemates I was going to make enchiladas for our meal. Yes, I Amanda was going to take initiative for preparing our meal instead of falling into my usual role of "prep" cook (or chopping up vegetables etc) for Lauren or Jeremy.
Heading off into the kitchen with full confidence in my abilities I began enthusiastically cooking the chicken tackling it with physics-problem-solving like determination (and some choice words). The fire truck red, spicy, enchilada sauce dripped from the aluminum cans splattering spots of hot fire onto the counter. I could hear the shrill voices of the green peppers and olives as they plunged into the red sauce screaming for mercy. (I like to give personality to the vegetables I work with... it makes cooking more interesting).
Everything was going according to plan in lab Amanda (aka the kitchen). I finished rolling up the enchiladas and poured the final can of sauce, topped it with cheese, and sent it into the fierce hot box called the oven. All was well in the life of Amanda enchilada making.
Or so I thought.................
About half an hour later, we kept hearing popping noises come from the oven. Recognizing that this was probably not a good thing, the whole house rushed to the oven and opened the oven door.
This was a mistake.
Clouds upon clouds of smoke poured into the house darkening every doorway. AND THEN... we were greeted with that high pitch synchronized screech of death.
Now... this my not sound like a big deal.. BUT WE HAD NO IDEA WHAT THE CODE TO TURN OFF THE ALARM WAS. The next thing we know we are running around our house tripping over chairs, acting like Sims who's house just caught on fire (computer game), searching our bulletin board for emergency procedures, while simultaneously preparing speeches for the fire department. Luckily, the obnoxious church phone that is in our house which also rings ALL the time (we are instructed to ignore it) began ringing and Lauren answered it just in time to hear the voice of the alarm system safety person to confirm that it was a false alarm. Unfortunately, he did not know how to turn off our alarm, but assured us that he would NOT send the fire department.
At this point we frantically began opening windows and waving magazines in front of the detector all in vain. Keep in mind with the windows open, the screeching sound of death is now echoing throughout the neighborhood (and we are usually the 'quiet' house). So we make a phone call to a person on our LVC Local Support Committee feeling very much like a child confessing to your parents that you are not as grown up as you'd like to be... but she luckily knows the code.
WE ARE SAVED!!! we ignorantly think to ourselves.
Sure enough a minute and a half later the alarm goes off again, but knowing the password we are able to stop it. This of course springs a sort of cause like mentality to air out the room the detector is in. Fans are summoned... we all grab magazines and huddle around this detector... But no matter how hard we try every minute and a half for a whole half hour the alarm continues to go off. (Yes, we timed it)
And then... despite my roommate's legal warnings.. I momentarily kill the detector by taking its source of life away. Yes, I took out the battery and we were able to enjoy a silent smoke filled house and enchiladas.
The lesson to be learned from this whole experience is....
TO REMEMBER TO PUT A COOKIE TRAY UNDER YOUR ENCHILADAS so if they spill over the sauce
WONT burn on the bottom of your oven causing waves of smoke.