Smoke Detector Screams…

… and that means Mark’s finished cooking dinner.

Generally he’s not a bad cook, but it does leave me stunned and amazed that he uses skills otherwise suitable for a crematorium in the kitchen.

Several years ago in our first home, not even three months after we moved in, while it was brand spanking new he set fire to the oven.  Usually that’s not a problem, unless you open the door, let the air in and allow the flames to lick up the front of the kitchen.  Fortunately I was home and had the presence of mind to push him out of the way, shut the oven door and turn it off.

On other occasions, tonight included, in the heart of winter I’ve had to open all the doors and windows and allow the air to blow the smoke out of the house.  This time I had to open the internal door to the garage, and the garage door itself to get a breeze through.  About the same time last year, he changed the oven settings from Fahrenheit to Celcius without telling me, so the roast I was trying to cook at 350 degrees Fahrenheit, was actually on 350 degrees Celcius.  Essentially I was trying to cook, unwittingly at that, in a pottery kiln.

Grrr!   At that time we had snow outside, and I still had to open all the doors and windows to let the smoke out.

Tonights dinner was grilled steak, surprisingly it was cooked perfectly, which is even more surprising when you realise the entire house was filled with a smokey blue-grey haze…

He tried, it was tasty.

If the smoke detectors screaming, dinners ready!